“Our flames are cellophane, our smoke is cotton wool, and our tears are lube,” Adam Elliot said of his latest stop motion animation feature, Memoir of a Snail, to a sold out showing at this year’s MIFF.
Known for Harvey Krumpet (2003) and Max and Mary (2009), Elliot’s recognisable style and Australian storytelling takes us from the gritty corners of Victoria’s Brunswick street to Canberra’s cookie-cut suburbia. Following protagonist Grace Pudel (Sarah Snook) we hear the memoir of her life – from childhood, through foster care, faulty relationships, wins and losses – as told to her lifelong friend: a snail.
In a rare film where with more artists than filmmakers working onboard, Elliot explains that many of the crew were sculptors, painters, scenic artists who in many cases had never stepped foot on a film set before. I’d been following the film through its pre-production, and it was heartwarming to see how Elliot celebrated these emerging artists online. Using his platform to uplift his crew, Elliot shamelessly plugged their socials and spoke about their talents — eager to promote the careers of these Australian creators.
The story itself unfolded in endearing visual language. The sepia-toned dollhouse figurines carry with them the grit & texture of their unfortunate worlds; families on the border of poverty and neglect. With their humour, the characters bring those feelings of wonder and hope into the picture. Grace Pudel’s memoir is propelled by yearning and an undying goal to reunite with her twin brother, from whom she was separated in foster care.
Where its craft and aesthetics are astounding, the narrative felt a little one-note. Death is followed by illness, by injury, by addiction, betrayal, and more death. The light at the end of the tunnel seemed to be dwindling. And while this film ends on an uplifting note (spoiler: Grace Pudel’s twin brother, who died in a fire in the film’s second act, had secretly escaped and survived), the conclusion felt more convenient than it was believable.
Undeniably, this story has some lovely moments; kitschy characters, charming exchanges and a tactile world. My first appreciation for film – as a craft, as an industry – came from stop-motion animation, and so, these sorts of worlds always find a special place in my heart. In the Australian film industry, the colossal creative effort required to bring a film like this together is something to be celebrated.
Review by Maddison Stephens
Memoir of a Snail