Every single frame of Adam Elliot’s beautiful, life-affirming claymation film Memories of a snail is handmade. Every shot bears the weird, wonderful thumbprint of a human being. As Elliot told the audience before yesterday’s Melbourne International Film Festival opening gala, there is not a single bit of CGI in the entire 94 minutes. Every prop, set and character is a tangible miniature object, created by a team of Australian sculptors and artists (who won awards) and brought to life in a painstaking 33-week stop-motion shoot at Melbourne’s Dockland Studios.
But is all that important? Is the film itself enjoyable? The short answer is: Yes, absolutely. But all the meta details about the “making of” are also important, because Memories of a snail (which recently won the Annecy Film Festival’s Cristal Award for Best Feature Film) is an important film for the Australian film industry and a reminder of why we continue to fund, support and protect it: for the people, of course. To have our own culture.
I must confess that claymation is not my favorite form of storytelling on screen. While I admire Elliot’s unique talent and persistence as an artist, as well as his distinctive “clayographies,” which include the defining moment of the Oscar-winning short film, Harvie Krumpet (2003), I found his previous feature film Mary and Max (2009), a bit dark and grim and… well, depressing. The grotesque, tragicomic sensibility, in my opinion, was better suited to the short form of Elliot’s award-winning, semi-autobiographical films such as Uncle (1996), cousin (1999) and Brother (2000).
ScreenHub: Australian animated film “Memoir of a Snail” wins in Annecy
But Memories of a snail is delightful. It’s quirky, funny, and emotionally satisfying. Only occasionally does it make the audience suffer with over-the-top pathos and a few repetitive beats. But that’s a minor criticism, and I only mention it to show that I haven’t completely lost my critical faculties.
Memories of a snail is the life story of Grace Pudel (rhymes with “muddle”), born in Melbourne in the 1970s. The adult Grace, voiced by Sarah Snook, is an eccentric outsider obsessed with snails of all kinds. She wears a knitted hat with eyes on sticks and is herself a kind of snail, trapped in a house of hoarding, loneliness and heartache. We soon understand why, as she thinks back to the beginning.
Grace tells a life of loss and tragedy, from being born with a cleft palate to a mother who dies in childbirth and leaves her in the care of her father (Dominique Pinon), a French street performer who is later hit by a truck and left paralyzed in a wheelchair. Yes, this is the kind of maximally grim disaster story Elliot prefers.
But Grace has fond memories too: a comfortable childhood with her beloved twin brother Gilbert (Kodi Smit-McPhee), a budding pyromaniac who protects her from the bullies who tease her about her lip scar. Yes, they live in a Collingwood housing association flat, and yes, their father is an alcoholic with sleep apnea. But there are jelly beans to eat and good books to read. (Elliot’s main characters are often sophisticated and educated, even if they are penniless.) For all his faults, this father is loving and tender, taking the twins on trips to Luna Park and riding rollercoasters with joy.
But then dad dies and the twins are separated. Grace is sent to boring Canberra to live with swingers Ian and Narelle (both voiced by Paul Capsis), who – horror – read self-help books! Brother Gilbert is sent to the wilds of Western Australia and held captive by religious fundamentalist apple farmers who worship “baby Jesus” and abhor his homosexual experiments.
The loneliness and loss here are enormous. Tears. There are many of them in Memories of a snail. Maybe too many. (What a miracle to learn that they are made of glycerin; that water is a mixture of clear plastic and lubricant; and that raindrops are the bubbles of bubble wrap!) But luckily, just when you think you can’t stand the darkness and the even moister eyes any longer, Grace’s new friend, the old and irrepressible Pinky, whose warm voice comes from a lisping Jacki Weaver, comes beckoning in.
Pinky is the film’s radiant co-star, an old lady with a larger-than-life past that includes playing ping pong with Fidel Castro and losing one of her husbands to a crocodile. The lines and wrinkles on Pinky’s face are startling at first, but as the film progresses she becomes more and more beautiful, which is a great exercise in anti-aging. Pinky brings color and cheer, and she helps break down Grace’s shell. The other characters you should know are Ken (Tony Armstrong), a handsome microwave technician next door whose updo can’t hide a bald spot, and the drunken judge (Eric Bana). Additional voices are provided by Magda Szubanski, and even Nick Cave makes a cameo appearance.
Memoirs of a Snail: A Fairy Tale from Melbourne
There are many fairytale elements in Memories of a snailbut without giving too much away, what I like most is the way the city of Melbourne offers a happy ending and a homecoming. Seeing our humble grey city lovingly recreated in lumpy clay and lit up as the main character is nothing short of a revelation, with so many moments that will warm the heart of any Melbourne resident: “Oh, there’s the grinning face in Luna Park, and the brown Collingwood Towers, and oh, the Eiffel Tower in Paris suddenly transforms back into our own little Arts Centre Spire.” It’s magical.
Which brings us back to the question of why Australian films, with their specific details and homegrown idiosyncrasies, matter. “Telling our own stories and seeing ourselves on screen” may be a hackneyed justification for our industry, but it’s a cliche for good reason, and an argument that’s even more necessary in the age of artificial intelligence, as we tremble and shake over the future of filmmaking and the point of the whole expensive process or our own culture.
Memories of a snail is the work of one author, as well as the work of hundreds of other artists, filmmakers, engineers and creative producers. I wish I could name more talented people, but here are just a few: producer Liz Kearney, executive producer Robert Connelly, composer Elena Katz-Chernin (with a score by the Australian Chamber Orchestra), cinematographer Gerald Thompson, editor Bill Murphy ASE, animator John Lewis and sound designer David Williams.
Is this a perfect film? Gloriously, no. Elliot is the first to admit it. He was born with a physiological tremor and has made that shaking part of his signature style. Here’s what he writes in the press notes, and it’s worth reading for anyone trying to do original work:
“Like most artists, I strive for perfection, but I know it’s a hopeless endeavor. There’s always a shot I’d like to redo, a line I’d like to rewrite; the day the film is finished is bittersweet. Memories of a snail It took eight years to complete the film and now that it’s finished, I’m sad that the journey is over. We did our best with the budget we had and made many sacrifices to ensure Grace’s story was told with dignity and respect. They may just be little lumps of clay, but to my team and I, they are real people. Through the magic of stop motion, we really hope their little lives bring meaning, joy and comfort to viewers.’
Be sure to check out Memories of a snail either at MIFF or when the film hits theaters in October if you want to continue seeing films with a distinctive handprint.
Memories of a snail opened on 72and Melbourne International Film Festival on August 8. The film will be released in general cinemas in Australia via Madman from October 17, 2024.
