Review: “Memoir of a Snail”

If there’s one person who has experience with just about every seemingly good thing that life throws at you blowing up in your face, it’s me. So maybe that’s why I became so strongly wrapped up in the story of Memoir of a Snail, even as its tugging of its protagonist from terrible life event to terrible life event toes the line of being relentlessly cruel. That protagonist is Grace Pudel (voiced by Sarah Snook), who we first meet at a crossroads following yet another loss. As Grace sits in the garden of her friend Pinky (Jacki Weaver), an older woman who led the sort of wildly eventful life Grace could only dream of, she recounts her life story to Sylvia, her favorite snail (because the swirl on her shell goes backwards, unique from her siblings) who she named after her mom’s favorite writer, Sylvia Plath. You see, Grace loves snails— nay, she’s obsessed with them, an affinity she shares with her mother, who passed away giving birth to Grace and her twin brother, Gilbert (Kodi Smit-McPhee). The snails are the one constant in her ever-shifting life: her companions when her father, a former filmmaker and street performer turned alcoholic paraplegic following a series of unfortunate events, passes away in his sleep, and Gilbert— her best friend and protector— are separated, placed in different foster homes. When Grace seems to be at her lowest— living alone, Gilbert entrenched with his foster family of religious fundamentalists far away, crushed by her desire for a partner in life and love, surrounded by nothing but her horny pet guinea pigs who constantly remind her of her perpetual virginity and the library of books she escapes in to— she turns her bored attentions into hoarding not only snails, but every snail-related item she can find (I’ve got some questions about the tin of “snail condoms,” but I’ll save them for another time).

Even Grace herself is like a snail. Since childhood, she almost always wears a handmade hat with eyes on stalks hanging off the top, sadly drooping in a way that reflects her sorry existence. Written and directed by Adam Elliot, an Australian filmmaker who has made a name for himself creating independently-produced stop-motion animated films with tragicomic themes (he’s dubbed his specific brand of claymation biographies “clayographies”), Memoir of a Snail’s ugly-cute aesthetic exists in tandem with the story’s push-and-pull between life’s highs and lows. Grace is short and lumpy, with stringy hair and big eyes that can house big emotions, snapping from gleeful to curious to sad in an instant— feelings that Snook’s delicate vocal performance illustrate all the more. The entirety of the film’s production and character design, in fact, verges on the grotesque— every handmade set piece is sort of dark and grungy— but they’re so lovingly packed with details that every frame is wondrous to behold, even when what is occurring on screen is less than joyous. The character models boast strong silhouettes, and their environments— whether they be the cluttered interior of Grace’s guinea pig-populated home or the stark, almost expressionist furnishings of the courtroom of masturbator magistrate James (Eric Bana) or the peaceful corner of Pinky’s garden, which she hilariously names “Pinky’s Pity Pit”— feel lived in. The pride that shines through the words on the final card of the end credits, “This film was made by human beings,” is more than warranted.

Much of Elliot’s script is repetitive, in both its phrasing— like Grace’s near-constant verbalizing of how much she misses Gilbert— and form, and yet that’s sort of integral to the cyclical nature of his storytelling. Elliot based the story in part on his mother— a one-time hoarder, giving him a front row seat to witnessing the causes and effects of such behavior— and a friend who experienced similarly extreme ups and downs to Grace. That he’s in tune with the humanity of and empathy for his characters is apparent in how he always tempers the baddest bads with little flashes of goodness and simple pleasures (a new friend, a sweet memory, the fulfillment of a long-held promise, the repayment of a good deed), and a dose of mordant humor to boot. For Memoir of a Snail is as fiercely funny as it is intensely moving, and if its final twist feels unrealistically saccharine given what precedes it, well, sometimes life throws kind curveballs at you too. It is, at any rate, a nice a reward both for Grace and for the audience who has watched her life fall apart and be put back together again over the course of 95 minutes, in addition to a hopeful message about the ability to overcome hardships. You see, Grace isn’t only akin to a snail because she wears a silly hat, and because, like a snail tucking itself inside its shell, she retreats farther into herself when feeling the most scared and alone. Snails also only possess the ability to propel themselves forward; they can’t go backward. It’s a trait that’s in step with some of Pinky’s parting advice to Grace, a quote from philosopher Søren Kierkegaard: “Life can only be understood backwards, but we have to live it forwards.” Grace may have spent much of her life up to a point treading the same path over and over, but by the time Memoir of a Snail fades out, it’s clear that now, regardless of whatever failures or setbacks the future holds, she is only inching forward.

Memoir of a Snail is now playing in select theaters, and screens locally as part of the St. Louis International Film Festival on November 9. Runtime: 95 minutes. Rated R.