In Adam Elliot’s second feature film, Memoir of a Snail, a young woman, saddened by the death of her only friend, tells her tragic life story to her pet snail. It is a sorrowful tale, full of loss, alienation and abuse, though once put through the filter of wry, Australian absurdist humour, the product is surprisingly heartfelt and poignant.
A director working entirely within the medium of claymation, Elliot certainly has a signature style, be it the grotesque-charm of his character designs, or a colour palette comprised solely of bleak blacks, greys and beige. It’s an aesthetic that surely owes a debt to the sombre yet playful illustrations of Edward Gorey and the coming-of-age films of Henry Selick. But where Gorey and Selick’s work utilises the macabre to guide children into adulthood, Elliot’s films are aimed at an older audience. Memoir of a Snail contends with mature themes such as depression, alcoholism, the oppressive nature of religious fundamentalism, to name just a few, but it does so with an often sweet touch – a drunk and unconscious homeless man is decorated in fairy lights on Christmas Day, because “everybody deserves to feel festive cheer”. There is also a frequent injection of whimsical sauciness, with characters joyfully declaring themselves swingers, or detailing thrilling trists with country singer John Denver mid-helicopter ride. Memoir of a Snail perhaps sets the record for most plasticine breasts committed to film.
The device of having the entire story told via voice-over narration can be a tad tiring – there is minimal dialogue exchanged between characters – but that can be forgiven when one realises this is largely due to budgetary limitations. It is much more time-consuming, and therefore more expensive, to animate and sync dialogue to the characters’ lips. Seeing that the film already took a painstaking eight years to complete, this was a wise and tactical decision. There is an endearing naivety to the construction of the clay models, with the likes of visible fingerprints and beard stubble clearly created with cocktail sticks, that it’s easy to imagine Elliot crafting the film all alone in his bedroom, adjusting plasticine limbs a fraction at a time. But that is not to say the artistry is not of the highest order. There is a treasure trove of detail and in-jokes to be enjoyed within the miniature sets, from the silly poses in photographs on the walls, to the pun-filled titles of books on the shelves, to the gingerbread women enhanced with (what else?) little ginger-breasts. The visual fun to be had here is reason enough for repeated viewings, but it is Elliot’s dark sense of humour, flawed-but-loveable characters and bittersweet storytelling that will remain long in the memory.
Memoir of a Snail is screening from Friday 21st – Wednesday 26th February
Reviewed by Matthew Onuki Luke
