There’s something magical about stop motion animation. Hollywood’s era of ever-escalating CGI tricks is over, replaced by substandard digital slop, or worse, AI-generated horrors. But stop motion remains one of the few areas of film where the effort and time put into its creation are apparent and the end result is astounding. In that way, it’s the most human of cinematic styles, in that it requires great care and passion to even begin to think about attempting it. This makes it the perfect medium to tell such a life-affirming and soul-stirring story as Memoir of a Snail, the excellent latest film from Oscar-winning animator Adam Elliot (the 2003 animated short film Harvie Krumpet).
The titular snail isn’t actually a slimy gastropod, but a snail-obsessed woman named Grace Pudel (voiced with a low-key yet sympathetic honesty by Sarah Snook). The film is exactly what its name says – Grace goes through her life from the beginning (quite literally, as it shows how when Grace “left [her mother’s] womb, [her mother] entered her tomb”) to the present moment. And appropriately, she narrates the entire story to her favorite pet snail Sylvia. As can be expected by the quirky title and paradoxically charming-yet-grotesque animation style, her life has been an unusual one, full of idiosyncratic characters, odd circumstances, and endless hardship.
Grace is a self-professed weirdo, but she’s nothing compared to some of the characters that populate her life. They’re all designed with extreme creativity, some even pushing the limits of what an impressionistic animated human might look like. The film’s greatest character is Pinky, given thrilling vocal life by Jacki Weaver. She’s a fiery older woman who’s lived the kind of life that Grace – and certainly the audience – would love to have had. The highpoint of the film is an invigorating and hilarious montage showing the highlights of her extraordinary life, playing like a condensed and more humane Forrest Gump. She’s the personification of the film’s thematic purpose – that an exciting life full of adventure is exactly what we should all be pursuing.
If that all sounds rather impenetrably existential, don’t worry. Memoir of a Snail is undoubtedly a comedy; even some of the more grim subplots (which include arson, dishonest lovers, and constant death) have an air of casually tossed-off hilarity. In fact, some moments have such a glib energy that, given the weight of what they’re depicting, the film almost comes across as cynical. But given that this is a story told entirely through the worldview of one person to whom life has been repeatedly unkind, this tone makes sense and ultimately resolves to something quite moving by the end. And the expertly crafted sets and characters feature tons of visual gags, some of which aren’t even pointedly highlighted, serving as a little treat for the viewers who are able to catch them.
Every element of Memoir of a Snail was built by hand. Astonishingly, no CGI was used to accentuate or animate any part of it. It’s a consistently impressive wonder to behold, and even though much of the world of Memoir of a Snail is decidedly gray, none of it ever becomes visually monotonous. And the very nature of the art of stop motion underscores the entire film with a profound sense of humanity. It’s impossible to not constantly think of the numerous working hours and incalculable human care that went into the making of the film, which only makes its themes of the importance of love and the everyday triumph of humanity all the more profound.
Memoir of a Snail is a humorously grim and emotionally resonant ode to living a life of worthwhile forward momentum. Anyone who watches it will come away with a sense of renewed joy for life and a reinvigorated drive to fill their lives with wonder. After all, if a lowly snail can find happiness in its comparatively short lifespan, why can’t we?
Grade: A-
This review is from the 2024 Chicago International Film. IFC Films will release Memoir of a Snail in theaters on October 25 in limited release, expanding in November.
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