Memoir of a Snail is the latest animated movie from Australian auteur Adam Elliot, who refers to his films as “clayographies,” a portmanteau combining clay and biographies.
It’s a fitting term for this affecting creation, in which inanimate, malleable materials come alive through very human storytelling. It’s a 94-minute, R-rated, literate, heart-tugging, pull-no-punches story that, while not suitable for children, will surely cause you to think back to your own childhood while you contemplate the movie’s key conundrum (inspired by Kierkegaard): “Life can only be understood backwards, but we have to live it forwards.”
This theme explains a lot about how this movie is structured, in that the majority of it consists of bittersweet memories—as the title suggests—relayed by a woman named Grace (voiced by Sarah Snook) who is not a snail but . . . you need to see the film to understand why you might mistake her for one.
Her tales are absorbing and often intense. While some of her family and friends may be a bit more eccentric than memorable people in your own life, Elliot’s deft handling of the details of Grace’s life will ring true to anyone who has suffered hardship, loneliness, longing, or the capriciousness of unstable circumstances.
Be prepared to enjoy this very human tale and—spoiler alert—its happy ending, but a true happy ending must be earned . . .”
While caught up in Grace’s anxiety and angst, her peculiarities and hopes, it’s hard not to marvel at how her emotional reactions (and yours) are created by a combination of clay, wire, paper, and paint mixed with human voices and music. Elliot, who in addition to his credits as writer and director is responsible for the truly marvelous production design, engaged one of Australia’s foremost contemporary composers, Elena Kats-Chernin, to provide the film’s symbiotic score.
In addition to Snook’s gifted voice work, other memorable portrayals are provided by Dominique Pinon, Magda Szubanski, Tony Armstrong, and especially Jacki Weaver, who brings vitality and humor to Grace’s indomitable friend Pinky, plucky and undaunted to the end.
Some of the movie’s settings are surprising and/or delightful . . . the streets of Paris where Grace’s parents meet . . . a miniature golf course designed by a character who is quite adept at the game . . . a nude cruise (a reminder that the film is indeed rated R). Observant audience members also will smile at many small touches—titles of the books Grace’s family reads, the license plate of a Greyhound bus, the photos on Grace’s walls.
While delightful at times, ‘Memoir of a Snail’ exhibits a gritty, gut-wrenching sensibility at other times . . .”
Memoir of a Snail took eight years to complete. Every prop, set, and character (some 7,000 of them) is an actual, miniature handcrafted object, and beginning with the film’s opening scene you have to admire the evident craftsmanship. That there are no computer-generated special effects in the film is amazing given that characters cry, candles are lit, cigars are smoked, and so on (fire is crumpled yellow and red cellophane, tears are glycerine, smoke is cotton wool, and raindrops are bubbles from bubblewrap, to share just a few of the animators’ secrets).
Award-makers have taken note of the film, with 2025 Golden Globe and Critics Choice nominations for best animated feature already announced. The Australian Academy of Cinema and Television Arts has nominated it for best film of the year.
While delightful at times, Memoir of a Snail exhibits a gritty, gut-wrenching sensibility, buffeting its audience between the ups and downs of Grace’s life. It is animated, not just in form but in the emotional highs and lows that knock Grace about in daily life. Be prepared to enjoy this very human tale and—spoiler alert—its happy ending, but a true happy ending must be earned, often with sacrifices and tears. But what would a memoir be without those?
Editor’s Note: Memoir of a Snail is now playing at The SLO Film Center at the Palm Theatre.