Moving ‘Snail’ leaves a trail of tears of joy, sadness
Nothing is off limits in animator Adam Elliot’s magnificent “Memoir of a Snail.” Nudists, adipophiliacs, swingers, arsonists, hoarders, evangelicals, masturbating magistrates … they’re all here in service of a poignant, offbeat tale of separated twins enduring their own versions of hell while clinging precariously to the wish that they’ll one day be reunited.
Yes, it’s bleak, often depressing, but as only Elliot can, his claymation opus is equally infused with satire, humor and an unyielding sense of hope. Even more, it’s wholly relatable for anyone who found childhood to be a cruel, torturous experience in which friends were scarce and esteem at a premium. Elliot seems to speak from first-hand knowledge in placing a mountain of misfortune before his heroine, Grace Pudel, a studious child who’s never been allotted a break.
Voiced by “Succession” Emmy-winner Sarah Snook, a now-grown Grace recounts her tale of woe to her pet snail, Sylvia (as in Plath), as she sits in the garden planted and nurtured by her only human friend, Pinky (Jacki Weaver), an elderly eccentric who just recently lost her battle to Alzheimer’s disease. It’s quite a story, too, filled with a series of devastating blows that leave Grace, once “a glass half full, silver-lining type,” languishing in a self-made prison surrounded by clutter and concealed behind vertical blinds that take on the shadowy appearance of steel bars.
It’s part and parcel of Elliot’s wonky world of clay, inhabited by off-kilter characters sporting spindly legs, oversized feet and disproportionately large heads. True to form, those noggins are distinguished by expressive eyes that often well with tears. That’s particularly true of Grace, who seems cursed from the beginning when her mother dies shortly after giving birth to her and her minutes-younger brother, Gilbert.
At least the twins still have their Parisian Dad (voice of Dominique Pinon), an aspiring animator who busks as a juggler to put food on the table. Or at least he did until he was run down by a drunk driver, rendering him a paraplegic heavily dependent on alcohol to ease his mental and physical pain. He eventually succumbs to his injuries, but not before instilling in his cherished children a love of family and classic novels.
Upon his death, child services – systematically and callously – separates the twins, displacing them at opposite ends of the Australian continent. Not only does Grace lose her brother, but she also loses her hero and protector from a pack of schoolyard bullies who mercilessly tease her about her cleft palate, dubbing her “rabbit face.” Her foster parents are nice enough, but not what you’d call present. They’re more interested in recreational pursuits involving key parties (it’s the 1970s) and nude cruises.
Life isn’t much better for Gilbert in his new family, a collection of religious zealots who run an apple orchard called the Garden of Eden, where he is subjected to forced labor and strict punishment for his “sins,” including taking away his matches. Could there be anything worse for a budding pyromaniac?
As you may gather, Elliot is no fan of authority and the oppression it inflicts upon a society already embittered by cynicism and distrust. And he’s not about to let them get away with it. Not while nonconformists like Grace and Gilbert are out there literally giving the finger to all who conspire to squelch their freedom of expression.
Some may regard “Memoir of a Snail” as bordering on liberal propaganda. That makes sense as seemingly those are the folks Elliot seeks to provoke with his lacerating gibes. And he pulls no punches, scoring points for his audacity and brilliance at calling out the factions who endeavor to mold the powerless into obedient lemmings. No one is spared Elliot’s piercing jabs, be it bureaucrats, perverts, or evangelicals, whom he blames most for our ills.
Elliot openly mocks the self-righteous and their rigid beliefs by portraying them as puritanical purveyors of fire and brimstone, reverently adhering to the proverb “spare the rod.” When Gilbert’s foster father, Owen, speaks of the Lord, all we hear is gibberish. And all we see is barbaric physical abuse, such as administering electric shocks to the bodies of those for whom they wish to pray away the gay. It’s conform or bust, which is in direct contrast to Gilbert’s belief that God’s creatures should be unconfined.
The lad (Kodi Smit-McPhee) hints at his plight in his frequent letters to Grace, who already has more than enough to be depressed about, living as she does in a cold, unwelcoming town where the insults and taunts have become so intolerable that she no longer leaves the house. It’s why she’s so attached to her pet snails and feels an affinity given their instinct to retreat into their shells when feeling threatened. Her affection grows so great that she becomes obsessed with buying, stealing and hoarding anything representative of them.
Her descent into near madness is wrenching, but also visually arresting. Like Elliot’s Oscar-winning short, “Harvie Krumpet,” the surreal claymation world that beats Grace down is one of loneliness, isolation and despair. Even her one chance at romance is shattered by yet another selfish human. Luckily, she encounters Pinky, who teaches her the meaning not just of friendship, but living. Her most profound philosophy, pinched from Kirkegaard, doubles as the film’s theme. And that is, “Life can only be understood backwards, but it must be lived forwards.”
Who among us doesn’t need to be reminded of that? Especially now, as Election Day fast approaches and we must choose between advancing into the future or being hopelessly mired in the past.
Movie review
Memoir of a Snail
Rated: Nudity, some violent content, sexual content
Cast: Voices of Sarah Snook, Jacki Weaver, Kodi Smit-McPhee, Eric Bana and Dominique Pinon
Director: Adam Elliot
Writer: Adam Elliot
Runtime: 94 minutes
Where: In theaters Oct. 25
Grade: A-
