Review: Memoir of a Snail is triumphantly life-affirming even in its darkest moments

Since I started this blog, I've been thinking about how I got into animation to the degree that I am. Kind of as a "could this be a post?" thought exercise. But the truth is I don't really know. There's not a clear story to tell. It's certainly intensified in the past few years, probably due in part to the ease of seeing more diverse animation from around the world. That helps, obviously.

But if I look back, there are certain movies that are kind of benchmarks or tentpoles or whatever you want to call it, movies that helped shape my taste, not just in animation but in film in general. My love for film really took off in 2006, and in my college years in Columbus, Ohio, I suddenly had access to so many amazing movies on the big screen (Columbus has some really fantastic arthouse theaters). I was suddenly watching so much, and my taste was starting to form.

One of the movies that hit me like a lightning bolt back then was Adam Elliot's Mary and Max, which felt like nothing I had ever seen before. I loved the animation, the intense emotional story, the incredible voice performances. It was probably one of the first independent animated movies I had seen, and if I tried to write a history of my love for animation as a medium, it would be one of the marquee titles that really fostered my interest that has grown into a full-blown love. I'm so grateful for that movie. It's one that I would refer to as one of the "movies of my heart," which is, for me, the highest, most meaningful thing I can call a movie.

Fifteen years later, Adam Elliot is back with his second feature, Memoir of a Snail. It's perhaps unsurprising that it was my most anticipated movie of the year. If you've been following its festival journey and seeing its glowing reviews, it's also probably unsurprising that I absolutely loved it. But god, am I just glowing because Elliot has made another movie of my heart.

Much like Mary and Max, Memoir of a Snail doesn't shy away from the darkness. It plunges into the depths of the experience of being human, finding all the weird and ugly and difficult things that make us who we are. The relationships that don't work out the way we are, the families that are broken by choice or circumstance, the loneliness and fear that can feel impossible to shake, like they're facts of life rather than conditions that can (and hopefully do) pass. 

Grace Pudel (Sarah Snook) is an isolated hoarder whose life has been marked by so much tragedy, and so much loneliness. Born with a cleft palate, bullied mercilessly at school, orphaned at a young age and separated from her protective brother, her young life is marked by a seemingly endless parade of horrors. Yet when she looks back on her childhood, she recalls so many happy moments: a funny hair-do competition, a trip to a theme park, reading a good book in the comfort of the family living room. Everyday life moments that are so easy to miss, to forget, but that are so worthy of celebrating, sources of warmth and happiness that they are, both in the moment and in the rearview.

Grace fancies herself a snail (thus the title), and most of the film is her recalling her life story to one of her pet snails, Sylvia, as she releases her in the garden following the death of a friend. Grace is rarely seen without her knitted snail hat, made for her by her boundlessly creative father, and in moments of intense emotion, she sometimes imagines herself retreating into a shell, protecting herself from having to face yet another hardship. It's a defense mechanism that can serve her well, but it's also one of the cages she fashions herself as she becomes increasingly reclusive, hiding away from the world with her growing hoard of snail paraphernalia (paraphersnailia?). The world has so cruel to her, even though she's always sought to be kind to it -- why shouldn't she hide away?

The film gives us the answer: because of the good ones, who are worth finding and keeping close. Throw the rest away. Though the good ones in Grace's life are few and far between -- outside of her family, it's only really her elderly friend Pinky (a superb Jacki Weaver) -- she finds people who make her feel seen, who hold her hand in hard moments, who help her find meaning and comfort in a world that is so often senseless, confusing, and cruel. And she longs to be reunited with her twin brother, Gilbert (Kodi Smit-McPhee), who has been whisked away to the other side of the country, where he's adopted by a religious cult of a family that runs an apple orchard. Grace tells Sylvia that she and Gilbert share one heart, and more than that, they have matching scars, both physical and emotional. It's torturous to watch these two be kept apart, another unfair twist of fate in their lives.

But perhaps the most remarkable thing about Memoir of a Snail is how it manages to remain life-affirming, and oddly light, even as it navigates these dark and unpleasant themes and events. This is due in no small part to Snook's gorgeous performance. So much of the film is accompanied by her narration, which is so gentle and soothing even when describing scenes that are anything but. It helps, too, that Elliot is such a brilliantly funny and specific filmmaker, dropping in so many bizarre details, rendering wild violence with perfect comedic timing, and giving us a chance to laugh and sigh and relax when needed. He's a master of pace, of tone, and of humanity. Though this is a heavy watch, it's not a tough one.

The animation is perfectly suited to the story, too, with lots of great rough edges and imperfections, bringing these characters to life with so much quirk and grit and good-natured wrongness, it's just a blast to watch. The sheer number of little trinkets that had to be made for this is mind-blowing, and I love all the lumpy characters and freaky-cute animals. Pinky is probably the most fun to watch of all, baring all and tap-dancing and doing so many other things I won't spoil here. She really is such a special character, the one who sees Grace most clearly of all and gives her some much-needed guidance from beyond the grave.

Memoir of a Snail made me really happy for the weirdos, the gentle souls who don't allow themselves to be crushed by the weight of their difference or the meanness of the world. It made me grateful for the creatives who find a way to tell stories that don't fit neatly into a box but that benefit anyone who's lucky enough to hear them. And it made me consider the snail as a symbol of optimism, of progress, maybe even of hope. Maybe we can't live life looking backward, but I'll always look back on this movie as one that's deeply meaningful, deeply beautiful, and deeply dear to me. And I'll be happy to return to it again and again as I eagerly await Adam Elliot's next.