I watched Memoir of a Snail and I really liked it! 4/5
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Coming into Memoir of a Snail, I had no prior experience with Adam Elliot’s work. I knew his films were stop-motion and often carried a blend of humor and heartbreak, but that was about it. So, without any nostalgia or expectations weighing on me, I went in fresh—and what I found was an oddly beautiful, deeply melancholic, and surprisingly funny film that left a real impact.
This isn’t your typical animated movie. Memoir of a Snail isn’t for kids (despite its deceptively cute name), and it doesn’t operate on the same hyper-polished, high-energy wavelength as most mainstream animated films. Instead, it’s a slow-burn, character-driven story about loneliness, trauma, and the struggle to find connection in a world that often feels indifferent. And somehow, through all the bleakness, it’s also incredibly human and hopeful.
A Life in Snail’s Pace
The story follows Grace Pudel (voiced by Sarah Snook), a lonely misfit in 1970s Australia who grows up collecting snails—a quirky hobby that quickly spirals into a full-blown obsession as she struggles to find stability. Her life is a series of misfortunes, from losing her father and being separated from her twin brother Gilbert (Kodi Smit-McPhee), to enduring neglectful foster parents, a toxic relationship, and deep-seated hoarding tendencies. If that sounds bleak, well… it is. But Memoir of a Snail never wallows in misery for the sake of it. Instead, it finds humor in the absurdity of life’s tragedies, much like its protagonist.
The film has a dark sense of humor, but it’s never cruel. Grace’s misfortunes are presented with a mix of deadpan narration and surreal details that make them feel both tragic and ridiculous at the same time. The way the film handles grief, mental illness, and self-destruction is raw and honest, but it’s also laced with moments of unexpected warmth—largely thanks to Grace’s eccentric but loving foster mother, Pinky (Jacki Weaver). Pinky is the kind of character you don’t realize you need until she arrives, a woman who has suffered her own fair share of losses but still finds reasons to smile. Her relationship with Grace is easily one of the most touching parts of the film.
Then there’s Gilbert’s side of the story, which is arguably even more heartbreaking. Separated from Grace as a child, he’s raised by an abusive religious foster family, forced to hide his sexuality, and subjected to horrific conversion therapy. His journey is one of survival, and the emotional weight of his story looms over Grace’s life even when he’s not on screen. Their eventual reunion could have felt too convenient or sentimental, but the film earns that moment, making it an incredibly cathartic and well-deserved conclusion.
A World of Imperfections
The animation in Memoir of a Snail is stunning in its own deliberately unstunning way. Unlike the clean, polished stop-motion of a studio like Laika (Coraline, Kubo and the Two Strings), Elliot’s animation has a rough, handmade quality to it. The characters have exaggerated features, imperfect textures, and a tactile, almost grimy feel that fits perfectly with the film’s themes. Every frame looks like it was crafted with care, and there’s a unique charm in the way the characters move—slightly stiff, slightly awkward, but completely expressive.
The film also makes excellent use of color and lighting. The world around Grace often feels dull and muted, reflecting her loneliness and depression. But whenever she finds moments of happiness—whether through Pinky’s eccentric antics or in childhood memories with Gilbert—the colors become richer, warmer. It’s a subtle but effective visual storytelling technique.
A Snail’s Journey to Self-Acceptance
If I had any complaints about the film, it would be that Memoir of a Snail sometimes leans a little too hard into its cycle of tragedy. Just when you think Grace has hit rock bottom, the film finds another way to pull the floor out from under her. While that approach makes her eventual growth and healing feel more powerful, there were moments when I found myself thinking, Okay, can we give her a break for like five minutes?
Additionally, Grace’s relationship with Ken (Tony Armstrong), her manipulative husband, feels a bit rushed. While the reveal that he was deliberately feeding her to fulfill a fetish is disturbing and adds to Grace’s downward spiral, their relationship isn’t given enough time to develop before it implodes. As a result, it feels more like another tragedy on the pile rather than a fully fleshed-out subplot.
But despite those minor complaints, the film sticks the landing. Grace’s final arc—letting go of her past, embracing her future, and finally reuniting with Gilbert—feels earned and emotionally satisfying. And that last sequence, where they fulfill their father’s wish of scattering his ashes on a rollercoaster? Pure, bittersweet perfection.
Final Thoughts
Memoir of a Snail is a beautifully strange, deeply moving film that blends heartbreak and humor in a way that feels completely honest. It’s not an easy watch—there’s a lot of pain in this story—but it never feels hopeless. In fact, by the time the credits roll, you realize that it’s actually a story about resilience, about finding light even in the darkest corners of life.
As someone who had never seen an Adam Elliot film before, I was completely taken by the way he tells a story. His approach to animation, his offbeat humor, and his ability to find warmth in tragedy make Memoir of a Snail feel unlike anything else out there. If this is what his work is like, I can absolutely see why he’s so beloved.
This one might not be for everyone—it’s slow, dark, and emotionally heavy—but if you’re willing to sit with its sadness, you’ll find a film that’s both beautifully crafted and deeply affecting. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll never look at snails the same way again.