Adam Elliot (above) can count himself as one of the rare successes of current Australian filmmaking. He looks with gratitude to the county's subsidised system. Getting Harvey Crumpet's Oscar didn't do any harm either. Stepping back from the big bucks of U.S. filmmaking has been added to his painstaking 3D stop motion methods. His animators can average ten seconds a day. One model maker spent near a week gumming in the wire whiskers of the bearded puppet character. This all means Elliot's work comes out widely enough spaced for us to forget about him in between them. It's been five years since his Mary and Max.
Elliot's new film Memoir of a Snail moves away from that one's international model – no U.S. setting, no Hollywood actors. This one embeds itself in the Australia ugly – a protagonist with a cleft palette ridiculed by schoolmates until her protective pyromaniac brother sorts them out. "Childhood is like being drunk: everyone remembers what you did, except you." Separated after the death of their wannabe fire eater parents, young Grace Pudle (Grace Poole?) is raised by a swinger couple, who retire to a Scandinavian nudist colony, while brother Gilbert passes into the care of a rural Christian order, who treat him with gum-on magnets as part of electric shock aversion therapy - till he burns down their church.
Meanwhile, in the awfulness of suburban Canberra, Grace (below), surrounded by her clutter of snail memorabilia, falls for the lure of a pipe cleaner mustache lothario neighbor who offers to leaf blow her lawn. Rendered impotent by his career repairing microwave ovens, he proves to see her as an outlet for his fat fetish. We get an extra helping of cartoon nudity including another of Elliot's bum crack jokes.
With its muted colours and littered art direction, where contributors were encouraged to make their output more ugly, we can't help wondering whether a film which is so intent on rubbing our noses in it ("masturbation is the thief of time") is going to find a place in a market that treasures Frozen 2.
Memoirs of a Snail is determinedly Australian, littering its frames with references that even locals may have forgotten. Bulging red frankfurters in tomato sauce, Clag glue & Chico Rolls get a curtain call in Melanie Etchells' end credit roll. Dumpy Grace, echoing Elliot's mother's hoarder habits ("I'd never want to offend anyone"), rounds off a line of Australian grotesques that runs through The Sentimental Bloke, Dad & Dave, Alvin Purple, Kenny – and Fred Negro. Where are those resourceful comics of other film industries - Chaplin & Buster, Bob Hope & Adam Sandler? Hoges is all alone here.
Voice casting presented a challenge. Jackie Weaver as a wrinkly chum and Eric Bana doing a legal lion with a thorn in its paw were more than equal to their tasks and brought some international recognition but the local celebrity female stars were a dodgy match with Grace until Elliot was able to get back to casting his Melbourne neighbours after Sara Snook, an early choice, achieved status with the Succession series. Avoiding a funny voice for the lead doing a monologue commentary to an autographed garden pest, is another one of the risky choices. So far everyone seems to accept it.
The endearing Adam Elliot is an authentic one off. ("I always start my film with a sense of anger") Watching how he fares in a film climate that doesn't have a good record with unique personalities will be more than instructive.
It's just a pity they had to prop up his personal appearances handing out those soggy snail buns.
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