How would you expect to feel after listening to a snail’s memoirs? Tired? Weird? Deeply, deeply uncomfortable? Well, Adam Elliot’s Memoir of a Snail captures these feelings perfectly. However, one feeling you might not expect is an overwhelming sense of despair. Consider this your warning.

Set against the backdrop of 1970s Melbourne, Memoir of a Snail follows the life of Grace Pudel (voiced by Sarah Snook), who addresses yet another loss in her life by recounting her past to an unfortunate snail doomed by proximity. Recalling a life of undeniable trauma and pain, Grace takes her childhood pet, Sylvia the snail (named for her mum’s favourite author, Sylvia Plath—which really tells you all you need to know), through her complicated past. Over the course of the film, Grace recounts her life all the way from her difficult childhood, marked by molluscs, grief, and the cruel separation from her twin brother and only friend, Gilbert (Kodi Smit-McPhee), to her adult years, filled with loneliness, fire, and even more molluscs. Despite occasional moments of whimsy and humour, Grace’s life is largely dominated by the kind of unbelievable despair that can only be depicted through animation. In fact, the only thing crueler than the life she’s led would be forcing a poor, defenceless snail to listen to it.

The storytelling is incredibly engaging in a melancholic and grim kind of way. The overwhelmingly tragic narrative relies on stellar voice acting, absurdist humour, and a sprinkling of dad jokes to keep the audience from giving up on life completely. Integral to the story’s success is the charm of its central characters. Both Grace and Gilbert are unique and innocent in a way that has you rooting for them, even as the storyline refuses to allow a single moment of relief. The voice actors tend to their characters with a warmth and dignity that makes it believable that someone could go through all this and still remain relatively stable. Perhaps most integral to the story is the eccentric Pinky (voiced by Jacki Weaver), Grace’s spunky geriatric friend, who provides the film with its fleeting moments of humour and joy. She helps drive home an overall message of hope and perseverance —one that struggles to break through the non-stop heartbreak that fuels the plot.

Perhaps even more important than the storytelling is the film’s aesthetic. It’s no surprise that a film which took over seven years to make depends heavily on its design. The dedication of the filmmakers shines through as the expertly crafted stop-motion animation dares to ask the question: what if Wallace & Gromit was the bleakest thing you’d ever watched? The slow, eerie movements of the characters, combined with their overall uncanny design — human enough to recognize, but just off enough to unsettle you — help create that feeling of unease and despair that permeates throughout. Yet, against it all, the design manages to throw in small, throwaway details – such as soothing book titles and friendly snails – that help you cling to hope despite everything you’ve seen.

Memoir of a Snail is a film appropriately odd and slow in its delivery. The story and style never allow you to feel truly relaxed or comfortable while watching, but this, in turn, helps you process and empathise with the difficult themes being addressed. It’s impossible to leave the film remotely hydrated, but if you can endure it, you might just come away with a slightly tougher shell.

In selected cinemas now