Movie Review: Memoir of a Snail

 Movie number 36 of 2024

The Movie: Memoir of a Snail

The Cinema: The Deckchair Cinema, Darwin

Stars: 4

In limited release in most arthouse cinemas. 

The Deckchair Cinema is going into its wet season hiatus next week and I was relishing the chance to go back there one last time. As my contract is up at the end of March, and the "Deckie" as it's fondly known won't be coming back until April, this may have been my last chance to get to one of my favourite bits of Darwin. I love traipsing down the hill, and having the movie start as the sun sets behind the trees, and the smell of the home-grown bug repellent that feels like you're plastering yourself with olive oil and watching the geckos run across the screen and the bats fly into the trees. It's a quintessential part of Darwin that I'll never forget. 

Tonight, a group of new friends, in that they're not in my team and I've befriended them over the last few months, we wended our way down the hill and sundown, we met another there, dinner was had, and a beer, and we settled in to watch Memoir of a Snail. 

Never heard of it? I'm telling you about it now. I've long been a fan of Adam Elliot. I loved Max and Mary and Harvey Crumpet. This is just as good. 

Rotten Tomatoes gives synopsis of the film as such:

"In 1970s Australia, Grace's life is troubled by misfortune and loss. After their mother dies during pregnancy, she and her twin brother, Gilbert, are raised by their paraplegic-alcoholic former juggler father, Percy. Despite a life filled with love, tragedy strikes anew when Percy passes away in his sleep. The siblings are forcibly separated and thrust into separate homes. Gilbert finds himself in the care of a cruel evangelical family, while Grace, grappling with intense loneliness, gradually withdraws into her shell, much like the snails she adopts. As the years pass, and despite new disappointments and sorrows, a glimmer of hope emerges when she strikes up an enduring friendship with an elderly eccentric woman called Pinky."

To break this down further, Grace Pudel has a tough life, but she makes the most of it. The film follows her story as she tries to find a community, although life brings her some pretty hard knocks. 

It is absolutely marvelous. 

The film is only 90 minutes long, but it packs a punch. It is also VERY Australian and plays to the Australian sense of humour. Going to see the film with a bunch of Gen-Xers we probably picked up a lot more of the in jokes that a more diverse audience might miss. 

Voiced by some great Australian talent, with Sarah Snook as Grace and Jacqui Weaver as the wonderful Pinky, this was a joy. 

Hands down, the best thing about this is the stop-motion animation. Adam Elliot, the writer, director and cinematographer, is a genius. The details are so well defined. This only just trumps the pathos that lines the film, along with it's quirky sense of humour. 

And yes, this film looks at some pretty big themes, including isolation, loneliness, othering and the Child Services, it also has some great laughs. Heartfelt belly laughs. 

This is what Adam Elliot does best. 

This film should be getting more attention that it's currently receiving. 

It is wonderful. So, if this was the last time I get to the Deckchair Cinema, I went out with a bang. 

Today's song:

And the thunder came

 Chicken tonics and thunderstorms. You can't beat them. 

(Chicken tonics is not a typo from me dictating into the phone - but it was last night, and I quite like it.)

Tonight was a good night. 

After work, I went to the Silent Book Group - which had me reading my book while sipping on a drink and eating sweet potato chips. This was all fantastic with the exception of the book. At the end of our silent reading in this bar off Cavenagh Street, the group talk about their books. My comment about my book was that I wanted to throw the book against the wall and pick it up when I next cleaned and if it wasn't for the fact that this was a book group book, I'd have abandoned it 100 pages before. (The book is Zadie Smith's The Fraud. Sorry, Zadie, I don't rate it at all - too convoluted.)

After we wrapped up, I went for a drink with the colleague who introduced me to this fine institution

At 8.30 I was summoned by another colleague.

The message read, "Debrief. Pool. Now."

Which is what we do up here - meet for a chat in the pool in the evening when the kids are gone. 

I bid farewell to my mate, ran home, changed, shoved on a load of washing, then went down to the pool, only to find my colleague coming out, a storm brewing and deckchairs flying around the pool deck."

"Umm, it's a bit dangerous here," they said.

"I can see that."

"Pity."

Lightning lit up the sky, 

We had to pivot.

"I have gin. Fancy a gin and tonic and watching the storms from the 18th floor."

"Sounds like a plan."

And for the next hour we got to chew the fat while drinking gin and lemonade (ran out of tonic) while watching the best Darwin could bring.

For every showing of fork lightning, we cheered. We marveled at how Darwin Harbour lit up as the sheet lightning enveloped the sky. 

And though we didn't get any exercise in, I couldn't think of a better thing to do. 

Today's song:

 

Prompt Card - Death is the sound of distant thunder

Before I came up to Darwin, I took a photo of a couple of prompt cards from Catherine Deveny's prompt set, knowing that there would be a few days where I had no inspriation. 

Today was one of those days.

My card today read:

“Death is the sound of distant thunder at a picnic.” WH Auden.  Discuss. 

I look back at the night as one of our best.  A near perfect night, one which will not be forgotten. It was always the three off us. A triumvirate of oddities. A whip smart Asian and two care-worn Gen-Xers, clinging to our youth with the tenacity of a barnacle. We’d bonded over music, a sense of the absurd and workplace politics which were far from ideal.

We’d met up this evening for dinner at our Darwin-based colleagues place in one of the inner suburbs. What we found on that night was his home patch, surprised and bemused me in equal measure. Despite his scruffy exterior, our colleague was extremely tidy. He said an ex-partner had beaten it into him. We compared notes. As a neurodiverse woman living alone, I’m on the other end of the spectrum – clean, but terribly untidy.

Our dinner was held out on the balcony. He had planned to cook for us, and had steaks in the fridge, but he had hosted a dinner party in the days before, there was plenty of biscuits and pate and cheese to eat. Paired with a couple of gin and tonics, it was about as perfect to me as we could have.

We spent the night laughing and talking about nothing much in particular. We kept the music down low, just loud enough to tune into to argue the semantics of which band was better, who did it better and the best concert.

Over the hills, there were thunderstorms. Distant thunder. Dry storms in which didn’t seem to be any rain, well at least not from where we were sitting.

The light show was incredible.

But it was the thunder that remains with me. The storms were far enough to away that the rumbles were comforting rather than scary. Omniscient, omnipotent power, but a power that would cause no harm.

We watched the storms for a couple of hours, grateful to be able to witness such splendor. Indeed, we were grateful for each other’s company. It really was a perfect night.

That was six months ago.

My friend who hosted us passed away in July.

I don’t like to think that those storms were a portent to his demise. I don’t think the storms were a warning for anything. They were just a display of the greatness that is the world and incredible beauty of the Top End in the wet season.

The thing about distant thunder is that you never know if the storm is coming your way. It’s all about the potential, and the power contained by nature.

In many ways, the thunder provides the knowledge that we are such a small part of this enormous world.

And just like when I see a butterfly I think of my niece who passed away eight years ago, I think now, when I hear the sound of thunder, I will think of my friend, and the bond we shared, and the simple things can be so life-enriching. The simple act of eating and drinking and sharing stories and the lightning and thunder tore through the sky on a humid night in the Darwin inner suburbs. It's an evening I will always cherish. 

Today's song:

Fire Drill

It would not be a trip to Darwin without the ringing of the fire alarm. It happens at least once a trip, and it always happens at the most inconvenient out of times. Today I had just removed my bra. Other times I’ve been in the shower, or just on my way to falling asleep.

One great thing about the fire alarm is it in all of my time coming up here? I’ve never been evacuated. Some of my colleagues have. 

Other than tonight, when the alarm woke me up, I was half scared that there would be an evacuation. The thought of walking down 18 flights of stairs in 30° heat doesn’t sound like fun. Yes, I'm on the 18th floor. In this weather, the stairwell would be excruciatingly, horribly hot. Well, without a bra, in my pyjamas, trip down would be even worse.

Normally, the fire alarm is set off by somebody shower or a toaster that’s going a bit too far.

As I said, it happens at least one a trip. 

Then there's the thought of when you're finally downstairs, you're standing around in the University quadrangle at the end of the street, in your pyjamas, only to wait another half an hour to get back in the building. 

Regardless, it's all a bit discombobulating these loud noises which wake you up, warning you that you that you might have to make a tit out of yourself. 

Or maybe is just me exhausted and in need of a bit more sleep/ 

Today's song:

Back to Darwin

 My flat is not the same without Lucifer. There's nobody pawing at my leg demanding treats, or wanting a cuddle. He was taken to his uncle and auntie's place last night where he will lord it over them for the next week. 

I'm trying to pack a bit lighter. 

I'm there until Saturday. 

Four linen dresses. 

Two pairs of linen trousers.

Two t-shirts.

Two spare bras.

Play clothes for after work. 

Shorty pyjamas. 

Four pairs of knickers. 

Bathers.

Sarong.

Running shoes. 

Birkenstocks. 

Washing powder and fabric softener for one load. 

Then there's the toiletry bag, the travel electric toothbrush, some makeup and medication for the week. 

All in the bag. 

I don't need to take a spare book - I've only just finished the one I'm reading and started reading this month's book group book today. I hope to be more than halfway through this one by the time I get back next Saturday. 

Spare glasses and sunglasses. 

Protein powder for breakfast for a week. No point buying it up there as I have more than enough for a week here. 

Various charging cables.

My bluetooth keyboard. 

My knitting. 

I think that's it. And yes, this is my laundry list for packing. Thinks like my headphones, mints, wallet, phone and lipstick are all in my banana bag. 

The work computer, book and peripherals are in the backpack. 

Yeah, I've done this a few times before. 

I'm ready. 

Today's song: 

Sunday Stealing: Some Strangely Personal Questions

 I'm just back from dinner at Jonella and Stav's place, and it was a lovely, easy dinner which has left me replete. I am now home, missing my cat, who's happily ensconced down with his favourite cat sitters down near where Jonella lives. My place feels empty. It feels a bit tragic. 

I will power through with this week's questions, which have been provided, as always, by Bev at Sunday Stealing. 

Hobbies I've learned from a friend.

This is a strange one, but I took up running at the age of 40, and I have my friend Reindert to thank for that. Reindert is an ultra-marathon runner. I can run 100 miles in a day. I used to be able to do nothing like that, but in my time, I could run a half marathon in under two and a half hours, which if you knew me, you'd work out this was a bit of a miracle. I don't run anymore - too hard on the joints, but I miss it. 

My physical activity preferences.

I'm in the gym about three times a week and I love this. I also enjoy walking as much as I can, at least an hour at a time a few times a week. When I'm in Darwin, I swim daily. I'd swim more if I could make myself get up earlier, but it's such a palaver swimming, going to the pool, having to get dry, get home, get the chlorine out of your hair. I still love it.  

Music I think is essential for everyone to hear.

To get into the psyche and sense of humour of Australian, everybody should be introduced to The Angels singing Am I Ever Going to See Your Face Again, and see what we do with the chorus. 

The same goes for Smokie, with Living Next Door to Alice. You can't play this in any form without this happening:

And no wedding is complete without Tina Turner playing Nutbush City Limits. It's an Australian thing. Some have called it the Australian Macarana. EVERYBODY will get up when this is played at a wedding. 

Something I have to relearn every time I do it.

There are a few things in various computer programs I have to learn again and again. Confluence and Jira are the bane of my life and I'm forever going online to relearn stupid elements. Thankfully I pick up things pretty quickly. 

When I start thinking about holiday season planning.

Oh, is Christmas coming. As my family aren't big into Christmas, my mind turns to how I am going to get the cat into the back of the car and drive ten hours to Victor Harbor in South Australia to my parents' new house. 

Quirks & preferences I have about writing letters.

I can't remember the last time I wrote a letter on paper - though I do send post cards. 

Generally, I email when I want to put pen to paper to a friend. 

If I had to limit my reading to only 3 genres, I’d pick...

• Literary fiction - unlimited fodder here.
• Decent chick lit
• And well-written young adult fiction (think The Hunger Games, still one of the best young adult novels I've ever read). 

When joining teams, would I rather lead or follow.

I don't mind doing either. I can follow, especially if I feel out of my depth, but as a Leo, I'm quite happy to lead too. 

What’s my dream concert, and who would be performing?

I would see David Byrne, with or without Talking Heads, any minute of any day. He's spectacular. 

I'm seeing The Pixies, who are supporting Pearl Jam in a few weeks' time here in Melbourne. I love The Pixies, but they are just trumped by David Byrne. 

The funniest, weirdest, silliest, animal/pet I’ve ever met?

My sister has had some funny animals in her time. Bozley the Golden Retriever used to dig me out of bed when I stayed with them. He mellowed out about five-years-old, but before than he was a terror. 

She's also had some strange cats. Maggie used to love sitting on pelmets, watching the world go by from the top of the curtains. That was her spot. Sweet cat who met an untimely end. Cats have little road sense. 

How has love changed for me over the years.

It's a lot mellower and nowhere near as fraught as it was in my younger days. 

A book, movie, or song that brings me a sense of peace.

I'll answer all three. 

Song: Reckless by Australian Crawl. I think it's the slow beat. I have a lot of history with this song. 

Book: Captain Corelli's Mandolin by Louis de Bernieres. It's an old friend. 

Film: Lost in Translation (2003). It speaks to me like no other film.     

Names I like but wouldn’t suit me.

Okay, I don't love my actual name, but it does suit me. 

I write under Pandora Behr - and I don't mind Pandora as a girl's name. 

I also write under Trellawney Thom. I like how Trellawney is so unexpected. It also plays to my Cornish roots. 

I love Irish names. A friend of mine recently amended her name, going from the 1960s standard middle name of Jane, to putting Seraphina Maeve in as her middle name. It really suits her. 

If I were to amend my middle names I've probably throw in a Freya 

I love the names Saoirse, Aoife and Roisin, but none of them would suit me. Being of Cornish descent, I'd be more a Tamsin, Morwen or Arwen. 

What’s a part of myself I’m still working to understand?

I'm getting to grips that I'm neurodiverse - and about to get a diagnosis for ADHD. It's something that's a blessing and a curse, but I'm learning more and more about it as well as tactics to manage the challenges it provides. 

Something I love about myself today.

I've managed to get through the day without eating anything with processed sugar. 

And I finished a great book. (Blue Sisters by Coco Mellors). Now to start to book group book for the month. 

Today's song: 

The Best Room

I didn't get far today. Just down to the local coffee shop and back again. It's been head down, bum up with work, then a bit of a read, and a bit of dinner, and a bit of telly and now it's eleven 'o' clock and I've got nothing to write about. So, I've cracked open the new Catherine Deveny Writing Prompt Cards. I've gone for the less risqué box for something to write about tonight. 

I've gone for something rather benign tonight. The card reads: 

"The best room in the world. Is this somewhere you know? Have you been there? Are you imagining it? Share why it's the best."

My best room is large. Large and wood paneled, and at least one wall is floor to ceiling bookshelves which are stuffed with all sorts of book. They books are loosely sorted into genres. There's the kids book section, where you'll find battered copies of Harry Potter, Lemony Snicket, Artemis Fowl and Philip Pullman. There's shelves of Shakespeare and Shakespeare-adjacent books, and a section of non-fiction to one side, which some might find surprising. The rest of the books are general fiction, and mainly paperbacks. There's a ladder on wheels which can reach all of the high up shelves. I love that the dark wood makes the room smell like an old library. You can imagine this room being used by scholars and writers of all kinds. 

There's a big bay window which looks out over the sea, where one can sit on the window ledges, which have inbuild storage, and cushions on top, so you can not only read in the window, but ponder the sea for hours at a time.

Off to one side is a large chaise lounge, upholstered in a rich brown leather, a lot like my current Hemingway chair (which is also my cat's current throne) Soft blankets on rich tones hang over the arms as well, next to a couple more overstuffed cushions). This is the most perfect place to read. 

Against a wall, not too far from the large fireplace, is a large wooden desk, with a battered leather top, which has meaningful, sporadic piles of papers, books and notepads. A laptop sits in the middle of the desk, with a large water bottle and a number of coffee cups, resting on notepads. There is no such thing as a coaster in this room. That's what notepads are for. 

A large black cat slinks around the room, trying to decide what surface to sleep on. The windowsill? The chair? The end of the desk? Or in the cat bed which he has commandeered the space on a sunny shelf near the window, where the afternoon sun hits just right. He likes the shelf. It keeps him out of the eyeline of the Bernese Mountain Dog asleep on the large, colourful rag rug, which protects the floorboards. 

A crystal pendulum hangs from the curtain rails sending light around the room. A lit candle diffuses the scent of sandalwood, amber and vetiver around the space. It's an earthy scent, very much in keeping with the room and its owner. 

Although this is an imaginary space, it is very much my most perfect room, as it is near the sea - not the bay with its limited tides, but near a changeling ocean, which ebbs and flows with the moon and isobars, fickle in its placidity or ferocity, depending on its mood. There is a path which leads to the sea, which is used daily. 

Although this place is imaginary, I like to think that one day I would own such a space.

And if not this, then my second most favourite room is at L'Hotel des Oranges in Sommiere, which is as close to heaven as I have ever been. This is the view from the bathroom. 

Today's song: