“Mary and Max” director Adam Elliot‘s latest feature “Memoir of a Snail” enjoyed a brilliant 2024 festival run and has been omnipresent during this year’s awards season.
The charming stop-motion feature tells the story of Grace, a melancholic woman with a cleft palate who hoards anything related to snails and dreams about reuniting with her brother, who was sent to a foster family on the other side of Australia when they were children after their father’s untimely death.
Elliot recently caught up with Variety to discuss his meticulous development and production processes, using his own lived experiences to craft a story and how embracing a physiological tremor helped create his signature aesthetic.
After a hugely successful festival run this year, you’re now trekking across the globe, promoting the film for awards season. How important is it for independent filmmakers to continue supporting their films, even after they’ve been released?
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Having made films for 28 years, I’ve learned a lot: what to do and what not to do. I see this part of the process as vital. There is no point in just making a film and hoping it sells itself. We have to be the face of the film, particularly if you’re an auteur like myself. There are parts of it I enjoy and parts I don’t. But it’s all part of the reality of this job. From my perspective, awards and nominations are like a nice bottle of wine. They make you feel good, but the next day, you’ve gotta get on with it. I love the expression, “You’re only as good as your last film,” so I’m always focused on getting the next film up and running, which awards nominations can help you do. An Oscar or Golden Globe nomination can open doors to other opportunities and catch the eye of investors or partners.
When I started doing this 28 years ago, I probably got more caught up in the awards part of the job and would get really disappointed when I didn’t win. Now, I understand you win some you lose some. It really is always about the next film. In fact, right after the Golden Globes on Sunday, we went straight to my agents at UTA to talk about what’s next. I will admit that I am a bit frustrated at how long it all takes. There is a team of artists back in Australia who are depending on me to get another project up as soon as possible, and this prevents me from doing that.
How long did it take you to make “Memoir of a Snail”? Can you talk a bit about that next project?
The first thing I always say to people who want to work with me is, “Don’t hold your breath,” because stop-motion is a slow art-form, but it’s actually even slower to get a project financed. Sadly, there was a gap between “Mary and Max” and this film of 15 years because life got in the way. I’m hoping that my next project will be faster. It already feels much faster and the process is moving more quickly than the previous one. The industry has also changed. Independent animation is more visible and accessible, and there is more interest in it. Awards like the Globes and the Oscars are starting to further validate that attention. We’ve always been there, of course, but now we’re more visible than we once were. Anyway, I’m hoping it will only be three to five years for the next one. I mean, I’m 53 years old now; I’ve probably only got a few films left. My films are typically quite quick to make though, once they get financed.
Can you talk me through your development and production processes? How much of the work do you handle on your own, and what gets delegated out to others?
I’ve never been diagnosed, but I think I’m on the OCD spectrum. I’m exceedingly neat and organized and I do everything for my films in a linear, chronological fashion. I’m not good at multitasking, so I go from screenplay to storyboard, drawing the whole thing myself; I don’t collaborate with anyone. Then I do the animatic. After that, I work on production design, which is the part I’m absolutely obsessed with. I draw every single character, every single prop, every single background, and then I hand the artists these pieces of paper with the production design for what I need. My DNA is on everything. I’m a control freak.
It’s taken me decades to find and develop my particular aesthetic, and I’m really proud and protective of that. It’s hard to come up with a look that’s original and unique. I call my aesthetic “chunky wonky,” which means every single character, set and prop is slightly asymmetrical, a bit rough around the edges. It comes from a physiological tremor I inherited from my mother, which she got from her father. It means I shake a bit. When I was young, I was really frustrated by that, that I couldn’t draw a straight line. I was embarrassed, I suppose, at times. But like so many of my characters, I took this thing I wish I didn’t have and learned to embrace it. It’s become my style, and I’m so glad I have this shake because maybe my films would look far more refined and less distinguishable if I didn’t have it. You’ve got to embrace your imperfections.
Where do you find inspiration when you’re planning a new project?
All my films are extremely personal. All the characters are extensions of myself or people that I am close with. I keep detailed notebooks where I write down things I hear, little sounds that I collect. Those become the ingredients for each film. So they’re really lived experiences, personal experiences, and things that tantalize or move me. Screenwriting is always trying to balance comedy and tragedy, the light and the dark, so I spend a lot of time trying to get that balance right. I always say, “If you’re not an emotional wreck by the end of one of my films, I’ve failed.” They are deeply cathartic, but I also write from intuition. I don’t have a real plan at the beginning. I just hope there’s a three-act structure there eventually. I start with the small details and then work backward. I really do put my heart on my sleeve. My family always gets nervous when I start writing a script and asks, “Who’s gonna be next?” But I think that’s where the authenticity comes from and what a lot of audiences expect when they come to see one of my films.
Who do you make your films for? Are you thinking about any particular audience when you start developing a story? “Memoir” has a lot of adult language and situations, but if a parent watched it with their kids and talked to them about what they saw, I think it could be a charming family film.
I try not to think too much about demographics. I write for myself in many ways, but I am mindful of what a person in Sweden, Argentina or Iran might think about it, too. I aim to create very universal characters. But I don’t get too carried away thinking about that. Certainly, my films aren’t for little kids, although with this film, at so many screenings, when the lights come up, the whole front row is little kids with snail hats on. But you’re right; I think my films can be highly educational with proper parental supervision. They’re already taught in schools, secondary schools and universities, around the world, and that always surprises me.
Do you think there is greater demand for adult animation today than in years past? Or for family films that might have been categorized as adult animation in the past.
I think it’s changing. There is a market for adult animation and family animation that is challenging and a bit more sophisticated. I’m trying to fill that niche where people want more than just a laugh or to be entertained. Audiences want thought-provoking material. I’m not trying to make people think too much, but I want them to leave the cinema thinking a bit and feel uplifted. I love the idea of verisimilitude, a moment of truth in a film where something feels visceral. That’s what I’m after. Those are the sort of films I like. Where the hairs on your arms stand up, and you’re like, “Oh my god,” after a really believable moment. Those are hard to get, but that’s what I want to find.
I get so much correspondence from people with cleft palates or who have lost a twin or who are hoarders. It’s amazing how many people are out there are similar to Grace. It’s sad that so many people are suffering, but I hope, in some way, that this film brings them a degree of comfort. I think “Mary and Max” had a similar impact on a lot of people on the autism spectrum. I had so many people who identified with the film thank me. It reminds me why we make films.