Where Dahl left his spiteful cold hearted characters in their own tiny world this latest Dahl adaptation takes the gruesome twosome and inflates their grim little fable into a sprawling, layered world full of new characters and universe expanding cameos in order to fulfil the promise of a wider Netflix/Dahl extended universe made up of the characters from his extensive library.

Whilst that might not immediately appeal to the purists, there is a lot to enjoy from this adventure. Where the titular twosome might fit well into an animated special or short, sustaining a feature would undoubtably be hard work, so the alternative of weaving them into someone else’s story works really well. The someone else in question are Beesha and Bubsy Balti (a nice linguistic nod to Charlie ‘Bucket’) orphans in search of a place to call home and placing this film under the category of grotesque adults clashing with sharper witted young adversaries. It’s refreshing to see South Asian leads in the form of two young characters who have clear autonomy and a mission. As a somewhat original character Beesha fits well into The Twits universe. While Bubsy ends up more as a sidekick to his sisters story and could have been given a stronger arc, both performances however bring needed energy and freshness.

The Twits. (L to R) Natalie Portman as Mary Muggle-Wump, Maitreyi Ramakrishnan as Beesha, Ryan Lopez as Bubsy, in The Twits. Cr. Courtesy of Netflix © 2025

Fans of Dahl’s original book will grimace at the sound of these changes. Not every classic gag makes the leap to screen played out like the book, which might feel like a missed opportunity. Yet the new additions feel thoughtful and with purpose presented to broaden the story and to make this feature-length world feel justified. In that sense, The Twits succeeds capturing the essence of Dahl’s cruel humour while giving it a modern pulse.

That modernity comes not only from the film’s expanded plot but also from its themes. Beneath the slapstick and slime lies a pointed commentary about the dangers of blindly following loud, deceptive figures, a note that rings depressingly true in the current era. It’s not subtle, but it works, and the satire sits neatly within the exaggerated, scuzzy world the film builds. Here is where the film shines and presents something with surprising substance, making use of fictions foulest felons.

The Twits. (L to R) Margo Martindale as Mrs. Twit, Johnny Vegas as Mr. Twit, in The Twits. Cr. Courtesy of Netflix © 2025

The animation itself showcases some adventurous moments. The camera swoops, jolts, and lurches with the grotesque energy of its subjects. With point-of-view shots, quick jump scares, and lingering close ups that give the film a tangible nastiness that feels perfectly Dahlian. In design terms, it leans closer to Laika than Illumination being gritty, textural, a-symmetrical and proudly weird. The Muggle-Wumps resemble something straight out of Missing Link, while Mr. Twit could easily wander into ParaNorman without anyone blinking.

Though retconning the Muggle-Wumps as magical creatures from Loompa Land works well enough, less successful are the “fuzzball” side characters who appear and seem clearly designed with merchandising in mind. They add little to the plot and feel like an attempt to conjure a new line of Minions. It’s a cynical touch and a trap that a lot of features fall into.

The Twits. Johnny Vegas as Mr. Twit in The Twits. Cr. Courtesy of Netflix © 2025

Johnny Vegas delivers a standout turn as Mr. Twit, balancing grotesque buffoonery with flashes of genuine menace. You get the sense the actors were encouraged to improvise, and that looseness pays off, there’s a brilliantly silly gag about confusing “diarrhoea” with “diorama.” There’s also a moment involving a dead father’s watch, which lands exactly the way you’d expect from a seasoned comic like Vegas.

Mrs. Twit, meanwhile, is as vile as ever, though one might wish for a bit more of her book counterpart’s twisted inventiveness as opposed to the ambitious uber-Karen we are delivered. The southern states American drawl of Margo Martindale and St Helens own Johnny Vegas make quite the odd couple. The relationship between the Twits is still gloriously toxic though, and the film milks it where it can, gross, frequently funny, and always unpleasant in exactly the right way.

The Twits. (L to R) Margo Martindale as Mrs. Twit, Johnny Vegas as Mr. Twit, in The Twits. Cr. Courtesy of Netflix © 2025

The Twit’s is a bold, messy, and unapologetically weird attempt to expand the world of Dahl using some of his best known characters. It might not be the definitive adaptation of the authors work, but it’s one of the more entertaining ones. It respects the story’s spirit while expanding it in service of the promise of a wider universe without forgetting the purpose of the original story, offering a grotesque morality tale that’s both timely and timeless.

The Twits is out on Netflix from the 17 October

The post The Twits – Review appeared first on Skwigly Animation Magazine.

COURTESY OF NETFLIX © 2025

Long Story Short is an affecting and hilarious masterclass in concise storytelling. Raphael Bob-Waksberg’s follow up to BoJack Horseman is an intensely focused season of TV, getting into the knotty weeds of family relationships, religion, the pandemic and generational trauma in a way that is refreshingly grounded for animation and unburdened by rote therapy jargon. 

Long Story Short has no fantasy backdrop like animated series such as Futurama and BoJack itself, nor does it revolve around a propulsive plot like Common Side Effects; it’s a story based in reality about a Jewish family going through real stuff. While its premise is grounded, Long Story Short takes a big swing with its structure that pays off massively, giving us non-chronological glimpses into the lives of this family from the 90s to the 2020s. Pair all of this with a bold, unique animation style that blends crude, childlike drawings with beautiful imagery and you have one of the best animated series of recent years. 

Making a show where each episode can take place in any year between 1990 and 2025 could create a frustrating lack of momentum. We’ve all had that experience of bingeing a show and just as the plot gets moving, the next episode flashes back 20 years and your excitement disappears. Long Story Short evades that problem by not having a progressing plot at all, but instead creating compelling characters you simply want to know more about. When you see siblings Avi, Shira and Yoshi get into an argument, you want to know what formed their different worldviews. When we see their mother, Naomi, say something traumatising to them as children, it’s fascinating to see how each of them either internalises or completely rejects it as adults. 

COURTESY OF NETFLIX © 2025

Long Story Short doesn’t show big moments like funerals, weddings, divorces and births, instead it leaves the audience to compare who these characters were before and after those events, and how it’s changed them. The show’s structure is a stroke of genius in the streaming era where studios aren’t handing out 10 22-episode seasons. You have less time to spend with characters, and through 10 30-minute episodes, Long Story Short makes this family feel real. It’s almost like a friend telling you about these people they know and the drama happening in their family. 

Accessing those emotional depths is easier when the characters in the show are humans, unlike in BoJack. Long Story Short is the perfect title for a show that cuts right to it, with no fantastical element for the show to lean on for comedy, something that helped BoJack be the gag-fest it is. When Long Story Short does shoot for absurd comedy, mimicking BoJack in the way it takes a small idea and expands it out to the most outlandish degree until it explodes, there’s more of a tightrope to walk. That stuff was easier to do in a show where the main character is a horse, it’s harder to pull off when you need to believe that these are real people. Again, Long Story Short leaps over that hurdle without issue, finding the perfect balance between grounded emotion and silly jokes. The overall writing style of the show also differs from Waksberg’s past work, with a lot more crosstalk and a higher density of information being thrown out, again going back to the show’s philosophy of more concise storytelling. 

COURTESY OF NETFLIX © 2025

Also evolving from BoJack is the look of the show. Returning from the BoJack team is character designer Lisa Hanawalt, who opts for a much more minimal style this time around. Characters’ eyes are just dots with very simple facial features. Objects and buildings in backgrounds are loosely drawn with colouring outside the lines. A sunset will be drawn as a soft orange sky with clouds represented as big scribbles. It’s a little alien looking but ends up being quite beautiful and nostalgic. For a show about the messiness and complicated nature of relationships and life, these crude approximations of landscapes reflect childish innocence and a yearning to return to that. It all wraps up in the themes of nostalgia in the show where we see these characters as kids not really process the mess around them until they experience it for themselves as adults. In a show about how messy life can get, the simple visuals are a very potent parallel. 

This provides a backdrop for the show to tackle so many ideas. Religion, internalised anti-semitism, parenthood, childhood, love, the pandemic, career anxiety, all these things a person would experience over 40 years. The show doesn’t try to come to a definitive conclusion about any of it, just represents the diversity of experience, like how Avi, Shira and Yoshi’s Jewish upbringing allows some of them to find comfort in religion while others feel burdened by it.

COURTESY OF NETFLIX © 2025

Like BoJack, the themes of mental health and parenthood are the most affecting in Long Story Short. When BoJack came out it was more novel to discuss mental health issues on a show, but in the time since it has become cliche for ‘therapy speak’ to leak into TV writing. In Long Story Short there are no metaphors meant to represent trauma, we just see the building blocks of characters’ personalities be formed; the trauma, the joy, all of it. 

Long Story Short is about how impossible it is to really know each other and completely understand the decisions that the other makes and how that feeling is heightened in parent-child relationships where there’s this generational island between you. It cuts right to the heart of the nature of family bonds, how they’re so different and nonsensical compared to every other relationship you’ll have in your life.

Long Story Short deserves a place in the adult animation pantheon. Its title says it all, using the most minimal path to tell a story spanning decades, giving you insight into the minds of each character through efficient and impactful writing that says something significant about familial relationships without forgetting to be funny. It’s Raphael Bob-Waksberg’s masterpiece, the perfect balance between family drama and animated sitcom. 

The post Long Story Short | Review appeared first on Skwigly Animation Magazine.

For as long as I’ve been covering animation festivals, Anibar has been lingering in the back of my mind: its striking logo, a festival that everyone talks about with passion, stories of late-night screenings, creative venues and parties, and an atmosphere you just can’t put into words.

After years of hoping, the stars finally aligned and I made my way to Peja, Kosovo, for the 16^th edition. And what better year to do it than when Anibar’s theme was the unapologetic and ambiguous WTF?! (What’s The Future / What The F**k ?!). The theme was not just a tagline: it was everywhere. It was plastered across tote bags, erected on signage throughout the city, and shouted out in acceptance speeches. And it resulted in one of my favourite festival trailers so far:

Peja: The City That Becomes a Festival

Anibar is much more than a festival that pops up for one week every year and then disappears from everyone’s mind. I was fascinated to discover what it has grown into and how integral it is (and will be) to the future of the Kosovan animation industry.

Founded by Vullnet Sanaja and a passionate team of animation enthusiasts, the first edition of was born out of a desire for a group of friends to learn the craft of animation and make their own films. With no formal animation school or training available in Kosovo – a nation still rebuilding after recent conflict – the idea was to bring the best international talent to the city. This would help nurture an animation community by sharing skills, knowledge, and experience. And what better way to do that than by hosting an animation festival.

That first edition was started on a budget of less than €500 and comprised of 80 films sourced from friends. Today, it has grown into one of the most popular animation festivals in Europe with 160 films screened from 51 countries this year.

Beyond the annual festival, Anibar plays an important role in shaping the animation landscape through educational and community initiatives. One such initiative is the Anibar Animation Academy – the only formal animation education offering in the country. Every Kosovan animator I met at the festival had come through the Academy, and all of them credited it with kickstarting their careers.

Another fascinating aspect of Anibar is how they came to manage the city’s main venue – the Jusuf Gërvalla cinema. Originally built in the 1950s as a state-run workers’ cinema, it remained in public use until 2016, when local authorities placed it on a ‘liquidation list’ – meaning it was ear marked for privatization (and likely demolition, as per other cinemas in Kosovo – only 4 like this remain). That’s when Anibar sprang into action, launching a successful campaign to save the cinema. Ownership and operations were transferred to Anibar the same year and since then they have revitalized the venue with year-round events including film screenings, music nights, and community events.

Aside from the cinema, Peja boasts some truly unique makeshift venues for Anibar screenings: the outdoor lakeside cinema (with boats!), the open-air Cinema Cubes, and new for 2025, the Bazaar of Peja, which drew in large swaths of the local community.

So, Peja, almost by default, became the place where the seed of Kosovo’s animation industry was planted. Its relaxed pace of life (even during festival week), framed by the surrounded mountains and river, make it an ideal setting to host a festival.

The Heart of Anibar: What Makes It So Special?

Every festival tries to create a sense of community, but Anibar takes it to another level. Where else can you start your morning with a festival-led yoga session or short run; enjoy mountain picnics with rakia (a strong Balkan alcoholic spirit), party seven nights in a row with live music that switches between English and Albanian; or – my favourite – watch a short film programme from a paddle boat as you try not to spin out of control?

It’s hard to separate the festival from its social life – two are closely connected.

Meet the Filmmakers. Krste Gospodinovski holds a puppet from ‘Silent Cinema’

Mornings at Anibar started with Meet the Filmmakers, a cosy, early-day tradition where strong coffee was served alongside even stronger rakia (40% proof!). It’s the only festival I’ve been to where you can toast with filmmakers before lunchtime and it’s completely normal!

From there, the day would unfold into screenings, workshops, and panel events, with just enough time in between to explore Peja, share a picnic or hike in the mountains, or take a swim in the river.

The Get Together was a staple of the daily schedule. These mysterious, semi-secret gatherings became an event in themselves. You never knew what was planned until a cryptic email dropped into your inbox a couple of hours beforehand. That daily message became a highlight in itself for me: Where are we heading tonight? What unexpected venue awaits?

Next up: a few more screenings, this time by the lake or floating around on a boat.

When the day was done, the after-parties kicked off. From 11pm, a separate venue opened into a celebration of more than just animation: bands, DJs, rappers, VJs and other live acts brought together locals and festivalgoers in one of the most fun and energetic atmospheres I’ve seen at any festival.

And all of it is made possible by the lifeblood of the festival – the huge team of volunteers – who manned the multiple information centres that were dotted around the city. Always smiling, always helpful, always finding time for a chat – they gave a welcome that made me instantly feel part of the Anibar family. Thank you!

Highlights: Screenings, Panels & Events That Defined Anibar

I don’t want to give the impression that all I did was eat, drink, and party! With most screenings and events lasting 60-minutes or less – and venues located close together – it was easy to attend nearly every event in the schedule.

Anibar’s programme is diverse and thought-provoking – not just in its selection of films, but in the discussions it encourages. The panel talks covered a lot of ground: from practical advice around starting an animation career in the Balkans, to open conversations on mental health in the industry. I had the pleasure of joining the Ask the Pro: Navigating the International Landscape panel, where we covered everything from distribution challenges to the role of the producer, and how to stay positive in the current climate.

Ask the Pro: Navigating the International Landscape panel: (left to right) Britt Raes, Aaron Wood, Lucia Dubravay Trautenberger, Olivier Catherin, Aneta Ozorek

The screenings were just as varied. I took in animated documentaries (favourite: Girls Are Made to Love), student films, experimental shorts, commissioned work, and international highlights. 2025 marked the first year Anibar introduced a dedicated Balkan Competition category, where Silent Cinema, a beautifully crafted stop-motion film from North Macedonia that took eight years to make, was my standout film. In the Human Rights category, Inside, the Valley Sings – a film exploring the life of three U.S prisoners surviving years of solitary confinement through their imagination – left a lasting impression on me

But the screening that will stay with me is the Palestine Animated Shorts at the Bazaar of Peja. Projected on a makeshift screen in the middle of the historic square, there wasn’t a seat left. People stood, sat on the pavement, leaned out of windows, and even wheeled out office chairs to watch. It was one of those moments where I witnessed the power of animation and how it can bring together communities of all backgrounds.

Palestine Animated Shorts at the Bazaar of Peja David Çavollari

Central to Anibar’s mission to nurture the next generation of animation talent were two standout initiatives: Pitch It! and the newly launched Anibar Pro: Genesis. The latter marked its debut this year, selecting ten emerging directors and giving them the support to push their projects forward. There are plans to make Anibar Pro: Genesis a regular fixture at the festival, and if this year’s pitches are anything to go by, I look forward to seeing what next year brings. (Keep an eye out for Stick with Me (Albana Hajdini) and Fading Echoes (Alisa Fejza).) Also, stay tuned for an upcoming interview with Pitch It! winner Flaka Kokolli.

Until Next Time, Anibar…

As with any great festival experience, it all ended too soon.

If you’re a filmmaker reading this and your film gets selected in the future, here’s my advice: GO. Don’t put it off for years like I did. You can fly to Pristina, the capital of Kosovo, and take an hour taxi journey for a reasonable price. From there, let Anibar (and Peja) guide the experience.

Anibar isn’t just a seven-day festival – it’s a space where international guests bring their knowledge, passion, and openness; and everyone is thrown together to share amazing experiences and spark new relationships. But most importantly, Anibar gives emerging Kosovan talent a visible platform, not just to be part of the future of animation, but to shape it.

Anibar screening at Lake Cinema David Çavollari

A big thank you to Anibar for inviting Skwigly, and to Vullnet Sanaja, Arba Hatashi, Vita Kasapolli & the whole team for your hospitality.

Recap of 2025 Award Winners

International competition – Dog Alone by Marta Reis Andrade
Special Mention – Dollhouse Elephant by Jenny Jokela

Balkan competition – How by Marko Mestrovic

Student competition – Children of the Bird by Julia Tudisco
Special Mentions – The Eating of an Orange by May Kindred-Boothby and Poppy Flowers by Evridiki Papaiakovou

Pitch It! first place – I Still Haven’t Cried by Flaka Kokolli
Pitch It! second place – Transporting Woman by Verica Tenekedjieva
Pitch It! third place – The Last Bookstore in the World by Katarina Zaharijev and Marija Maletić

Human Rights category – Romina by Bee Grandinetti
Special Mention – Cimarron by Rémi Vandenitte and Cédric Bourgeois

Animated Music Videos category – Coldplay – feelslikeimfallinginlove by Raman Djafari
Special Mention – Bob Dylan’s Big Dick by Chris Lambourne

Young Audience category – Down in the Dumps by Vera van Wolferen
Special Mention – The Legend of the Hummingbird by Morgan Devos

The post WTF?! Anibar 2025 Review – Where Animation Meets Uncertainty, Balkan Charm, and the Warmest Animated Welcome appeared first on Skwigly Animation Magazine.

© Warner Bros / Studio 4°C

Hiroshi Sakurazaka and Yoshioshi Abe’s beloved novel All You Need Is Kill returns for another explosive adaptation, previous iterations including a manga and the 2014 blockbuster movie Edge of Tomorrow. Kenichiro Akimoto brings his own spin to the Groundhog Day story as he makes his directorial feature debut to dynamic effect, only possible through animation – and the style of anime. The immediate strength of his story comes from boosting his main character Rita (Ai Mikami) to unseen heights with a captivating arc that is as crucial to the film as its visual appeal.

All You Need is Kill is unlike other iterations, straight away the story takes shape in a world that reflects the pandemic period. There’s no militia ready to assemble and take on the aliens on the frontlines. Everything plays out from the perspective of a 17 year old girl, where a mysterious Alien plant called Darol spreads across the planet like a parasite swallowing its prey from the inside. The unknown specimen emits strong electromagnetic signals that radiate across the world and sends the population into a frenzy, spiralling humanity into confusion and chaos. A year later, people have learned to get on with their day and pretend that the plant does not exist, unaware of the tragedy that befalls Rita who bears the weight of the world on her shoulders.

© Warner Bros / Studio 4°C

Everything seems normal for the isolated teenager, until Darol awakens and spews out a legion of parasitic creatures from its stalk. Unbeknownst to Rita, these Parasites are targeting her to her death and there comes the end of Rita’s story as her life is taken, bloodying the screen.

Immediately we are transported back to where we started as Rita wakes up in torment, wondering what she experienced until it finally clicks – her nightmare is her reality.

Kenichiro provides the story with urgency as Rita tries to play catch up with each day that passes, find ways to relive it differently and warn her peers of what that lies ahead. But nobody listens.

© Warner Bros / Studio 4°C

A story of tragedy and romantic possibilities

While Rita’s perspective takes up the film, All You Need is Kill feels grand yet personal to the lead. Kenichiro creates imagery of isolation, the deep blue sea and flashes of the past with her family to communicate Rita’s loneliness and trauma that plunges her into depression. Providing the audience with an emotional core to invest in Rita’s world.

But the meat of the story comes when it is revealed that there is another time looper. Going to the same school, a young boy named Kenji finds himself in a similar position to our heroine. The action chooses to only focus on the two characters, eventually teaming up as they search for a way out of their never ending day. Rita and Kenji’s dynamic progresses from one of animosity to companionship, as they gain an understanding of one another.

The action is a major strength of the film, rendered like video game boss fights with the element of customising designs through the mechanical suits. Rita and Kenji even train to be better at using weapons during combat, memorising every movement of the enemy, like a gamer restarting from a checkpoint. It gives the story desperation and spectacle that allows 4°c to embrace their free flowing style.

© Warner Bros / Studio 4°C

Despite all these elements, All You Need is Kill at heart remains Rita’s story. Kenichiro focuses on her loneliness through the time loops, tracing her feelings to long before Darol stepped foot on Earth. By making her relationship with Kenji authentic, Rita’s coming of age is a profound rumination of a young girl fighting her trauma, overcoming the existential isolation she has experienced for many years and how she can be able to carry on with her life, despite the hardships she has faced.

Overall, All You Need is Kill is an exciting entry that stands on its own. While it struggles with its scale by the final act, it is a respectable attempt as a modern iteration that promises thrilling action sequences and beautiful animation on celluloid. What brings it together is Rita’s journey embedded into the story and serves as an affecting depiction of loneliness and moving forward from trauma.

All You Need is Kill Premiered on 9th June at Annecy International Animation Film Festival.

The post ANNECY 2025: All You Need is Kill – Review appeared first on Skwigly Animation Magazine.

© Cinema Fantasma

I Am Frankelda is joyful, creepy, maximalist, musical madness. Mexico’s first stop-motion feature feels like the debut album from a rapper – the culmination of a lifetime of ideas, thoughts and ‘wouldn’t it be cool ifs’ thrown onto one record. Directors Arturo Ambriz, Roy Ambriz and Mireya Mendoza crafted an overwhelming adventure through real and fictional dimensions where delight and confusion are equal parts of its appeal, all while displaying some of the wildest, most ambitious stop-motion ever put to screen. 

Established in the film’s opening moments is the dichotomy of two worlds, linked by fiction. In the real world we see Frankelda writing stories as a child, giving birth to these characters in a hellish dimension of nightmares which feels like stepping into every Zelda dungeon mushed together. Every surface is littered with thorny spikes, there are eyes on things that shouldn’t have eyes, and at its centre is a prince named Herneval; something of a human-griffin hybrid who finds a way to cross over to the real world through the power of Frankelda’s writing. 

When a writer is the main character of a story, certain themes are unavoidable. You might get commentary about how writers turn their daily life into something more heightened as a means of escape, how inspiration can come from anywhere, how writing can be weaponised for evil or whether or not fantasy can be considered true art if it deviates so wildly from reality, no longer reflecting our true selves. I Am Frankelda shoots to discuss all of them. 

Roy & Arturo Ambriz © Cinema Fantasma

The design of the nightmare world where Herneval, his monarch parents and a litany of other horrors reside is itself a testimony to human creativity. What would a world look like where every fictional demon, ghoul and goblin conjured up by human authors all co-existed? We see gargoyle-spiders with green heads a tens of eyes, we see a serpentine mermaid siren with an ability to manipulate with her singing, there’s a humanoid tree branch that looks like a spindly version of Marvel’s Man-Thing, a blindfolded coyote skeleton with dark magical powers also makes an appearance. Its maximalism is commenting on the pure weight of myth and invention humanity has sustained through its entire history. Every few minutes you meet a new ghoulish guy, and it’s delightful. 

The villain of the piece, the aforementioned gargoyle-spider, is looking to use Frankelda’s writing to allow these nightmare beings to taunt humans in the real world, as fear is what keeps them alive. His creativity as nightmare master has been dwindling, as is the overall fear felt by humanity. This gets to the heart of horror’s place in our society in a really interesting way. I Am Frankelda posits that horror sits in a middle position of not being respected as an artform but is completely essential to us facing our fears, whether, like Frankelda, we’re working through them by writing, or as an audience, we’re processing our fear through engaging with art. This movie has so much on its mind and expresses it with real intelligence, something it needs to do for a film so chaotic and bursting with ideas. You don’t get time to sit on one of them, but it leaves you with enough for you to ask yourself questions about it. 

© Cinema Fantasma

The animation, production design, character design and character animation all need to be at their demented best to bring these things to life, and it’s just astounding to see what they’re able to achieve. I Am Frankeda isn’t just bursting with visual and narrative ideas but also is packed with style in its editing and effects. In the opening moments where Herneval and Frankelda first interact, we see splashes of paint wash away the physical backgrounds, which return with satisfying thuds once Frankelda’s interactions with the arcane are over. Pushing things further, there’s an entire sequence in this movie that’s completely oil-painted, stacking another visual idea on top of a movie overflowing with them. 

As if there wasn’t enough going on in the film, I Am Frankelda is also a musical. These set pieces are arenas for the animation to go even more gonzo and depict even more reality-breaking imagery. They also provide a space for the plot to be put into more direct, simple terms. This is super helpful in a film where not everything is directly explained and things move at a crazy pace. The confusion is part of the fun, but the songs at least allow for some repetition to hammer a few things home. 

There isn’t anything like I Am Frankelda. It bristles under the weight of all the ideas packed into it, but it never breaks. In fact, the very idea of it bristling is furthering the commentary of the movie in such a fascinating way. It’s intelligent, disgusting, confusing, convoluted and beautifully animated. If you want to go to the cinema and witness things you’ve never seen before, I Am Frankelda is a hellish paradise.

The post Annecy 2025: I Am Frankelda Review appeared first on Skwigly Animation Magazine.

Lesbian Space Princess follows introverted Princess Saira (voiced by Shabana Azeez) – unfortunately voted as the “most boring royal” – who has been unceremoniously dumped by her super cool ex-girlfriend, bounty hunter Kiki (voiced by Bernie Van Tiel). “She’s a lesbian, she’s in space, and she’s also a princess – oh, and she’s very sad” a musical interlude title screen informs us, quickly establishing the film’s hilarious tone and quirky vibe.

However, Saira’s life is about to be turned upside down as she soon receives a call from her ex informing her that she’s been kidnapped by the villainous Straight While Maliens (voiced by comedy trio, Aunty Donna.) The princess has a mere 24 hours to conjure up the ransom – her powerful royal weapon, the labrys axe – to rescue Kiki. Saira’s inter-gay-lactic journey across the universe sees her navigate dangerous planets, problematic space crafts and charming gay-pop idols (Gemma Chua-Tran.)

© We Made A Thing Studios

Hobbs and Varghese wonderfully reclaim this type of quirky coming-of-age tale through a queer lens, resulting in a hilarious and imaginative slice of sci-fi comedy with a charming tale of self-love at its heart. While the film does feature overly familiar story beats and character arcs – borrowing heavily from Scott Pilgrim vs. the World (even down to gaining the “Power of Self-Respect” weapon) – the musical misadventures and amusing side quests more than make up for the well-worn elements.

With a witty script packed with amusing gags which play with tropes and stereotypes, paired with clever visual comedy peppered throughout, there’s plenty of laughs provided along the way. The long-running gags revolving around Planet Clitopolis being hard to find, along with the straight white maliens (especially when trying to explain the rules of a card game), are certainly on-the-nose, but also entertaining. The humour certainly won’t be for everyone though, and the onslaught of gags do begin to wear a little thin towards the end.

Azeez is excellent as Princess Saira, bringing a relatability and nuance to the leading role as she confronts her anxiety as she leaves the safety of the gay-laxy and heads into “straight space”. It certainly helps that she’s a hugely endearing protagonist who you can’t help but root for. Her evolving dynamic with the chauvinistist spaceship (voiced by Richard Roxburgh) is also a charming addition, along with the guitar strumming, gay-pop musician Willow (Chua-Tran).

© We Made A Thing Studios

The vibrant and often bubblegum palette incorporated throughout the 2D animation wonderfully brings the numerous planets, characters and gloom goo of this off-the-wall universe to life. While the animation is particularly reminiscent of Rick and Morty, Adventure Time and other Cartoon Network offerings, there’s an added unpolished scrappy charm to it. Eagle eyed viewers will also be treated to entertaining little details peppered throughout, including the amusing DVD titled “Raiders of the Lost Dyke” and Saira’s “live, laugh, lesbian” banner.

The recurring visual representation of anxiety and self doubt – not unlike the Void in Thunderbolts – is also a well worked addition, with its tar-like consuming goo oozing and towering over Saira, along with its creepy white eyes. But the cherry on top is the musical element, with several amusing musical title cards and Willow’s excellent interludes, along with tracks from Adelaide-based rock band Stabbitha And The Knifey Wifeys, (now where can we find the soundtrack?)

Lesbian Space Princess is a riotously fun and fresh inter-gay-lactic musical quest, packed with plenty of bonkers side missions and clever satire. While there are undoubtedly some overly-familiar story beats, the vibrant animation, quirky music and heartfelt message of loving yourself more than makes up for the shortcomings. It’s also a refreshing take on the sci-fi coming-of-age tale, that’s clearly been made by – and for – queer people.

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©Kazuya Konomoto /The Last Blossom Production Committee

It’s difficult to pull off the intense sincerity The Last Blossom shoots for. In an irony-poisoned culture where we’ve seen more than a decade of blockbusters that run from any real emotion by undercutting them with jokes, our brains are simultaneously ready to embrace sincerity but also quick to scoff at it if it comes off just a little cheesy. The Last Blossom forces you into the former, laying bare an emotional thesis that feels true to real human interactions while digging into bigger questions about human nature. 

The Last Blossom peels away its main character layer by layer, showing us a new facet of his brain in each passing scene. Minoru is first shown in the modern day, on his deathbed inside a prison before we flashback to 1986 where he appears to be living a regular life with a wife, Nana, and infant, Kensuke. We see him tend to his garden as Nana discovers a beautiful drawing of the weeds and blossoms that are rooted there. Soon it’s revealed that the gentle, understated man we’ve spent a few minutes with is a member of the Yakuza who has taken in Nana and Kensuke as a gesture of good will. We’re very used to characters in animation telling us their thoughts immediately and exhibiting which personality type they fit into through heavy handed dialogue. The Last Blossom, free from having to appeal to children, is able to have more of a complex relationship with its main character, essential to what is basically a character study. 

Minoru’s relationship with Nana and Kensuke is fascinating. He refuses to admit to either of them that he truly cares about them and sees them as family but has such intimate moments of connection with them both. One scene depicts Minoru and Nana recreate Ben E. King’s “Stand By Me” with sellotape and a microwave. It could come off as corny in other hands, but director Baku Kinoshita sells us on how human and vulnerable this moment is for Minoru, a typically stoic man. Seeing him later lose his way as money flows freely is as jarring and painful as it needs to be, and when tragedy strikes, all of his walls crumble and the things he truly cares about come into focus. Minoru is constantly surprising in the paths he takes but not in a way that feels inconsistent, he’s just a person reacting to the world around him.

This allows the movie to comment on some bigger questions, doing so through a talking balsam flower. It appears in the 1980s and continues to berate and commentate on Minoru’s life, mostly appearing next to Minoru on his deathbed as they debate the moral implications of his actions. They highlight the difference between what Minoru has learned as a gangster and the way that a plant survives. Minoru has been taught that survival means to conquer others, that one person eating means less food for you. The balsam flower posits that plants aim for coexistence, sharing nutrients in acknowledgement that everyone needs them. The film acknowledges the flaws in Minoru’s way of thinking, dismantling it as the film progresses and ultimately showing the process of working against your nature. 

© Kazuya Konomoto / The Last Blossom Production Committee

There’s also a thread about the inevitability of change, something unavoidable for a film with a Yakuza main character. Over the course of the film, you chart their waning influence as an organisation and attempts to pivot to other markets and ways of making money. When things are going well, we can make the mistake of thinking it’ll last forever, but adaptation is a core trait needed to survive, again exemplified by paralleling the philosophy of the balsam flower. 

In addition to being the film’s philosophical centre, the flower is also where the animation shines the most. Without a face, it’s able to express so much attitude and personality through just waving its leaves about as arms, crossing them and using them to scratch its ‘chin.’ As a whole, The Last Blossom is animated beautifully. It has a very simple, almost rustic 2D art style where characters are drawn with slightly bumpy outlines and have very little detail on their faces which allows Minoru’s scar to stand out through the different time periods. Everything is framed beautifully and colours pop constantly. It’s such a joy to look at, even in its darker, more violent moments. 

It’s great to see a Scorsese-esque character study of a gangster in animation, especially one that’s pulled off as well as The Last Blossom. In totality, it acts as a dissolution of a man’s interpretation of what masculinity is as he goes on a journey to completely redefine his relationships to everyone in his life. It’s heartfelt and beautiful-looking with a lot on its mind, an immediate highlight of this year’s festival. 

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©O2 Play

What helps Nimuendajú feel a bit more free within the biopic format is the fact that its subject, Curt Unckel (later known as Curt Nimuendajú) was not a famous actor or musician but an anthropologist. His work centred around studying the lives of indigenous people in Brazil and going on to advocate for their existence at a time where they were being systematically exterminated. This immediately brings up some thorny issues. Is the act of an outsider studying a culture inherently dehumanising? Is a white man the right person to centre this story around? Had Unckel’s work not enabled him to profit off the trauma of indigenous people?

Commendably, director Tânia Anaya doesn’t shy away from these questions and actively asks the viewer to engage with them. Towards the end of the film we see a range of museum exhibits dedicated to Unckel’s work in many cities across Europe. As we cross into Germany, we see a Nazi soldier admiring it, and the dissonance between Unckel’s well-meaning goals and the reality of how his work will be seen is highlighted. However, this being the only real moment of self-reflection for Unckel makes the film feel like it’s selling you short on the questions it invites you to ask. Much of the film is educational and gives you a depiction of history while highlighting the travesties suffered by indigenous people. Keeping the audience informed is great, but in 2025 we need something more substantive for it to really add to the conversation. 

History isn’t always as woke as us, it doesn’t always platform the greatest people. Sometimes important work is done by a white man, and that piece of history has to be told through his eyes. Still, I think the film could do more to give its indigenous characters more agency and add more richness to the narrative. 

Nimuendajú ultimately has a positive view on Unckel, seeing him as an advocate for indigenous people and constantly highlighting the lengths he went to embed himself in their culture and try to protect them. The extent to which the film reaches a satisfying balance between Unckel’s greatness and his inadvertent wrongdoings will vary depending on the viewer. The film undoubtedly would be more interesting if it was more actively interrogating that dichotomy. 

One thing the movie absolutely nails is its art direction. Rotoscoping, when done poorly, can really highlight the unnatural way we’re used to animated characters moving. When watching Nimuendajú, it barely crosses your mind that it’s rotoscoped. You just fully believe in the characters in front of you, their movements never feeling too smooth or too jagged and their faces maintaining a natural look that’s always easy to read, something rotoscoped characters don’t always have. 

©O2 Play

The background art is the real star of the show. With much of the movie taking place in different parts of the Amazon, there’s ample opportunity for every shade of green in existence to be feasted on. The movie doesn’t work without the rainforest looking this good, without it inviting you in and immersing you in its sensory environment. Nimuendajú’s visuals sell you on the peace and joy that these people are fighting to keep, adding a more personal touch to the film and lessens the feeling that Unckel is exploiting this place, but truly loves it.

We need more movies like Nimuendajú to exist in animation. Only by building upon movies like this can we get to more interesting places and push the conversation about colonisation and indigenous cultures forward. It feels like there’s a lot of pressure on Nimuendajú to answer every question because how many animated movies do we get on this topic? Something that’s not talking down to its audience but is trying to get people to engage with a knotty moral dilemma? There aren’t enough. Nimuendajú pushes the medium forward, I’m excited to see where it takes it. 

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LITTLE AMÉLIE © Maybe Movies, Ikki Films, 2 Minutes, France 3 Cinéma, Puffin Pictures, 22D Music

Amélie narrates the tale so that we discover the world through her, and with it the challenges of life, death, love and belonging – all complex and nuanced topics for a toddler but presented in a way that embraces the audience in an empathetic blend of pitch perfect sequences that carry the story forward. Though a film about a child, it should not be labelled as a children’s film as the drama creates moments of heart pounding tension where you imagine the cruelty of grief has led to a drastic choices by some characters.

LITTLE AMÉLIE © Maybe Movies, Ikki Films, 2 Minutes, France 3 Cinéma, Puffin Pictures, 22D Music

As our hero grows and forms a bond with Nishio-San, who has been assigned by stern landlady Kashima-San to care for the house, Amélie comes to understand the world around her and the major changes that will challenge her perspective of the world.

And what a world she inhabits, rendered beautifully by directors Maïlys Vallade and Liane-Cho Han. Adopting a similar style to Rémi Chayé (who worked on this film), the visuals remind the audience of Long Way North or Calamity, but an evolution of those that gives the directing duo their own distinction, diving into surrealism and fantasy as well as enjoying the spectacle of nature. There is a beautiful sequence where Amélie captures the essence of the seaside within a glass jar, and it feels although the directors have managed to do the same by presenting a synaesthetic masterclass of visuals. Lighting plays a huge roll in this film as the flat, pastel colours are caressed by bold light that adds shape to the characters and sprinkles vivid purples, turquoises and reds throughout the landscape to deliver a film that feels like it has been crafted rather than simply made.

LITTLE AMÉLIE © Maybe Movies, Ikki Films, 2 Minutes, France 3 Cinéma, Puffin Pictures, 22D Music

Little Amélie or the Character of Rain reminds us to enjoy life in spite of the challenges it presents and to find the joy in being present, hypnotising its audience with its masterful command of imagery, a tender soundtrack and wonderful storytelling. It is simply gorgeous.

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“From visionary director Genndy Tartakovsky comes “Fixed,” an adult animated comedy about Bull, an average, all-around good dog who discovers he’s going to be neutered in the morning! As the gravity of this life-altering event sets in, Bull realises he needs one last adventure with his pack of best friends as these are the last 24 hours with his balls! What could go wrong…?”

From the outset this film has a singular mission to make you laugh by being as crude as possible. Expect adult content, prepare for a lot of it and understand that it will be relenting and dialled up. This might take the fun out of it for people expecting adult animation to be sole domain of thought provoking, intellectual films – like spending time with chin stroking intellectuals in a wine bar. However, this film is like spending time with your drunken mates down the pub, you’ll have a good laugh but you won’t learn anything in the process.

Fixed – Courtesy Netflix

The crowning glory of this film is by far the animation. It’s everything that the ‘bring back 2D animation’ crowd have been yearning for over the years. The characters move in such a hilarious way, that heightens the film further, layering the humour. Even when the characters are still, the drawings as ridiculously funny. It is a film that oozes 2D animation appeal.

The cast are clearly invested, with Adam Devine perfect in the role of the pent up Bull and Idris Elba grunts and grows his lines as Rocco. It’s Katherine Hahn who steals the show as Honey, ensuring that by being just as dirty and crude as the boys that ensures this film has at least a slither of feminine energy. All the characters serve a purpose, and their camaraderie keeps the story moving, even when the gags wear thin.

Fixed – Courtesy Netflix

The gags are well delivered by the cast and expertly drawn by the crew, but I feel like i’ve seen or heard every one of them before, this is not a massive problem but it lands in the realm of stoner humour, so if you are expecting the combined efforts of this film to push boundaries or change the face of animation you may find yourself disappointed.

With thanks to Flow, Annecy 2024 was the year of the cat. A sophisticated film with a quiet, graceful sophistication befitting the feline attitude, took the festival and then the world by storm. Fixed makes 2025 is the year of the dog and they couldn’t be further apart by comparison. The latest from Genndy Tartakovsky forgoes sophistication, instead rolling around in the mud, slobbering at it’s own crotch and howling at passersby.

Through comedy, animation and writing Fixed is a film that is completely true to itself, which is a rare thing to see in the feature landscape. How the audience react will be down to taste. For some it’ll be a dogs dinner, for others it’ll be the mutts nuts. Either way it’s barking mad.

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His latest feature film screens at Annecy this week and shares the life of Marcel Pagnol, revered Marseille based film director, who steered the course of French cinema when he left a successful theatre career to pursue the silver screen. A relative unknown in the UK, this film serves as a straight biography, albeit with some fantastical elements.

A Magnificent Life

The movie follows Pagnol from his early beginnings in Provence to becoming France’s leading cultural hero. We witness him growing up from a curious boy, enchanted by words and stories, into a playwright and director whose own productions would strike roots in the French cinematic heritage. Along the way, we encounter the strongest players in his life: his paternal and maternal mentors, a schoolteacher mother and hard but gentle father, and the artists and muses he met en route. Chomet weaves this life story together with a rich visual vocabulary, cross-cutting memory and imagination, history, fact and legend.

The film may be faulted for following a very linear biographical path, but viewers can easily become enticed by the charms of Chomet’s unique look and bask as we return to another richly realised environment of his making. The ploy of bringing “Mr Pagnol,” a man weighed down by his own history, into contact with “Marcel,” a nearly Dickensian spectre of his old self, is beneficial for the film. As tragedy strikes Pagnol’s life and the story progresses, the ghosts gather, ending in a bittersweet, softly powerful finale.

A Magnificent Life

With this being Chomet’s third animated feature film, it would be difficult not to compare to the previous two and with A Magnificent Life it seems the director is venturing closer and closer to reality. This film is a far cry from the lavishly grotesque animal caricatures that populated Belleville and its story is rooted in reality which takes it away from the whimsical narrative that The Illusionist provided. Audiences would be forgiven for wondering why make this film in animation, but with Chomet’s penmanship you’re glad it was. Though the film offers a few cameos from familiar characters this might also make you pine for his older caricatured style.

Like The Illusionist, the story lacks a tangible antagonist, instead delivering pockets of biographical storytelling, such as encounters with Nazi censorship, emerging and resolving within a short amount of time as opposed to lingering throughout. This isn’t a failure of storytelling but rather a consequence of the biographical format. To Chomets credit he remains true to the story and avoids manufacturing conflict and steers the film along a more contemplative route like The Illusionist, rather than a gripping one as with Belleville Rendez-Vous. 

A Magnificent Life

Being an uncultured oaf, I will admit to knowing very little of Pagnol when I started watching, in the UK his works have only been screened on occasion and his francocentric achievements may not capture the hearts and minds of my fellow countrymen. However by the end I cared greatly for the man and his achievements, which is a testament to the skill at which his story has been told by Chomet.

A Magnificent Life is a clear labour of love from Sylvain Chomet. There is a thread throughout the film about detaching from what is expected of you, be that from your accent, comforts, successes, authority or from yourself, which resonated well. Through retelling the life of Pagnol, Chomet reminds us of the beauty of humanity that animation can capture and in doing so, presents a film that will haunt the viewer long after the credits start rolling. A sincere work of animation, celebrating a man whose life was as rich in spirit as Chomet’s animation is in detail.

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2025 Les éditions Albert René / Goscinny – Uderzo / NETFLIX

Part of the characters longevity is the adaptability of the format, a blend of classic good versus evil stories coupled with tongue in cheek heroics and slapstick. The pun-lovin’ names might have got with the times, with Romans and Gauls called Metadata and Onemillionclix, but they sit alongside original names like Vitalstatistix and Cassius Ceramics with ease showcasing a little of why the adventures of the Gaulish village have stood out against invading criticism.

The franchise has had its ups and downs, with both live action and 2D films of varying quality to look back on. From Asterix and the Vikings to Asterix Conquers America, all the way back to Asterix and Cleopatra and more recently, CGI offerings such as The Mansions of the Gods. Now, with Asterix & Obelix: The Big Fight led by Alain Chabat and Fabrice Joubert, we see the format taken from feature to series and a fresh animated take arrives making this latest Asterix feel more like a rebirth than a simple return.

2025 Les éditions Albert René / Goscinny – Uderzo / NETFLIX

Though on the surface this CG Asterix might seem like Asterix: The Secret of the Magic Potion but the animation is a cut above. This might be expected from co-director Fabrice Joubert, Director of French Roast – a classic animated short film that utilises every ounce of the French farce scenario to deliver a slapstick routine that honours the best French comics. All the energy and characterful mastery of that film is utilised in this series. It’s not only with the character performances, but also with what we are presented with. This isn’t a show afraid to experiment or subvert expectations, especially after Getafix has his unfortunate incident leading to the animation becoming a playground for his fractured psyche to run wild.

The animation sits well among the slick approach to production design, which makes this the most original animated take but also the closest thing we will get to the comics. This is evident from the start as the Gaulish village fight against the Romans. We’ve seen this many times in animation, but never with this much flair, complete with bold, graphic PAF! SLAP! BIF! joining the characters onscreen, almost as characters themselves, adding to the on screen anarchy and fun. The onomatopoeic sounds dance across the screens as the Gauls make short work of the romans in a way never done before, even with a large feature budget. This is bolder and brighter than previous CGI Asterix adaptations and doesn’t just borrow from the visual inventiveness of Spider-verse (the production designer is a Spider-verse veteran), it utilises it in a way which honours it’s own comic origins, much more Uderzo than Kirby.

2025 Les éditions Albert René / Goscinny – Uderzo / NETFLIX

The stylish experimentation isn’t reserved for the set pieces as this series is not afraid to go against the norm by changing the colour of the sky (without having it fall in on their heads), turning up the contrast or using silhouette to play homage to the inky pages of the original adventures.

Expect some story surprises and additional characters as this is not a straight adaptation of the original, but in keeping with it – plussing the original comic story and combining with some unexpected elements from the pages of others. whilst remaining true to the anarchic energy and vibrant characters whilst modernising it with some accomplishment. How do you make the invincible Obelix vulnerable? How do you give Asterix space to shine? These tricky elements are handled wonderfully.

2025 Les éditions Albert René / Goscinny – Uderzo / NETFLIX

The one negative I have to share is the English dubbing. The voices have too much of a soundalike quality to them. We’ve had everyone from Bill Oddie to Craig Charles -even Paul Giamatti in the past, If they wanted Martin Freeman as Asterix, Nick Frost to return as Obelix and Charles Dance as Julius Caesar, why not pay for them? Not that the dubbing actors have done a bad job, I’d just rather have had the actors the dub artists were emulating or to have seen the dubbing actors allowed to find their own voice for the characters. Using A-listers would’ve upped the profile of this series and made it more prominent on everyones algorithm, allowing the dubbing actors room to find their own character would’ve honoured the creative spirit seen throughout the rest of the production.

2025 Les éditions Albert René / Goscinny – Uderzo / NETFLIX

The story fits well on Netflix, allowing each episode to stand alone and build the story gradually, making very bingeable bite-sized portions. Like Wallace & Gromit, the adventures of Asterix is something of an outlier to what tradition might consider good for audiences. Adventures of beer bellied, moustachioed, middle aged people, full of dad jokes, puns and comic devices is enough to make most commissioners turn off, but living up to his indomitable epithet Asterix remains a tale for the ages. Like the best comic adaptations, it does not take itself too seriously, but seriously enough to know that fans are watching and as a fan I can tell that fans made this series, and I am go grateful that they did. 

Asterix and the Big Fight is not a simple return to the world of Asterix and Obelix, it’s more of a rebirth, honouring the past whilst keeping an eye on the future. We hope in the hands of Netflix, Alain and Fabrice that Asterix & Obelix are here to stay. This is a series that packs a magic potion-fuelled punch!

Asterix & Obelix: The Big Fight hits Netflix on 30 April.

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Image: CRC Press

From the firm foundations of countless festival reports over the years, said book is Denney-Phelps’s recent literary venture On The Animation Trail: 20 Years of Animation Festival History, an all-new collection of writings from her years on the circuit. It makes for something of a unique entry in the world of animation literature which, while often either instructional or analytical, is rarely anecdotal (a few exceptions including the informal writings of Bill Plympton and Chris Robinson’s cultural road-trip Canadian Animation: Looking for a Place to Happen). While not a memoir per se, the book serves as a distinctly personal collection of memories and perspectives on the festival circuit over the last couple of decades, beginning with a fateful trip to KROK in 2001.

While these are mostly fond remembrances, they are peppered with turbulent moments here and there, from fraught cross-country journeys met with security rifles and expenditures at every turn, to the near-fatal perils of drinking too much tea. More than anything, the book is a celebration of the people who run these events and imbue them with enough character and engagement to stand out in a sea of low-effort festivals that blithely go through the motions. Sprinkled-in are potted histories of the animation industry, key artists and traditions of different geographical regions, to contextualise how the festivals themselves sit amongst them. Denney-Phelps also dives into the history of many of the events, yielding some interesting revelations and factoids, such as the amusing origins of how KLIK Festival (now Kaboom) came to be named as such, different ways in which festivals dealt with and adapted to the COVID pandemic, and navigating the cost-cutting efforts of governmental entities.

In spite of some major events being absent, or mentioned only fleetingly, the book does feel thorough as a cross-sectional sampling of the contemporary animation festival landscape. Annecy, of course, gets a mention, and a more than reasonable remonstration of how things have changed for the impersonal in recent years. Alongside this are warmer remembrances of the various traditional lakeside shenanigans, as well as the rise and demise of Annecy+, a wonderful fringe event helmed by Nancy and indie legend Bill Plympton, in which films not selected for the official programme would get their own joyfully rustic screening. Other fond memories include the wonderfully hospitable Animafest Zagreb’s annual picnic tradition and an assortment of beautifully unpredictable moments, such as the impromptu composition of a musical score for a film in need of one thanks to an unplanned convergence of musicians at a pre-festival workshop. Of particular interest to myself, as someone who reasonably well-traveled when it comes to the festival scene, are the sections that discuss events that remain on my personal wishlist to one day visit, such as Anibar in Peja Kosovo, Cinanima and Monstra in Portugal and Budapest’s Anilogue.

By virtue of being told through such a personal lens, On The Animation Trail feels refreshingly informal whilst remaining informational throughout. Occasional side-effects of this approach includes showing enthusiasm for certain problematic figures in the industry, and those who might have attended or helped organise certain aspects of some of the events discussed might remember them playing out differently and with different people. Ultimately this is in service to the anecdotal charm of the book; stories are told as though over a glass of wine or obligatory airport beer, with their edges sometimes a little blurred and through rose-tinted glasses.

An especially valuable quality of a book such as this is that it provides an answer to one of the most frequently asked questions from students and industry newcomers – “what’s the point of festivals?” In this digital area where online exposure is seemingly king, the dismissal of the perceivably archaic festival experience denies new talents not just a wealth of opportunities for their work to be part of something that physically brings people together, but also the potential to forge a wealth of cherished and valuable friendships and professional collaborations – and come away with some great stories to tell. Whilst the Skwigly team’s own hypothetical compendium of festival misadventures is a ways off, On The Animation Trail makes for an ideal access guide in the meantime.

On The Animation Trail: 20 Years of Animation Festival History is available now through CRC Press

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Kaboom Animation Festival (and before that, KLIK) has been on my festival list for a long time. Other Skwigly colleagues have been and always returned with tales of the ‘mad’ atmosphere, the quality of panels and guests, and what a well-run festival it is. But it was always the ‘mad’ aspect that piqued my interest the most. I had to see for myself… Although Kaboom takes place in two Dutch cities – Utrecht and Amsterdam – I set off for the Amsterdam leg of the festival.

Amsterdam’s Eye Filmmuseum – venue of Kaboom Animation Festiva

Provocative Shorts & Discussions

Taking place at Amsterdam’s Eye Filmmuseum – a fantastically spacious cinema/museum complex – this year’s festival theme was Provocation: celebrating animation as a powerful medium for defiance, resilience, and transformation. True to the theme, the festival team went around with ‘protest’ placards promoting the screenings, the quiz was ‘interrupted’ by a protest against the questions, and the opening night featured an interactive installation where guests could pay to destroy a virtual city.

One thing that Kaboom has always done well is packaging its short films into tightly themed programmes with alluring names: Dateable or Relatable, Punk It Louder, Your Yuck is My Yumm, Bonkers Shorts – all of which enticed me in on the title alone. Of all the shorts programmes I saw, Your Yuck is My Yumm stood out as the most interesting and enjoyable for me. Curated by Schmutz Cinema, this screening explored sexual themes of shame, disgust and consent through its selected films; interspersed with brief discussion points by Linda Duits.

Your Yuck is My Yumm screening

Another favourite short programmes was Danger! Better Safe Than Sorry, which allowed the audience to view rarely seen 16mm films projected on the big screen. I did not realise that Kaboom curator Roloff de Jeu regularly screened films from his personal collection at the festival, but this year’s focus was on safety, public information and educational films which contained animation. Roloff, clutching a megaphone and sporting a high-vis vest channeled the character of a health and safety officer; bellowed safety warnings as the cinema filled with its guests. I was really enjoying this ‘unorthodox’ side to the festival! As the shorts played out on the screen, I revelled at how the language, tone and overall messages within old public information films age and become out of date to modern audiences; often resulting in unintended humour and a new-found appreciation.

There was only one panel event, but it was a much needed question that I have not seen addressed yet at festivals: Should We Screen This Old Racist Stuff? The three panellists explored the subject of racial stereotypes in film, if these films should still be shown, and if so, how? The discussion looked at who should be allowed to curate these films, the use of trigger warnings, and how to acknowledge the past. Of course, no fixed answers were able to be given to such a question within 90-minutes, but the general consensus was: perhaps, in the correct context.

Should We Screen This Old Racist Stuff? panel

My Highlights: From Iraq to North England

One of my highlights of the festival came when I discovered a gap in my schedule and decided to squeeze in the feature film Flavours of Iraq. The 2024 documentary animation, by Feurat Alani and Léonard Cohen, follows Iraq under the dictatorship of Saddam Hussein, the American occupation, and the control of the Islamic State; told from Feurat’s point of view from childhood to adulthood. The striking graphic visuals and brilliantly scripted narration pulled me in from the first few seconds, and somehow managed to comfortably (and engagingly) fit 28 years of the country’s history (1989-2017) into 90 minutes. Despite being aware of the social and political realities of what has happened in Iraq, I couldn’t help but leave the cinema with the impact of just how much the country has been through and how it affected daily lives. I was happy to see the film scoop the Audience Award for Best Feature Film. I would highly recommend it.

Something that I rarely dabble in nowadays (as I know I would become quickly addicted) is gaming. Aside from pulling on a VR headset at various festivals, it has been a few years since I have picked up a controller and played what you would consider a ‘traditional game’. This all changed at Kaboom, who hosted a free walk-in games area; showcasing the latest games that incorporate various animation styles and techniques. Of the twelve games on offer, unfortunately I only played two: Poke a Nose (fun, but one of those frustrating games!) and Thank Goodness You’re Here. The reason I only played two? I became completely addicted to the latter, and for the rest of the festival I could not walk past the games area without being known as the guy who spent hours on this game. Thank Goodness You’re Here is simply brilliant.

Screenshot from ‘Thank Goodness You’re Here’ game

Created by Yorkshire based Coal Supper, and set in the fictional Northern English town of Barnsworth, this game has it all: charmingly designed characters and environments, a plethora of background gags and scripted lines that wallow in good old Northern (English) humour, plenty of innuendo, and a simplicity to the gaming element that leaves you wanting to explore and complete the many challenges. It was great that Kaboom were able to bring in one of the game’s animators, Pip Williamson, for an informal Q&A session. I challenge you to watch the trailer and not want to try this game…

Making New Friends

I am always looking forward to meeting old and new faces at the opening and closing parties, but there were two social events that I was particularly anticipating: Nancy’s Winter Picnic and the Animation Pub Quiz. If you’ve ever attended Nancy’s ever-growing annual picnic at Annecy (where the Joanna Quinn/Skwigly rounders game takes place), you will be familiar with the format: bring food, bring drink, talk, have fun, EVERYONE is welcome. Despite it being March (and held inside) this event was no different. Kaboom rolled out the fake grass on the festival café floor, invited people to lay blankets, and offered snacks to all. The picnic served as the perfect backdrop for an ‘in-conversation’ style presentation with both Nik and Nancy Denney-Phelps, where the excellent Anna Eijsbouts posed questions about Nancy’s life, career and festival adventures; all of which can be found in her new book: On the Animation Trail: 20 Years of Animation Festival History. The talk was rounded off with an insightful pre-recorded video by Joanna Quinn, who discussed her process of designing the book’s cover.

Book cover of “On the Animation Trail: 20 Years of Animation Festival History” and Nic, Nancy and Anna Eijsbouts at Nancy’s Winter Picnic event

Moving on to the final day of the festival, the Animation Pub Quiz was a fun, yet VERY competitive, way to meet one last group of new friends. As a regular at the Skwigly Quiz each year, I was eager to see how quizmasters Roloff de Jeu and Maarten van Gageldonk compared to our very own Steve and Ben – and in short, they were fantastic. Bouncing off of each other, they provided laughs and sarcasm as they wove anagrams, trivia, picture and buzzer rounds together. Unfortunately, my team did not win (one of the cool Kaboom t-shirts) prizes, but we had a great time and I hope to see this quiz return year after year.

My Animation Pub Quiz team

Kaboom was truly a blast and lived up to my expectations in every way: from the well-curated shorts programmes to the insightful panel talk; from the games area to the inclusive social events, I can now join my fellow Skwigly colleagues in returning to the UK with nothing but praise and the desire to return again next year.

Kaboom Animation Festival will return in 2026 (dates T.B.C), in Utrecht, Amsterdam and Online. (Additionally, opening on 10th July 2025 and ready for next year’s festival, the Eye Filmmuseum will host a new permanent exhibition about analogue animation techniques.)

Full List of 2025 Award Winners

As the winners of the Best Animated Short Film and Best Animated Dutch Short are automatically eligible to enter the Academy Award® Short Film competition, both Scars We Love (Raphaël Jouzeau) and Skroll (Marten Visser) will get the chance to be qualified for an Oscar®.

Scars We Love, by Raphaël Jouzeau

Additionally, the winners of Best Short Film, Best Documentary, Best Jamie Bolio, Best VR, and Best Student Short will be going to the Annie Awards.

BEST VR
Project: Impulse: Playing with Reality
Barry Gene Murphy, May Abdalla

NANCY AWARD
Film: Pelikan Blue
László Csáki

BEST DOCUMENTARY
Film: Will You Come With Me?
Derya Durmaz

BEST DUTCH STUDENT SHORT
Film: Mother’s Child
Naomi Noir

BEST DUTCH STUDENT SHORT SPECIAL MENTION 1
Film: States of Matter
Marvin Hauck

BEST DUTCH STUDENT SHORT SPECIAL MENTION 2
Film: Immature
Eddy Wu

BEST DUTCH SHORT
Film: Skroll
Marten Visser

BEST STUDENT SHORT INTERNATIONAL SPECIAL MENTION
Film: A Blue Summer
Juliette Ragot

BEST STUDENT SHORT
Film: The Shortest Relationship in the World
Xiaoxuan Han

BEST INTERNATIONAL SHORT
Film: Scars We Love
Raphaël Jouzeau

BEST INTERNATIONAL SHORT SPECIAL MENTION
Film: Father’s Letters
Alexey Evstigneev

JAMIE BOLIO AWARD
Film: MIMT
Ted Wiggin

AUDIENCE AWARD FOR BEST EXPERIMENTAL FILM
Film: On Weary Wings
Anu-Laura Tuttelberg

AUDIENCE AWARD FOR BEST SHORT FILM
Film: Scars We Love
Raphaël Jouzeau

AUDIENCE AWARD FOR BEST KIDS FILM
Film: Hoofs on Skates
Ignas Meilunas

AUDIENCE AWARD FOR BEST FEATURE FILM
Film: Flavors of Iraq
Léonard Cohen

AUDIENCE AWARD FOR BEST COMMISSIONED FILM
Film: Group Session
Studio Mals, Setreset Films, Koen Berkhout, Martin van der Molen, Silas Nout

The post Provocation, Resistance, Disruptive: Kaboom Animation Festival 2025 Report appeared first on Skwigly Animation Magazine.

© Trinity CineAsia

What can be said other than the stock phrases journalists wheel out to express a sense of scale and wonder unexplainable without the shorthand attached to “jaw-dropping” and “awe-inspiring?” From its opening act, Ne Zha 2 is throwing out imagery you simply haven’t seen put onto a screen before, as the skies are infested by dragons weaving through waterfalls of lava which spill from the heavens onto the land of Chentang Pass. It culminates in a version of the battle scenes we’re used to from Lord of the Rings movies and Avengers: Endgame, but with a scale that surpasses them both so wholly that the only way it can be depicted is as two groups of particles floating into one another. 

The first installment in the Ne Zha franchise was decent, showing promise of something greater. The 2019 effort is a serviceable origin story for Ne Zha, a character imbued with a demonic force at birth who learns to control his darker impulses and unite with his angelic counterpart, Ao Bing. Through the rushed story and poor jokes, it was the action which made Ne Zha stand out, something director Jiaozi clearly has a keen eye for. 

Ne Zha 2 is a significant leap in quality in all these areas. The plot is sprawling and twisty (with flaws but still more engaging than the first), the humour works a bit more (other than the fatphobic treatment of the Master Taiyi character) and the already great action is put into overdrive. Ne Zha 2 is able to find a unique identity with its depiction of magical martial arts, not only in the moments of unimaginable scale, but in the way more grounded battles are cut and shot. There’s a great understanding of when action should be fast and almost unintelligible and when to slow it down, with Ne Zha doing the Zack Snyder thing better than he ever could, using the camera in constantly interesting ways, whether with harsh zooms or sprawling oners. 

This is enabled by Ne Zha being a CG franchise, one whose first installment made sacrifices in the character design and overall visual splendour in order to take advantage of what you can do with a camera in CG. The technological leap to Ne Zha 2 is palpable, textures are more tactile, skin has more detail and environments are pushed to more creative extremes. 

© Trinity CineAsia

As much as this sequel improves over the original, there is still some shakiness in the storytelling. This comes naturally from expanding the scope of the story, with Ne Zha having to travel to a heavenly realm and undergo a series of challenges in order to obtain an elixir powerful enough to form a new body for Ao Bing, who begins the movie in spirit form. There are big swings in the multiple twists the story takes, some are genuinely shocking, some feel incredibly obvious and some just don’t sit right in the moment. This isn’t helped by the way the film is translated into English subtitles, which are riddled with grammatical errors, meaning it’s possible that I misinterpreted some key scenes. 

The film also has an attempt at a message, one about the relationship between humans, immortals and demons mapping onto class structures in the real world, but those elements in this fantasy reality don’t feel fleshed out enough for that to have any weight. We have no sense of how or why these prejudices are propagated, making this commentary come off quite feeble, even if it isn’t one of the main goals of the movie. 

Ne Zha 2 achieves almost everything it sets its sights on, exhibiting action on the largest scale we’ve seen from animated movies in a long time. In that sense, Ne Zha 2 offers something that rarely comes from Hollywood animation. Other than the Spider-Verse movies, which can do more than go toe-to-toe with what Ne Zha 2 has on display, big action spectacle is saved for live-action, and animation, the medium with more possibilities, is expected to trade in light and whimsey rather than blood and thunder. Ne Zha 2 is yet another taste of what animation is capable of.

Ne Zha 2 is out in UK and Irish cinemas from 21st March 2025.

The post Ne Zha 2 – Highest Grossing Animated Film of All Time – Review appeared first on Skwigly Animation Magazine.

Costing just under three million pounds to produce, it also had the additional challenge of being animated remotely across three European continents and entirely with the open-source software Blender. But what made Flow stand out and succeed above many brilliant releases across the past year? And is it worth seeing on the big screen amongst other major titles?

© Dream Well Studio, Sacrebleu Productions, Take Five, Charades

Set in a mysterious and seemingly abandoned world by humans, nature has taken over the world with various animals now roaming the forest that the film opens up with. Amongst them is a lone and timid cat who suddenly finds themselves unexpectedly caught up in a great flood that covers the world as they know it. But after being saved by a passing boat with a capybara, their world soon opens up and so does their trust in others, when the crew slowly grows with other rescued animals as they sail across this new, perilous, and evolving world.

Despite the lack of dialogue and the challenges of a story being told exclusively from the perspective of a small feline, writers Gintz Zibalodis and Matiss Kaza did a great job of not just creating a simple yet beautifully executed story, but one where each character has a surprisingly deep arc for all the characters that make them much more entertaining and engaging to follow. The approach and result are rarely executed so well on film and their efforts have paid off, easily being the best non-dialogue animated film since 2023’s Robot Dreams.

© Dream Well Studio, Sacrebleu Productions, Take Five, Charades

While the script by Zibalodis and Kaza was brilliantly crafted, the team of animators and designers should be proud that they could create a visually unique and beautiful world despite their limitations.

The deliberate choice to use watercolour and painted-looking textures over the computer-animated models is pulled off beautifully to make both the characters and their natural and archaeological backgrounds pleasing to look at, especially with how lighting and colours compliment one another, giving the film a strong visual identity that compliments the story and worldbuilding. This also makes the characters stand out as these touches of lighting and visual strokes give each animal plenty of emotion through their expressions and body language, adding depth to their personalities and motions.

Zibalodis did a great job directing the film with its strong focus on visual storytelling and using animation and camera work effectively. There are many moments where tension and humour come in waves and the camera beautifully reflects this with so much going on in such a short running time, whether it’s the point of view of the cat struggling to swim in the flood, aerial shots across the biblical landscape, or a pack of dogs sweeping through the forest. These shots combined with the design and deliberate aesthetic make this film feel like a grounded yet mythical story that feels reminiscent of some of Studio Ghibli’s past works.

© Dream Well Studio, Sacrebleu Productions, Take Five, Charades

Despite its limitations and obstacles, Flow is a brilliantly visual film driven beautifully by its characters and their journey through a unique and mysterious world that is simply captivating from start to finish. Once it reaches its final shot, the film will captivate audiences, which certainly shows why it deserved its Academy Award win. If you can, this should be experienced on the big screen.

© Dream Well Studio, Sacrebleu Productions, Take Five, Charades

Flow will be released in UK cinemas on the 21st of March 2025.

(Check out our Interview with Flow’s Oscar winning director Gints Zilbalodis here.)

The post Academy Award Winning ‘Flow’ Hits UK Cinemas – Review appeared first on Skwigly Animation Magazine.

© DreamWorks Animation

DreamWorks’ adaptation of Dav Pilkey’s Dog Man graphic novel is goofy, chaotic, beautifully animated fun. For the uninitiated, the film appears as a standalone story, but in reality is a cleverly made spin off from 2017’s Captain Underpants: The First Epic Movie. Its director, Peter Hastings, has previous experience in the Underpants-verse, having produced the ongoing series The Epic Tales of Captain Underpants in Space, along with myriad other DreamWorks shows. Hastings has been a staple of the studio since 2011 prior to taking up the director’s chair himself. 

Hastings’ debut is fresh and energetic in its own right, but is yet another example of DreamWorks’ experimentation with CG animation, looking for increasingly absurd ways to squash and stretch photoreal animation into something more stylised, while fitting the story they tell. The texture and surreality of Dog Man’s art style helps sell its insane storyline; a police officer and his canine who get into a terrible accident (the color blind dog taking the lead on defusing a bomb), the only solution to which is to attach the head of one onto the other, creating a dog-man hybrid who becomes the arch enemy of supervillain Petey the Cat. 

More than any character, animation is the star of the show in Dog Man. Backgrounds and objects feel like the fodder of primary school art classes in the most charming way. The bustling Ohkay cityscape is dominated by wonky skyscrapers. Objects like cars and houses look like pieces of cardboard stuck together, then roughly painted, allowing you to see brushstrokes and areas that could do with a second coat. Wonderfully sketchy 2D effects pop out from the aftermath of explosions and car chases, like smoke emanating from under tyres. Even things like speed lines are extra wonky and available for the characters to physically interact with. 

© DreamWorks Animation

There is such a strong sense of style and roughness in the world that the characters look jarringly smooth in comparison. There is an effort made to drop the frame rates on some characters and everyone is given very simple facial features, consisting of dots and lines like you’d draw with a pencil, and the oversized heads lean into the stylised look too. However, the skin textures are found lacking, making their overwhelming smoothness out of place compared to the rest of the world. 

Smoothness isn’t exactly present in the writing either, but that’s part of the film’s charm. The story is very, very messy which is forgivable because of how much of an adrenaline rush the rest of the movie is. When you come out of the cinema and play it back in your memory, the movie feels like it’s 30 mins long. Plenty happens in the story, but you’re not given any time to grow bored of one joke, location, or story beat. This stops the film from feeling complete, but helps it lean into the fun. 

The humour is fantastic in the silliest way imaginable. There’s a bit of Wallace & Gromit or Simpsons DNA in there where every single person who lives in this city just happens to be an absolute idiot. The scene where the idea that man and dog be combined is one of the funniest you’ll see all year. There’s also an underlying love story between the chief of police and news reporter Sarah Hatoff that is delivered in three lines spread across the movie. 

© DreamWorks Animation

Even as absurd images, jokes and character decisions are thrown at you at a crazy rate and your understanding of the motivations for most characters is lost, you never feel confused about what’s running through the minds of the two protagonists, Dog Man and Petey. Dog Man is looking to rebuild his network of family and friends, essentially starting over from scratch after the accident, meanwhile Petey needs to accept family when he has it forced upon him after he births a baby clone version of himself. Their arcs are taken good care of through all the madness, resolving in satisfying ways while accompanied by some gorgeous imagery.

Dog Man is great fun and is another example of the flexibility in storytelling and art style that DreamWorks are capable of. This, along with their last film, The Wild Robot, tackle completely different tones, genres and art styles, sharing only the desire to experiment. The Wild Robot’s focus is catharsis and the characters’ emotional journey, while Dog Man shoots straight for comedy. They aren’t immediately recognisable as movies from the same studio, something we’re not so used to with American animation where studios like Pixar and Disney stick to similar looks and stories. Dog Man is a good film that’s good for the ecosystem of American animation.

The post Dog Man | Review appeared first on Skwigly Animation Magazine.

COURTESY OF NETFLIX © 2024

Jentry Chau vs. The Underworld is almost everything we want in an animated series. A show with a cool art style bringing to life an original story constructed by a wealth of people of colour both on and off screen can be found on the wishlist of a good chunk of animation fanatics. Created by Echo Wu (in her showrunning debut) and featuring the voice talent of Ali Wong and Bowen Yang, Jentry Chau works against the poisonous animation industry trend of having white men controlling POC stories. This story is specific to Chinese culture, and the people behind it reflect that.

Also extremely appealing about Jentry Chau is its ambitious genre mishmash, centring around the titular high schooler who is confronted with the struggles of making friends, love triangles and the responsibility to protect her loved ones from demons invading the mortal realm from the underworld who seek Jentry’s ancient fire-wielding powers. All the ingredients of this 2D animated gumbo come together for a good meal, but Jentry Chau vs. The Underworld is just one step from greatness. 

An important rung on that ladder is the show’s visual style which is satisfyingly saturated and dynamically lit for a 2D show. The first episode is a breathtaking showcase for what animation studio Titmouse are able to achieve with lighting. Starting off in Korea, Jentry is immediately lined with neon signs as the sun sets. When she gets into a battle and her powers begin to kick in, that extra light source is used in such a creative way to bring more dynamism to closeups on characters’ faces. The purples and pinks that contrast with the night sky and refract off faces, clothes and props are absolutely gorgeous.

The character models themselves are also full of interesting details. They feel familiar enough for what we’ve seen from 2D sitcoms but have a slight oddness about them in some characters’ chin, eyes and cheek shapes that make them feel distinct and unique to the show. This all complements the backgrounds which are never plain and boring. There’s always something lining the action, whether it’s a table of trinkets or a line of shops.

The fight scenes (sometimes literally) bring the show to new dimensions. Storyboarded to perfection, this exploration of Chinese myth through a Scott Pilgrim-like gauntlet of foes allows Jentry Chau to play with all kinds of imagery conjured by a pantheon of power sets. We’re introduced to Ed, a shapeshifting demon whose transitions between forms happen in a blink of an eye without you ever losing track of the action, we get kaiju-sized demons whose scale is used to communicate the size of the burden placed on Jentry to be a saviour.

COURTESY OF NETFLIX © 2024

While the visuals thrive in the big, loud moments that matter, it’s some of the quieter beats that are underserved. As good as the character models look, the face animation can sometimes let down some great writing and performances. There are few too many moments where Jentry’s face is blank and stoic while Ali Wong layers her vocals with sincerity and emotion.  

Equally bland is the character animation. Despite having different personalities and backgrounds on the surface, the movement of the cast of characters is uniform, meaning little is gleaned from the animation performance and the script has to do some heavy handed heavy lifting. This is with the exception of Ed, whose otherworldly nature and comic relief allows him to move with a bit more freedom. 

This feeds into a larger, hugely subjective, issue with the show – I never fell in love with these characters. There is a concentrated effort from the show to make the main cast extremely likable which comes with the cost of actually giving characters quirks and likes and dislikes and any kind of specificity in case they start to come off as too annoying or too weird. We have to spend seven hours with these characters who (except for a couple) are nice, kind people and not much else. 

COURTESY OF NETFLIX © 2024

It’s worth comparing this to another animated, supernatural, high school-set series on Netflix – Dan Da Dan. Like Jentry Chau, the characters in Dan Da Dan fall into recognisable archetypes but put them into overdrive. It’s a joy to spend time with these characters because it feels like you’re unlocking new sides to their personality with each episode. They’re all a bit weird, stupid and infinitely more watchable because of that.

Jentry Chau vs. The Underworld is a good show just shy of greatness. Its visual style and grand action is undeniable, hair raising and engaging, even when the quieter moments in the show let it down slightly. Still, it’s a net positive for this show to exist. The streaming model is flawed in so many ways, requiring a deluge of shows and movies to be made at a high rate, but it also allows stories like this, that are culturally specific and would be seen as too much of a risk a couple decades ago, to be made. The future of streaming is uncertain, but I hope it’s full of more Jentry Chau’s.

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