A Deep Dive into Annecy’s 2025 Short Film Showcase Through the Lens of a Highly-Awarded Argentinian Creative Trio
This year, I attended the Annecy International Animation Film Festival for the first time, and it felt like the entire world came along to celebrate animation. The festival’s quirky teaser that highlighted its international component and played throughout the week constantly reminded me of this, never failing to bring a smile to my face. The atmosphere was nothing short of electric, with legendary guests like “The Simpsons” creators Matt Groening and David Silverman, French filmmaker Michel Gondry and British animation artist Joanna Quinn who received honorary Cristal awards for their lifetime achievements. It was a truly uplifting and joyful experience.
I have never seen so many young people lining up to watch movies, nor experienced screenings quite so animated and lively. The energy in the theaters was contagious — every time the festival’s artistic director Marcel Jean appeared on stage, the audience erupted with chants of “Marcel, Marcel!” And of course, “Lapin, Lapin!” was another enthusiastic interjection — no explanation needed. Each screening began with a low, murmuring hum from the audience, a curious ritual that set the tone. For me, the highlight of the festival was the short films program — 62 titles spread across several sections: Official Competition, Off‑Limits, Perspectives, Midnight Shorts. It was an impressively diverse lineup that continually surprised and delighted me with its bold visual styles and the powerful artistic voices behind each film.
It feels unfair to single out favorites, but there are a few animated shorts that still echo in my mind: “Carcassonne-Acapulco,” by Marjorie Caup and Olivier Héraud for its playful approach to a serious theme—the fear of the other; “The Magician,” by Bogdan Muresanu for its conceptually perfect script and nostalgic, romantic allure; “Les Bêtes,” by Michael Granberry for its astonishing technical precision and inventive execution; “The Girl Who Cried Pearls,” by Chris Lavis and Maciek Szczerbowski for its fairytale charm and captivating narration; “La Vie avec un idiot,” by Theodore Ushev for its satirical verve; “My Brother, My Brother,” by Abdelrahman Dnewar and Saad Dnewar for its heart-wrenching emotional core; “Ovary-Acting,” by Ida Melum which delivered a colourful punch of wit and personality. I’ll stop here lest I end up listing them all.
One of the most thrilling parts of the festival was the chance to hear directly from the filmmakers about how their animated shorts were made. Every morning at 8:30 a.m., over coffee and croissants at the delightful Les P’tits Dej du court, different sessions offered an intimate atmosphere where the creators took turns answering questions from both the festival’s interviewer and the audience. To delve deeper into the creative process, production challenges and inspirations behind an Annecy-selected short, I sat down with an Argentine creative trio whose presence shone brightly at the festival. Their short “Luz Diabla,” which premiered earlier this year at the Sundance Film Festival, screened in Annecy’s offbeat Midnight Section, and was recently pre-qualified for the Oscars following its win at Guadalajara (FICG), which was announced during Annecy. They also won a major pitch at MIFA, Annecy’s renowned animation market, cementing their place as one of the standout talents of this year’s edition.
Here is my Interview with Gervasio Canda, Paula Boffo and Patricio Plaza
Dana Knight: Let’s start with introductions — how did you meet, and what led you to work together?
Paula Boffo: We all met through working in animation. I met Patricio when he reached out to me about some erotic comics I was making. That conversation led us to start developing things together. Later on, I met Gervasio at Annecy, and the three of us decided to join forces. Patricio is the founder of Ojo Raro, and both Gervasio and I came on board because we believed deeply in the studio’s vision. Patricio and Gervasio first connected at a party while “Carne de Dios” was still in development, and that’s where they decided to team up for the film.
Gervasio Canda: Yes, it actually started at that party. Pat already had the idea for “Carne de Dios” — he had just returned from doing research and was telling me about it. The story touched on healing through ancestral ceremonies, native communities and the church playing a darker role … I fell in love with it instantly. At the time I was about to move to Canada, but I told him, “Whatever happens, I’m in. I really believe in this project.”
DK: Do you also pursue solo projects, or do you always collaborate as a team?
Patricio Plaza: Yes, we all have our own individual passion projects but animation is a collective effort, so usually we are involved in many different projects. I have always liked to surround myself with creative, talented and loving people who have a passion for their work, and since animation takes so much time, it is good to create an ecosystem of creative people who can lead their own areas of expertise during the long production processes.
DK: What is it like to write and direct animation projects as a trio? Do you find your skills complement each other?
PB: Definitely! Pat has over 20 years of experience as an animation filmmaker, Gerva comes from an architecture background and has worked in visual development for years, and I come from the world of comics, which gave me a strong foundation in visual storytelling. When we made Luz Diabla, it was a challenge at first to share the director’s chair, but because we each bring different strengths, it was easy to divide responsibilities. And when we disagreed — well, being three meant we could always just vote!
GC: Yes, when we had the chance to start a short from scratch with a fresh idea, we deliberately chose to work horizontally — as co-directors — so we could explore a more collective process. It was a challenge, but it really helped us build common ground and learn more about one another. For me, it was a fantastic experience to collaborate with Pat and Paula, who both have strong storytelling skills. I come more from art direction, visual development and video games — so I’m used to thinking in terms of gameplay rather than narrative. It was eye-opening.
PP: We definitely complement each other across the different creative aspects of the project. I took the lead on animation and storytelling structure, Paula focused on scriptwriting, dialogue and character development and Gerva brought his strengths in visual design and art direction. But throughout the entire production process, all three of us contributed to every aspect — we each had a voice in shaping the film.
DK: Are you regulars at Annecy? Do you attend every year? How did this year’s experience compare to previous editions?
PB: For South American filmmakers, being regulars at Annecy is actually a huge privilege. We’ve been going fairly regularly in recent years, but mostly because we’ve had projects that gave us a reason to be there.
GC: Yes, having “Carne de Dios” and now “Luz Diabla” selected for official screenings helped a lot. We’ve also participated in some pitching sessions, which provided us with accreditations and made the trip more affordable. Annecy is one of the best festivals for networking and keeping connections alive — but it’s true, it’s not cheap. What’s great is that it strikes a rare balance between work and joy: the lake, the atmosphere, the time of year … you can go swimming during the day and stay out late in the beautiful old town.
That said, Annecy is huge. You don’t sleep, you forget to eat and drink water — you just keep going. There’s so much happening all the time that it can feel overwhelming. Smaller festivals often give you more time to actually watch films, rest and meet people in a more relaxed setting. But I think we’ve learned how to navigate Annecy: to enjoy it, you have to let go of FOMO, be organized and stay present.
PP: This was my sixth time at Annecy, which is quite rare for a South American filmmaker — it’s such a long trip! For me, this was one of the best editions, both personally and professionally. I pitched for the first time at MIFA and had a lot of productive meetings. I also made time for parties and reconnected with old friends and colleagues. I do wish I’d seen more films, but nothing is ever perfect, and Annecy is so big that each year you have to choose your focus.
DK: In Annecy, you won an important pitch at MIFA and also had a short film in the Midnight Specials section that just picked up a major award in Guadalajara, pre-qualifying it for the Oscars. That must be incredibly exciting! Can you tell us more about these projects? They seem quite different in tone and intent.
PB: It’s incredibly exciting, yes! I think we’ve reached a moment where Ojo Raro — this animation “monster” we’ve created as a trio — is beginning to show its many faces, which feels very natural and organic. Patricio’s feature project is deeply political, a hybrid animated documentary that dives into difficult and uncomfortable topics with a serious, investigative gaze. At the same time, we had “Luz Diabla,” which explores queer identity, but in a much lighter tone, allowing space for humor and even laughing at ourselves!
GC: We also pitched “Città Dolente,” a project supported by Ibermedia, which is pushing the boundaries of narrative through progressive media like VR. It’s grounded in real research with Indigenous communities across Latin America. Through interviews and collaboration, we’ve been learning about their worldviews — particularly their visions of the underworld — and translating those into a unique, immersive world for audiences to explore.
Then there’s “Santa Sombra,” Paula’s “little baby,” which started as a graphic novel. We’ve now received funding to develop it into both a feature film and a video game, which is a great way to expand our audience. So yes — we’re moving in a lot of different directions, but always with a clear and intentional vision.
PP: I pitched my first feature-length project, “Black Diaries,” at the MIFA Pitches and also through Orillas Nuevas, a special program by the French Embassy in Argentina. It’s an animated documentary — and, actually, it was the first animated documentary ever pitched at MIFA, so it was an honor to be part of that milestone.
The project received the DOK Leipzig Award and support from a French screenwriting development program, which was an amazing outcome. I was nervous — it was my first time doing an official MIFA pitch — but I prepared thoroughly with Rosario Carlino, the project’s producer at Osa Estudio, one of our animation partners in Argentina.
“Luz Diabla” is my fourth short to be selected at Annecy, but it was the first time I participated in the MIFA pitch program — so even after many years, there’s always something new to learn, and that’s what keeps it exciting.
DK: “Luz Diabla” felt infused with Pop Art influences — it’s playful, mysterious and rhythmically frenetic, with music that makes you want to dance. It was riveting, though the ending was quite abrupt. What were your aesthetic intentions for the short?
PB: That’s funny — personally, I have a bit of a love-hate relationship with Pop Art. The movement borrowed heavily from incredibly talented comic artists who never got the recognition or financial rewards from the fine art world that repackaged their work. So our references were actually elsewhere: we drew more from MTV’s “Liquid Television,” Peter Chung, “Belladonna of Sadness,” ’90s rave aesthetics, religious iconography [a recurring element in Ojo Raro’s work], and Buenos Aires’ underground club scene.
Musically, we were inspired by Deconstructed Club/Post-Club, a genre that’s really grown in Latin America. That sound identity helped shape both the vibe and narrative rhythm of the short. We wanted to create something unapologetic, but political — a kind of horror that doesn’t just shock but also provokes reflection. Nightlife might seem like it’s just about fun, but the dancefloor can lead you into deep, structural questions. And sometimes, parties end abruptly. For our protagonist, the fun can’t last forever — but thankfully, the bad trip isn’t eternal either.
GC: Another key element is the collision between worlds: Martín, this hyper-urban raver, and the rural gauchos — our version of cowboys from la pampa. That tension between city and countryside creates sparks. It’s all grounded in a myth that everyone in Argentina knows, but we reinterpreted it through a queer, contemporary lens. The horror is there, but so is absurdity and dark humor. The story takes unexpected turns, reflecting not only Martín’s personal transformation but also a deeper cultural friction.
DK: This is my first animation film festival, and I was flabbergasted by the sheer creativity and inventiveness of the techniques on display. What are your favorite animation methods, or are you always experimenting?
PB: I’m a total 2D nerd — it’s my first love. But I also enjoy watching strange cut-out styles and more experimental forms. I studied at an experimental animation school, so I’d love to explore more mixed-media techniques that incorporate 2D in unexpected ways.
GC: We’re all deeply fascinated by the plasticity of traditional 2D animation. It’s limitless — if you can draw it, you can animate it. Compared to live-action or full 3D, where special effects can be extremely expensive or technically demanding, frame-by-frame animation offers freedom to be abstract, weird, poetic.
That said, we’re currently exploring other formats — 3D, VR — not to replace 2D, but to expand what we can do. These tools help with time-consuming tasks like backgrounds or effects, and they open doors to new platforms: environments that work for both films and video games, virtual experiences that can be adapted for dome projections or live events. Still, no matter what tools we use, everything begins with a sketch, a drawing, a piece of concept art. The hand remains central.
DK: Is there such a thing as trends or fashions in animation? Every film I saw felt so unique.
PB: Trends are everywhere — it’s hard to escape them, whether in animation, music or fashion. Just think of the Y2K comeback in clothing! In festivals, you tend to see more singular, personal visions, but if you look at mainstream animation across decades, you can definitely trace stylistic movements. Independent, student and auteur-driven films are usually less influenced by those broader trends and more anchored in personal expression.
GC: Exactly. Because animation requires creating everything from scratch — the world, the characters, how a tree looks, how the sky moves — it naturally leans toward uniqueness. Even if there are branches of style (abstract, realistic, textured, etc.), and even if certain techniques like 2D, 3D or stop motion may trend, each successful project has to be original to stand out. That constant push toward reinvention is what keeps us evolving as artists.
DK: During the festival, I heard someone refer to “live action” in contrast to animation, as if animation were somehow an alternative or deviation from what we typically call “cinema.” It reminded me of how terms like “heterosexuality” and “homosexuality” create binaries, with one positioned as the unmarked norm. In that light, do you think animation — with its flexibility and capacity for abstraction — is especially suited to exploring or expressing queer values and identities?
PB: For me, animation is actually the origin of cinema. Live action wouldn’t exist without the sequencing of still images — without animation. I also really like the connection you’re making. It’s frustrating how animation is often treated as a genre rather than a medium — as if it’s a niche category, rather than one of cinema’s foundational languages.
Animation allows for abstraction in ways that live action doesn’t. When we’re dealing with complex or fluid ideas — about gender, identity, queerness — animation lets us represent them in ways that aren’t bound by realism or literalism. If I make a queer film with characters who have horse heads, audiences are more likely to accept that world immediately in animation than they might in live action. There’s a freedom there, a softness in how viewers engage with those realities.
GC: Totally. Animation lets you build a universe where your story feels natural, and you’re not limited by physical reality. Honestly, sometimes I think live action should be considered a genre within animation — because it’s just one choice among many: to use real people and real locations instead of inventing them. That might sound cheeky, but I genuinely believe it. Animation gives you the tools to create any world you need.
PP: Yes, exactly. Animation is the mother of all moving-image technologies — even live action cinema is an outgrowth of it. So rather than saying “animation isn’t cinema,” I’d argue: cinema is animation. And we’re reaching a point where the boundary between animation and live action is starting to blur. With the rise of AI and new technologies, the photographic image is losing its aura — its supposed link to reality. Animation has always embraced artifice and simulation, and that’s powerful. We’re not bound to mimic reality; instead, we can invent realities of another nature. In that sense, animation becomes a kind of neo-animistic technology — one that can give life, or conjure death, in entirely new ways.
DK: Do you all identify as queer? And how does the queer community you’re part of influence your artistic practice?
PB: I do, and it’s shaped the way I make art since I was a teenager. As an AFAB person, feminism is also part of my lived experience. There was a moment in my life when it felt like a veil had been lifted — suddenly I could see how culture is a tool that shapes minds, reinforces political structures, and determines who gets to be visible. People build so much of their worldview through media. That’s when I realized we need to actively occupy those cultural spaces so the content we create can be truly intersectional. For me, it’s not just about being queer — it’s also about being South American, anti-war, anti-capitalist, anti-colonialist … the list goes on! [laughs]
GC: I’ve always felt the importance of working inclusively — creating worlds where no one’s gender identity or sexual orientation needs to be questioned. The queer community is full of different sensitivities and subcultures, and I think that diversity deserves to be explored. Even though I’m kind of the “straight leg” of our trio, I’m constantly learning from Paula and Pat and feel very lucky to be part of a space where everyone can feel free to be themselves.
I’ve always been drawn to alternative ways of living and being — ways that move away from society’s imposed standards of what’s “right.” Those norms only serve to limit us and make everyone conform. With the world turning increasingly fascist and authoritarian, the need for freedom feels more urgent than ever. That’s why it’s vital to give space and visibility to stories, characters, and perspectives that reflect queer lives — not just in what we show, but also in how we work. Our teams need to be diverse, our structures inclusive, and our processes collaborative. It’s about creating space — both narratively and behind the scenes — where everyone belongs.
PP: I tend to define myself as a person with queer practices, more than someone with a fixed queer identity. That distinction has long been part of discussions within the LGBTQ+ movement. Defining identities too rigidly can become limiting or even counterproductive. Still, I embrace “queer” as a political stance — one that actively questions heterosexuality as a normative system tied to capitalism and patriarchal structures.
And we do that from a specifically South-American and decolonial perspective. For us, animation is not just a medium — it’s a political tool. We use it to disrupt, to reimagine, to ask difficult questions about the world we live in.
DK: Anything else you’d like to add?
PB: Thanks so much for the interview! PP: Yes, thank you — and welcome to the wacky world of animation!