Fantasia 2025: I Am Frankelda Is a Mexican Fantasy That Dares to Dream Bigger

Over the last few years, as someone deeply immersed in international cinema and animation, I have come to understand how vast the medium really is. From the rise of donghua in China, to the global saturation of anime to the point of eclipsing local productions, to witnessing Pakistan’s first 2D animated feature The Glassworker, it has been a journey of constant discovery and reevaluation. But even with all of that, nothing has struck me quite like watching I Am Frankelda take its place at Fantasia. This is not just a milestone for Mexican animation. It is a cinematic statement. And it is one that hits deep, not out of nationalism or cultural bias, but because it is undeniably earned.

This is Mexico’s first full stop motion animated feature. Let that sink in. And it is not some timid entry point. It is bold, complex, fantastical, and unapologetically itself.

From the Shadows of the Anthology to a Mythology of Its Own

Serving as a prequel to the Frankelda’s Book of Spooks series, this film shifts gears entirely. We leave behind the format of horror short stories and move into something bigger. This is no longer about the villain of the week. It is about the making of a world. The story follows Frankelda, an aspiring horror writer, who meets Herneval, the Prince of Horrors. Her stories become the force that could either preserve or destroy his crumbling kingdom.

The scope is larger, the stakes are higher, and the ambition is evident in every frame. The Ambriz Brothers do not just revisit their earlier creation. They recontextualize it. They deepen it. Frankelda is no longer a narrator behind the curtain. She is the story itself.

A New Mexican Fantasy

What blew me away, aside from the meticulous stop motion craftsmanship, was how I Am Frankelda defies the international expectations of what Mexican animation is supposed to look like. There is no narco shorthand. No easy folkloric nostalgia. It is not trying to replicate Coco, nor is it basking in the aesthetic signatures of Jorge R. Gutiérrez, whose work I deeply admire. Instead, this film carves its own path.

It feels closer in spirit to the textured grotesquerie of Jim Henson or the handcrafted surrealism of Terry Gilliam. The world it presents is both magical and mechanical, ancient and uncanny. Characters like Ceimut and Metiliates expand the mythology far beyond the walls of the original series. Frankelda, Herneval, and Procustes now belong to a broader tapestry of lore, one that feels like it has existed for centuries.

Visually, it is dense. There is a lot happening. At times it feels rushed, overwhelmed by its own imagination. But the reward is immense. This is a film that dares to believe that children, families, and adults can be challenged. That wonder does not need to be simplified.

Stories That Do Not Talk Down

As a father, this matters more than ever. I want stories that treat children like the complex emotional beings they are. I Am Frankelda does that. It presents danger. It presents consequences. It invites its audience to think and feel, rather than sit back and consume. And in Procustes, it offers one of the best villains I have seen in recent genre animation, one that embodies evil without ever becoming inconsequential.

I had the chance to speak with the Ambriz Brothers shortly before the screening, and while the version I saw will be altered for theatrical release, with input from none other than Guillermo del Toro, I am not worried. From its opening moments, which echo the fantasy of Hellboy II and the poetry of Pan’s Labyrinth, to its thematic undercurrents reminiscent of Pinocchio, it is clear that this is a world worth returning to.

A Landmark in Mexican Animation

I Am Frankelda is more than a film. It is an achievement. It redefines what is possible within Mexican cinema and raises the bar for Latin American animation. It is also a reminder that imagination, when nurtured with care and ambition, can reshape entire industries. There is nothing small about this film. Every frame feels hand-forged, every narrative turn purposeful. And if you are willing to listen, Frankelda’s voice might just linger long after the credits roll.