Based on the true tale of friendship and rivalry between Umberto Nobile and Roald Amundsen, Titina is the first animated feature film by Norwegian acclaimed director Kajsa Naess, whose films Deconstruction Workers and It’s Up to You won numerous awards and festival selections. Co-produced by Naess’ own Mikrofilm studio and Belgian Vivifilm, this whole new story brings us to the North Pole for an epic expedition. But is Titina the icy and heartfelt family adventure you’ve been looking for, or does it rather fall flat on account of its complex narrative arcs and slow pacing?

The real Titina in 1926 – copyright Italian Air Force Museum of Vigna di Valle

I had personal expectations regarding this film. The thought of going back to the barren white plains of the Pole, after Rémi Chayé’s delightful Long Way North, drove me to Titina’s screening with high hopes. Here, we follow the struggle between the two male characters who fight for fame and glory. An already told story, but in Titina Kajsa Naess manages to twist this problem by telling us this tale through the eyes of one cute puppy named Titina, a seemingly tiny shift that provides in fact a truly refreshing perspective. By putting this real-life story through the pet’s flashback, Naess gives it a comical and heartwarming tone, along with a nostalgia that creates a nice and cozy atmosphere around this tale of hardship.

It’s truly this choice that carries the emotional weight of the story, making you relate to the characters and events that unfold in Titina. As Naess puts it, “it’s a tale of little men and their little feelings in gigantic landscapes, and the story of the dog who lived to tell it”. Building around this idea, the production was handled between Norway and Belgium where Naess spent months working closely with animation director Marie-Laure Guisset and her carefully selected team of animators. One of the key aspects was – following the directors’ comments – their will to restrain the movements and emotions of the main characters to the essential, providing a slower pace to the movie. Thus allowing us to experience deeper emotions, delving into the two main characters, Umberto Nobile and Roald Amundsen, and their rivalry.

TITINA still – Svalbard hangar
© Mikrofilm, Lumiere, 2023

Young Umberto Nobile was, as we quickly discover, one eccentric engineer flying around Italy in his airship. As he wanders the streets of Rome, he encounters Titina, a clumsy Fox-Terrier who he adopts immediately, charmed – as we are – by her silly attitude. Though they don’t know it yet, they’ll soon fly together to the North Pole on an expedition with Norwegian explorer Roald Amundsen, who desperately wants to be the first man to reach both the South and the North Pole.

The Norge Zeppelin in Svalbard
© Nasjonalbiblioteket (National Library of Norway)

Depicted through Naess’s sweet animation mixed with archive footage from the expedition, this adventure unveils quickly before our eyes, with the speed of a running train and the flow of air on the wings of both airplanes and blimps. As a history buff, I was amazed to discover this unknown yet fascinating episode of arctic exploration, and Titina does provide a beautiful take on it. As the warm colours of Italy are swiftly replaced by the dazzling whites of the eternal snows of the Pole, overlooked by everchanging clouds, Titina is at its best when the film takes us up in the skies. We are carried along the memories of Nobile and Amundsen, where the music by Kåre Vestrheim and the animation mix perfectly together. From the eyes of a human, it’s already impressive. From the dog’s point of view as the animation unfolds on incredible landscapes, it’s magnificent.

TITINA still – the first meeting
© Mikrofilm, Lumiere, 2023

It’s when we get back to the ground that the film may be the least thrilling. The characters, although being drawn adorably, lack the depth you may want to discover in such adventures. Naess’s aesthetics work great when the characters and their personalities are put to the test, the impact of this choice on the movie’s pacing did throw me off when the film slows down to put the adventure in context. Titina’s point of view thankfully provides a sharp look on the human characters, from their great kindness to their stronger defaults and ego-trips. In the matter of flags and dictators, size does seem to matter. With that witty approach, the movie manages to convey its deeper themes. Resistance through fascism, the strength needed to overcome its own ego, and finally the inevitable passage of time, for me the most moving aspect of the film. All that, at a child’s level. And from an adult’s perspective, you may find that the movie’s themes and topics will stick with you, even haunt you a little. As a critic, but also as a human being, Titina is the kind of film that makes me look inward and ask, what do you want to leave behind? A question that many of us ask themselves every day. And because of all that, Titina is a seemingly simple yet impressive achievement.

The post Feature Film Review: Titina – “A tale of little men and their little feelings in gigantic landscapes” appeared first on Skwigly Animation Magazine.

© Gilles Moins / Anima Festival

And maybe that’s one of the most impressive feats accomplished by the team. For a festival that’s been happening since 1984, it’s quite a challenge to renew your audience, yet a necessary one. Of course, professionals from all around Belgium come back every year, and students flood the halls of the old Flagey building, the legendary heart of the festival. But the Covid crisis changed the way families and children consume animation, as well as international travellers. Some are coming back, some aren’t. And there’s not much to do about it, except go on with the show, and the pancakes. Because who doesn’t love a good pancake at Anima?

Anima location, Flagey © Gilles Moins / Anima Festival

Despite this rather gloomy statement, the halls of Anima were crowded, from Day one to Day ten of this major Belgian event. Under the management of Dominique Seutin and Karin Vandenrydt, the two festival Directors for whom it’s the first regular edition, the team is striving towards new goals of diversity and ecology. And we have witnessed their success this year, without any doubt.

The two directors – Dominique Seutin and Karin Vandenrydt – with host Stephanie Coerten. © Gilles Moins / Anima Festival

As part of this effort to bring more diversity in the animation world, Futuranima hosted the second in-depth roundtable about inclusivity in storytelling, putting forward writers such as Brooklyn-based Latvian director Signe Baumane (My Love Affair with Marriage), Norwegian director Mats Grorud (The Tower) and Belgian director Ada Güvenir (As if it Could). To tell a story is indeed one thing. To truly understand the dynamics, challenges and reality of the people you are portraying is a totally different thing, and this not-so-thin line is what makes a project worth your while.

Tell your own story could also have been a great tagline for the Queer stories program, a night that became one of the major events this year at Anima. Hundreds gathered for the second year in a row to enjoy the amazing drag show provided by none other than Cabaret Mademoiselle, one of the oldest Drag Queen Cabaret in town. Along with a tastefully curated selection of LGBTQIA+ films, from horny snails to troublesome plummery, including the Sundance nominated Christopher at Sea by Tom CJ Brown. And as animation evolves slowly but surely towards more diversity, Anima’s team curated yet another special program around women directors under the banner of Oscar-nominated My Year of Dicks. A sold-out screening, one of the 44 of this crowded edition. More than just a trendy topic, those screenings brought new crowds to the festival, creating a safe space for discovery and sharing. Many of the faces seen in the audience had not been at Anima before, but they’ll certainly come back next year, bringing along new animation-lovers, from every corner of Brussels, Belgium and beyond. These new experiences, along with the now-traditional VR selection, and Temple Caché’s gorgeous AR exhibition, suggest one thing: Animation still is both a crowd-gatherer medium and a powerful innovation lab, opening to more and more genres and topics, with infinite possibilities.

Queer night at Anima 2023. © Gilles Moins / Anima Festival

Wandering the halls of Flagey, you could already witness this future happening. A bright and diverse future made of children running around before their screening, of new animation-lovers, and of students gathering to meet great talents such as Joanna Quinn or Jim Capobianco. Two magnificent artists, both in their own way but equally humble, who shared their knowledge in two impressive master classes. Animation at Anima has that kind of energy that manages not only to drive people forward, but also while preserving their past, with deeply emotional moments such as Alain Ughetto’s stop motion wonder No Dogs or Italians Allowed (Interdit aux Chiens et aux Italiens). A tale for the ages, told by the simple and yet wonderful voice of Alain Ughetto’s grandmother Cesira, as she would have lived it. A beautiful token of appreciation to all those who ever felt out of place, suffered racism but kept on going, echoing the main themes of this delightful edition of Anima. This year’s edition was a truly delightful experience, surely both for the guests, the team and the public.

Puppets from Alain Ughetto’s “interdit aux chiens et aux italiens”. © Gilles Moins / Anima Festival

And as always, smiles seem to have been the fuel that powers everything here. Smiles, pancakes, incredible discoveries, and of course the occasional Belgian beer in the evening. Who wouldn’t want that kind of future? On my part, I’ll see you there next year, that’s for sure!

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