For its painstaking physicality alone, stop-motion is inherently impressive as an animation technique, no matter the scale or budgetary specifics of the project. But when artists, like those behind the ambitiously crafted phantasmagorical musical “I Am Frankelda,” throw caution to wind to build an imposing universe to animate frame by frame, one can’t help but feel in utter awe — warts and all.
Gothic sets with baroque architecture — that not only catch the eye but prompt one to wonder how they were conceived — serve as the backdrop to the similarly ornate puppets in the first stop-motion feature fully produced in Mexico (Guillermo del Toro’s Oscar-winning “Pinocchio” was only partially made in the director’s home country). Through their studio Cinema Fantasma, brothers Roy and Arturo Ambriz first introduced their morbid heroine in the series “Frankelda’s Book of Spooks” for HBO Max back in 2021. This feature-length film serves as a prequel to that show, diving into the origins of Frankelda’s bond with her sentient book and romantic interest Herneval, when he was still an otherworldly royal.
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An orphan child dreaming of becoming a writer in 19th century Mexico, the young Francisca Imelda (voiced as a kid by Habana Zoé), crafts frightful stories and characters, including Herneval (Juan Pablo Monterrubio), a prince her age in the Realm of the Spooks, an alternative reality inhabited by all her fictional creations. However, Herneval’s extravagant kingdom, the Topus Terrentus, is at risk of disappearing because people in the real world are no longer afraid of fiction. Human fear, similar to how “Monsters Inc.” operates, is the lifeblood of “the spooks” (which come in two races, one birdlike and one arachnid).
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Frontloaded with the extensive mythology and the mechanics of this storytelling realm, “I Am Frankelda” can feel a bit dense narratively, yet its many visual pleasures continually mesmerize. Every space looks lovingly handcrafted, often making us aware of the materials used in their arduous confection. Viewers expecting the pristine aesthetic and movement of the works of outfits like Laika or Aardman might find the animation here less fluid and the production design slightly less polished. But considering the Ambriz siblings undertook such an elaborate story involving supernatural puppets and a fantastical land, presumably for a fraction of the cost, the result is major step forward for the medium, and in particular this technique in Mexico. If “go big or go home” was a movie, this fits the bill.
Disillusioned with the rejection she faces in her life, when Francisca Imelda enters the Realm of the Spooks, now 10 years older but still an unpublished author, she reinvents herself as Frankelda (now voiced by Mireya Mendoza). Among the bevy of ostentatiously designed figures, there’s also a pack of antagonists, namely Procustes (Luis Leonardo Suárez), the royal “nightmarer” and a mediocre writer in charge of penning human nightmaresm, as well as the leaders of the kingdom’s seven clans, a bevy of villainous monsters designed to resemble folktale entities. To save his ailing parents and his subjects both from this treasonous bunch and from oblivion, adult Herneval (Arturo Mercado Jr.) needs Frankelda to write scary stories.
That the jealous Procustes aims to take credit for her work, ties in with the overarching themes of “I Am Frankelda,” namely the belief that in writing fiction Frankelda takes the reins of her life and finds the empowerment that external forces denied her for being a woman in the male-dominated field of dream creation. It’s the power of her pen that will save her in the end. As is often the case with bifurcated tales unfolding between two distinct planes of existence, the characters in the Realm of the Spooks, also have their matching counterparts in Frankelda’s reality. Through it all, the specifically colloquial quality of the dialogue and the delivery of the vivacious voice cast preserves the film’s Mexican identity.
One of two showstopping numbers takes place when Frankelda first crosses over and reconnects with Herneval. The two sail on a ship that appears inspired by alebrijes (vibrant sculptures of imagined creatures) and sing the track “Yo Ya Había Estado Aqúi” (“I Had Already Been Here”), as ghostly hands mimic fog. Invoking “A Whole New World” from Disney’s “Aladdin” with a more pronounced operatic mood, the song’s emotion straddles a yearning for discovery, and a realization that she knows this place well (she materialized it from her imagination after all). For this sequence, the Ambriz brothers transcend stop-motion and add flourishes that remind the viewer of the film’s tactile conception: A pop-up story book depicting the scene and glass figures representing Frankelda and Herneval appear as a sort of visual interlude as they belt.
Later, once the palace intrigue is in full swing and Frankelda and Herneval experience an emotional schism, the villains get the spotlight with the tune “El Príncipe de los Sustos” (“The Prince of Spooks”), in which they denounce how they believe Herneval has wronged them. Though it appears in previous scenes, this number features multiple moments created with hand-painted, animated frames for an effect that reminds one of a moving oil painting, similar to how the Oscar-nominated “Loving Vincent” came to life.
Mexico’s answer to “The Nightmare Before Christmas,” the Ambriz brothers’ beautifully idiosyncratic “I Am Frankelda” was obviously influenced by Del Toro’s darkly whimsical oeuvre; thus, it makes sense that the director of “Frankenstein” has been a supporter and mentor to these younger compatriots in their pursuit of stop-motion greatness. They are well on their way.