A young immigrant girl is haunted by the memories of a traumatic past in award-winning directors and producers Carlos F. de Vigo and Lorena Ares’ award-winning short Cafunè. The short, which examines the long-lasting effects of hardships on refugee children, is produced by de Vigo, Ares, Sergy Moreno, Damián Perea Lezcano (founder of Animayo Intl. Festival) and Mintxo Díaz. We recently spoke with the talented directors of the short which was the winner a Goya (Spain’s Academy Award) and several other top animation prizes and is qualified to be considered for the Oscar shortlist.
Animation Magazine: Congrats on the success of you powerful short. Can you tell us a bit about the beginning of your journey and the inspiration for your lovely short?
Carlos & Lorena: Cafunè began the day Chechu Ramírez, Spanish comics artist and our storyboard artist, walked into the studio with a two‑page comic. It moved the whole team into silence. We asked him on the spot to turn it into a short with us, keeping its heart while adding a hopeful ending, because we wanted to talk about healing, not only pain.
The story follows Alma, a girl who, when she falls into water, relives the memory of surviving a shipwreck, a reminder that for those who face forced migration, the trauma often remains long after arrival. The title itself names the gesture at the center of the film: cafunè, stroking someone’s hair to soothe them to sleep. We felt only hand‑drawn 2D could hold that tenderness: a human, imperfect line that carries empathy and lets us approach painful images with care.
When did you begin work on the short and how long did it take to finish?
From the first spark to its release, a little over three years. And every minute of work and sacrifice was worth it. Cafunè has been selected at more than 200 international festivals. It has travelled the world carrying Alma’s story to thousands upon thousands of people, seeking to inspire a sense of humanity and hope in a deeply polarized and tragic time.
We wrote, redesigned the graphic style more than once, recorded the performances, then pushed through layout, animation, ink & color, and compositing. For a sense of scale: the ink & color on the shipwreck scene took one artist a full month.
What was the ballpark budget?
We prefer not to share a figure, but it was a lean, independent short-film budget where our true currency was time, health, and craftsmanship. If we measured it in commitment and sleepless nights, it would be a millionaire’s budget. But if we limit it to euros or dollars, it was a truly independent production, complex to make, and not without business risks. Yet as artists, we know our role. In times like these, we all have a duty to step forward and do our part to help the world regain its sanity, or we’ll all share the responsibility for leaving behind a worse one.
Which animation tools were used to produce the short?
We built a hybrid traditional/digital pipeline. Character design started on paper at Grangel Studio, pencil first, then designs on Huion, so Alma and Luna’s silhouettes kept that hand‑drawn sensitivity (Grangel’s credits includes The Prince of Egypt, Corpse Bride, Hotel Transylvania, Pinocchio). Storyboarding in Toon Boom Storyboard Pro, animation and ink & color in Toon Boom Harmony, and backgrounds in Procreate and Photoshop. From there, we shaped light, water and atmosphere in Blackmagic Fusion and cut in DaVinci Resolve. Every step was designed to preserve a human touch.
We also embraced analog textures. The title treatment was crafted with India ink by calligrapher/designer Carles Burgès (Corpse Bride, Gladiator), giving the opening a tactile signature. In compositing we did extra passes to achieve line boil/noise and the sea’s motion, layering hand‑animated elements with FX to keep it organic.
How many people worked on it?
Around 60 artists and collaborators from story to final mix. We like to pair senior veterans with emerging talent: it’s how craft is passed on and how a film stays fresh. On the senior side, highlights include Grangel Studio (Carlos & Jordi Grangel) on character design. Their silhouette thinking shaped Alma & Luna, and Carles Burgès crafting our title design in India ink. Almu Redondo led production design (Emmy for Star Wars: Visions – Screecher’s Reach) alongside Carlos; Marcos García Cabeza helmed cinematography/compositing/VFX; and on the audio side Mikel Salas (winner of the European award for Another Day of Life) composed the score with Ernesto Santana and María Rodríguez‑Mora on sound design. We also opened the pipeline to newcomers via Navarre art schools (Club de Marketing and Creanavarra). That blend, seasoned hands plus hungry new voices, gave the film its human finish.
What do you love about the finished project?
The human line, you can feel a hand behind every frame. Alma’s hair breathes with her: unruly in panic, soft when she’s cared for. We’re proud of the sound–image duet, where the score and sound design don’t just underscore but listen to the silences; it lets the film speak gently about something difficult. We also love how the cuts between past and present keep time with Alma’s heartbeat, the story moves forward by remembering, and that rhythm became our metronome.
Beyond craft, what we cherish most is the audience impact. We set out to reach hearts beyond political labels, and we’ve seen deeply emotional reactions from people with very different viewpoints. That empathy is the film’s true reward. And a small detail we’re attached to: the end credits. They drift downward, which puzzled some at first. We wanted to close on hope, yes, but also to acknowledge those who still sink, unnamed; the credits descend like names disappearing into the depths, a quiet reminder of why Alma’s story matters.
What would you say was the biggest challenge in the production process?
Finding a way to honor a child’s trauma without exploiting it or turning the film into a thesis. We kept stripping away anything that felt didactic so the story could stay human, non‑polemical, a small gesture offered to any audience, whatever their politics. That also meant finding the last frame, the exact emotional note to end on, took longer than we expected.
On the craft side, two battles stand out. First, the pool sequence: we re‑boarded and re‑edited it many times to keep it truthful but not punishing. Second, the micro‑specifics, Alma’s loose hair (beautiful on paper, merciless in animation) and the underwater sound (it had to feel physically real yet never overwhelm the viewer). We also redesigned the visual style several times until it felt unmistakably ours: a hand‑drawn look that breathes like a lullaby. All of it was in service of one goal: reach the heart.
Who are some of your animation heroes?
Lorena: I’m very classic here: Walt Disney is, to me, the perfect blend of researcher‑inventor and artist. Then Ron Clements and John Musker and Glen Keane, they taught me how tenderness can drive story and performance. From Japan, Hayao Miyazaki, Makoto Shinkai and Mamoru Hosoda for the way weather, light and small gestures become emotion. And it still feels a bit unreal that we collaborated with Grangel Studio on Cafunè. They were heroes of mine in character design (and our production title), and working with them was a masterclass.
Carlos: Miyazaki and his almost subliminal way of whispering stories; and the early classic Disney decades (Snow White, Pinocchio, Bambi, Fantasia), when every film was a daring leap into the unknown. Both have inspired in me a deep sense of loyalty and commitment to the films I direct, and their work remains a legacy I revisit whenever I need to remember what making animated cinema truly means.
When did you know that you wanted to work in animation?
Lorena: On my 14th birthday I rented The Little Mermaid with my friends. I realized a character could go silent and still say everything through gesture. That was the moment: I wanted to give drawings a pulse (small gestures, big feelings), and I’ve been chasing that ever since.
Carlos: Honestly, as far back as I remember. I kept jumping formats, film, games, interactive, and of course, animation: the place where I feel truly free. And if you want a confession with a smile: every time I tried to “take a break” from animation, it followed me frame by frame and asked, “So… what are we making next?”
How have audiences responded to Cafunè so far? Which screenings have stayed with you?
It’s been humbling, and wonderfully varied. Cafunè has connected in places and contexts far beyond the animation circuit. One moment we won’t forget happened recently in a small town in Spain: during the end credits, the local government representative slipped out to the restroom, overwhelmed. Another set of memories comes from the many migrants who stayed after screenings to share experiences close to Alma’s: fears, crossings, separations.
The film has also traveled widely, to all the continents (except Antarctica, I think), and been honored across countries, from Spain, France and Italy to the U.S. and Mexico, with awards and jury mentions that helped it reach new audiences outside animation-specific events (general festivals, human‑rights programs, community/Q&A screenings). From the very beginning, Amnesty International helped us put the film in the right rooms and conversations. If there’s a single throughline in the feedback we hear most, it’s this: the story invites empathy without taking sides, and that makes people want to act with kindness in their own lives.
What do you hope audiences will remember from your short?
That they leave with a felt impulse to care, the sense that a small, human gesture can steady a life. Beyond headlines or labels, we hope Alma remains in mind as a person, not a case file, and that this changes how someone greets a neighbor, teaches a class, or makes a decision the next day. And, as animators, we hope they feel how hand‑drawn 2D can hold difficult truths with gentleness, the human line carries warmth into the room and makes conversation possible afterward.
Watch the trailer below:
