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This year, I sat through screenings in Zagreb, in a Russian film festival as a jury member and lastly at Digicon in Japan as a participant, surrounded entirely by Asian filmmakers; I felt something churning inside me. Or perhaps it was something I’ve been sensing for years but couldn’t articulate fully until now.
More and more, I see young animators across Asia aspiring to create films that resemble the popular artistic Western films dominating the festival circuit- abstract, introspective, self-referential, subtly mocking social systems. The admiration is understandable. Those films are extraordinary and some of them make you want to do something similar. But what unsettles me is how deeply they have begun to shape our own ways of storytelling.
Asia is a continent overflowing with authenticity. Diverse languages, rituals, colours, food, emotions, habits, socio-cultural lineage, and histories, all existing simultaneously. But when I see student films today, that magic feels strangely diluted.
When we see a film now, we can often identify exactly which Western master the student has studied and echoed. The references are clear. And in that clarity, something of ours disappears.
And I find myself asking: Why are we looking so far when everything we need is already around us? Yes, our world may seem messy. Too colourful, too emotional, too sentimental, too layered. But that clutter is us. That overload is our reality. Our strength. (I am not referring to tackily made popular Indian animated series for children on TV or on YouTube)
Every Indian state is like a different country, each with its own temperament. Why then should our films feel homogenous? Why must they borrow the emotional palette of places far away from our lived experiences?
Japan never did that. Their distinct animation language came from a mix of influences, yes, but remained firmly rooted in their psyche. Even their contradictions. Their films are filled with violence and retribution, while the people themselves are gentle, restrained, almost ritualistic/ traditional, with a generous spread of kindness. That duality became their signature.
China, too, continues to carry its artistic essence even as it experiments with global forms. But in new age Korean films, we may not observe this. Or even young aspirants from other Asian countries tend to ignore their local voices or art styles.
So why are we struggling to find, or acknowledge- our own voice?
Perhaps it’s because validation rarely comes from within. In many Asian countries, recognition happens only when international festivals applaud you. That changes the audience in our heads. We start making films not for our people, not for our cultural memory, but for juries sitting far away, with entirely different references and sensitivities. They’re mature and sophisticated choices but rooted in their socio-cultural contexts.
About storytelling in a language that naturally flows through us. Something we don’t need to translate within our minds, like changing the language we see dreams in.
When we chase the aesthetics of Europe or America, we lose not just our originality, but our radical imagination, the ability to see the extraordinary in the ordinary chaos around us.
In a world overflowing with content, the only way to stand out is by being uniquely, unapologetically ourselves. The world doesn’t need Asian films that resemble Western ones.
The world needs to see who we truly are, in all our colour, noise, beauty, emotion, and sincerity. Maybe an Oscar jury may not understand the purity and authenticity of our films’ voices, maybe it’s not made for them. And that is okay.
(This article has been contributed by Studio Eeksaurus founder and creative director Suresh Eriyat, and AnimationXpress does not necessarily subscribe to these views.)