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This talented team from Communication University of China shouts "I hate drawing animation" at graduation season—why?!

· 34 min read
This article is republished with permission from “Donghua Xueshupa”\nInterview / Chuanming
Editor / Pel

“It would be more interesting to let animated characters who are supposed to be ‘made by animators’ experience the pain of making animation themselves.”

On screen, a group of animated characters, in order to help the student who created them graduate, pick up pens and start making animation. Fanqietou, Zhipianfu, Mihuashi, Huzhen, Huawanmeiyou... They divide the work, draw drafts, make revisions, and step by step fall apart under the pursuit of DDLs.

Off screen, the 5 students who made this 17-minute graduation film went through almost exactly the same process: the script was revised six times, key animation was drawn until dawn broke outside the window, and the climax sequence was reworked right before the screening... Until 9 a.m. on the day of the screening, the director was still editing the film.

▼Click to watch the animated short “Welcome to the Animation Academy”▼
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Why did this wildly talented CUC team shout “I hate drawing animation” during graduation season?!
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,Why did this wildly talented CUC team shout “I hate drawing animation” during graduation season?!

​Donghua XueshupaFollowing

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In a sense, the group of animated characters chased by DDLs in “Welcome to the Animation Academy” also became a portrait of the creators themselves.

This time, Donghua Xueshupa invited the main creators of the Communication University of China animation graduation short film “Welcome to the Animation Academy” to talk about how these animated characters came into being, and the story behind the work.

Interviewees
Feichai
Director, screenwriter, storyboard artist, art designer, etc. of “Welcome to the Animation Academy”
Linlu
Producer, screenwriter, and some key animation for “Welcome to the Animation Academy”

01 “Boiling a whole plate of dumplings just for the vinegar”: how one story went through six versions​

“We spent quite a lot of time finding a theme that was both what we truly wanted to express and something more people could understand: the love between a creator and their creation.”

Xueshupa: The work’s presentation format is very distinctive. Could you talk about the inspiration behind it? How did you come up with the idea, and what discussions and iterations did you go through before settling on the current story and presentation?

​Feichai:The earliest source of inspiration was an extra episode, “Snow Battle Fortress,” from the Team Fortress 2 (Team Fortress 2) fan animation series “Team Neighborhood.” It tells of two teams locked out of their home because they forgot their keys; one of them throws a snowball at the other side, they start fighting, and it eventually escalates into an “epic snowball fight.”

They shot it in a documentary-like style, making a tiny, almost absurd event feel grand and hilarious, and I wanted to try making something in that absurd style myself.

Opening of “Blood Battle Fortress,” an epic snowball fight with 42,000,000 snowballs

1. The nature documentary stage: At first we wanted to film our real classmates as if they were animals, imitating the nature documentary format of Planet Earth, depicting the lives of animation students: how they attended classes, how they studied, how they made animation.

Everyone had their own routine. Back then we designed a lot of characters, and even thought about designing different species, personalities, and ways of speaking based on the different roles students were responsible for — for example, “Huawanmeiyou” was given a “glug-glug” bubbling underwater voice, because she lives in the sea.

During this stage, the DDL was just a sudden “natural disaster” that arrived at the story’s climax, not the true core of the story. But because the production workload was too large, we scrapped this version.

“Haoxiangshu” was designed at this stage; her prototype was one of my classmates
In the setting, she was in charge of 3D modeling, and whenever a model broke she would yell “I really wanna die”

2. The music MV stage: During summer break, we tried developing it toward a music MV. At the time we wanted to imitate Bo Burnham’s “Welcome to the Internet” and conceive a story along the lines of “Welcome to the Animals”:

A freshman who had never touched animation arrives at the animation academy, meets students in different roles, and listens to them introduce their positions and tasks following the animation production pipeline. As production keeps progressing and the pace keeps speeding up, he, like real animation students, gradually falls apart.

Then the person who first guided him reappears and asks, “Was this how it was at the beginning?” and takes the student back through memories of how much he loved drawing as a child, how he got onto the animation path through hobby classes and exams, and arrived at the animation academy. Just as the protagonist seems to rediscover his original passion, the guide assigns him an animation assignment — the very first animation assignment our teachers gave us when we enrolled. The moment he sees the assignment, he breaks down again.

From this version onward, we decided: no matter how the story changed, the ending had to have a character shouting “I hate drawing animation!”

But the MV faced the same problem — too much work. So we started thinking of alternatives, and only then did the prototype of the current work take shape.

3. Mockumentary: Looking back, it was a bit like “boiling a whole plate of dumplings just for the vinegar.” Since what we really wanted to depict was the state of animation students facing DDLs and the psychology of gradually falling apart during production, why not just imitate a documentary format and film a group of animated characters going from working earnestly to gradually breaking down.

We chose to have the animated characters make animation themselves because we felt it would be more interesting to let animated characters who were supposed to be “made by animators” experience the pain of making animation firsthand. The script at this stage basically followed the documentary format, driving the plot mainly through interviews and narration, with shot design mimicking real filming as much as possible.

But later we found that if we explained all the setting clearly in a fully documentary way, the film would need to be at least half an hour long, so we decided to shift toward a feature-film direction.

4. Reality show and feature film: After discussing with our advisor, we found that the work’s narrative style was closer to a reality show. So from the third and fourth versions of the script onward, we deliberately adjusted the dialogue and plot toward a reality-show direction.

We tried to recreate the classic reality-show tropes of two people having conflicts and those dramatic moments, like a group of people charging up to Fanqietou saying “we can’t keep going,” “this thing simply can’t be finished.”

But later we realized that if we wanted every character to be vivid and likable within a limited runtime, we couldn’t rely too heavily on these deliberately manufactured conflicts, or the characters would come across as “performative.”

The fourth version of the script basically settled the form of the conflicts

From prototype to the final version, the whole story was actually adjusted over nearly an entire semester; what everyone sees now is the sixth version.

We made a trade-off between reality-show-style personal expression and a broadly accessible feature film: from initially wanting to express the exhaustion and breakdown of the animation production process, we shifted to focusing on the emotional relationship between creators and their OCs (the characters they created). Using the process of breaking down while making animation as the vehicle for this relationship made it easier for general audiences to recognize and accept.

​Linlu: I gave a lot of consideration to audience accessibility. Most of these animated characters have real-life prototypes, drawn from classmates around us. We hoped to treat this work as a graduation keepsake, keeping the people everyone was familiar with and the things we had experienced inside it. But after hearing our initial idea, our advisor warned us that if we simply turned our real classmates and experiences into animation, it would likely be a self-indulgent work no one else could understand.

So we spent quite a lot of time finding a theme that was both what we truly wanted to express and something more people could understand: the love between a creator and their creation.

Xueshupa: The 6 characters in the short (Fanqietou, Zhipianfu, Mihuashi, Huzhen, Huawanmeiyou, Xiaomo) all have distinctive names and personalities. Can you introduce their sources of inspiration and the design process?

​Linlu: Actually, most of these characters existed before the film’s creation. The director came “with capital,” having already drawn many related character designs. We barely changed these designs — just slightly adjusted proportions and details before using them directly.

​Feichai:These character designs, and their names, were originally created for a horror game. Because I love horror games myself, and this film was meant as a memento of our four years of university, I took the “mascot horror” vibe of Western horror games and created a set of “mascots” modeled on my classmates at the animation school — and that’s how this bunch was born.

The character designs were made over the summer during the horror-game fan-song MV imitation period; we wanted to write English songs back then, so they all got English names.

The prototype of “Fanqietou” is Fanqiezi, the director of the neighboring team’s Xihuan de Xuezhang Yao Biyele (related reading:Interview | Chaotic yet heartwarming, a “otokonoko animation” dedicated to graduation season):

When designing her, I thought of three elements — tomato, hot girl, and demon — and let her pick one of the three

- Lucifruit: Lucifer + fruit
- Animatto: Animation + tomato
- Tomagic: a combination of tomato + magic; the director had previously made the animated short “Mofa Ke’ai”

Fanqiezi asked if she could be called Animatto Tomagic, I said sure, and so Fanqietou’s full name became Animatto Tomagic.

At first, I just wanted to draw some “non-human” characters, so I designed figures for myself and my friends, and then it spiraled — I kept drawing my roommates and other classmates:

Huawanmeiyou’s prototype is me (the director) myself
Mihuashi’s look is mostly based on Linlu
Zhipianfu’s prototype is our roommate, who served as producer during the joint-creation period. She gradually got her days and nights flipped from producing, which fits a bat perfectly, so we changed this character’s prototype from a fox to a bat
Huzhen’s prototype is the key animator Xiaoli; I referenced the slightly “deflated,” delicate vibe about her when drawing this character. We even thought about having her voice Huzhen herself, because it would be hard to find a second person who could deliver that “corporate-workhorse” feel
The little chick beside Huawanmeiyou comes from the director’s middle school friend
The earliest design had her as the cinematographer
But since there were too many characters and settings, this thread was ultimately cut

​Linlu:The special one is the protagonist “Xiaomo,” a character the director designed specifically for this graduation project.

​Feichai:Xiaomo’s role is a freshman arriving at the animation academy for the first time; she had no name or concrete design. During creation we found that if Xiaomo were merely a character who enters the story and observes others, her presence would be extremely weak, almost becoming a “useless” character. But we didn’t want to give up on any character, so the script adjustments in the later versions were basically all aimed at strengthening Xiaomo’s sense of being the protagonist.

At the time I couldn’t think of a name when filling in the character sheet
So I used “default,” which every naming template has, as her name — and thus she became “Xiaomo”
Xueshupa: When audiences watched this film, many assumed Xiaomo was the director’s self-insert, and that the student character came from the director’s own real experiences. Is that the case?

​Feichai:Actually, no. Xiaomo doesn’t correspond to any specific person, and the student’s experiences in the film aren’t adapted from my real experiences either. As for why I played the student, the reason is a bit funny.

Because they felt this student’s aura was rather “dark,” while I usually like to wear long hair that covers my eyes, making me a better match for the student in temperament — so they had me play her.

​Linlu:The more important reason is that the OCs in the film were originally created by our director based on herself and her friends, so she already has a deep connection with them. Since the story is about the emotional relationship between a creator and her OCs, having the director play this character herself makes it more immersive.

Xueshupa: The work contains a lot of “memes” and detail designs, like the “behind-the-back throw” and “shooting hoops in mid-air.” How did these fun designs come about? How did you think of working them into the work?

​Feichai:The “behind-the-back throw” actually wasn’t deliberately designed. During filming, I was lying on my back on a stretcher, and purely due to the posture and framing it looked like a “behind-the-back throw,” so we never bothered to explain it.

“Shooting hoops in mid-air” was to convey the character’s “athlete” setting. At the time Xiaoli (the actress) didn’t know how to play an athlete, so I told her: just stand behind me like this, and when I walk forward, do a mid-air shooting motion, and everyone will know you’re an athlete.

In fact, a lot of the content in the film was added suddenly during the creative process. For example, the scene at the opening where the student collapses in front of the computer was originally designed as a rather slow, theatrical falling process, using slow motion to show her gradual breakdown. But when Linlu and I discussed how to revise the opening, she said “why don’t you just die by slamming headfirst into it,” and that’s how it became what you see now.

​Linlu:There was also a runtime consideration here. Our film couldn’t get any longer, and we had to find a way to compress the content, so we needed to convey her breakdown in a shorter, more direct way. Rather than using a long, dramatic slow-motion shot of the student collapsing, having her just slam headfirst into it was better.

​Feichai:The explosion scene came about the same way. While discussing how to write the “play within a play” (the animation the animated characters are making) in the second version of the script, Linlu wrote a title in that spot: “Fanqietou Escapes the Exploding Building.” But when we discussed it with our advisor, he thought Fanqietou was going to blow up the building. We figured that worked too, so that’s how we designed it.

​Linlu:Right, a lot of the plot and content in the film happened through such accidental twists.

02 Five people, 17 minutes: first act the story out, then draw it​

“We idealized animation production far too much at the start”

Xueshupa: This work also seems quite distinctive in how the script and storyboards were created. Could you walk us through your storyboard creation process?

​Feichai:The way the two of us write the script is a bit like “playing catch.” First I would act the story out, and Linlu would turn my performance and ideas into a script; after she finished, she’d hand it to me to revise, and after I revised it I’d give it back to her, and she’d keep revising — going back and forth like that. So by now, it’s honestly hard to say which specific parts of the script were written by whom.

​Linlu:After we locked the plot and before officially entering storyboard production, in order to check the timing and confirm the director’s vision was achievable, we first made a “live-action animatic.” The director performed, I filmed and documented, and after performing we split the editing work, stitching the performances into a relatively complete version to show our advisor.

Live-action animatic compared with the final animation

​Feichai:This method was suggested by our advisor. Because our film had strict runtime requirements, rather than discovering the film ran over time only after finishing the storyboards, it was better to act the entire story out ourselves first. That way, before officially drawing the storyboards, we could get a fairly direct sense of the film’s rhythm and rough runtime.

When designing the storyboards, we also didn’t fully follow traditional animation shot logic. Apart from the few scenes at the computer, the second and third scenes set in the art studio were actually all deliberately imitating reality-show camera positions. So the film often features rather “tricky” angles, like placing the camera on the tabletop for a big perspective effect.

To draw these scenes and perspectives, we built sets and characters using furniture and blocks from the game “gogh” to find suitable camera angles. But because the 3D camera in “gogh” has a certain amount of perspective distortion, using it directly as a drawing reference wasn’t accurate enough, so Yuchuan, who was in charge of background art, also built a set of scene models in Maya specifically to work out the perspective.

For example, using a pink cabinet and chair to represent Zhipianfu, a blue block to represent Xiaomo, while Huzhen has her own model
Xueshupa: Besides animation, the work also contains a fair amount of live-action footage, which blends very naturally with the animation. Was all this live-action footage planned and shot by the graduation project team? How did you design and complete it?

​Feichai:The live-action shots in the film were basically all done by ourselves, and the characters on screen were all teammates from the graduation project group.

The stretcher-carrying scene was shot in a room borrowed from a classmate’s home. Because the room’s original layout made it hard to get the camera positions we wanted, this set of shots was actually mirrored — filmed in the reverse direction, then flipped back in post. To keep audiences from noticing, we removed anything in advance that could reveal the direction, like posters and text.

​Linlu:The high school scenes were shot at Beijing International Studies University. We spent ages looking for a location, only to find that the BISU campus next door looked almost exactly like this.

​Feichai:Actually, as long as you don’t show too much wall and only frame near the windows, it doesn’t look like a university classroom. The four people appearing in the memory are the four key animators in our group — me, Linlu, Xiaoli, and A’hai.

To make everyone look more like high schoolers, I had my parents mail over my old school uniforms from Shenzhen. I’ve always felt Shenzhen school uniforms carry a stereotypical high schooler image; the high school uniform designs in many novels and manga are also fairly close to them.

Xueshupa: The entire graduation project is 17 minutes — a huge workload even for 5 students. How did you schedule progress, divide tasks, and coordinate the creation? Did you also go through countless chaotic moments of being chased by DDLs?

​Feichai:September–October: we completed the pre-production character art designs and keyshots, finalized in October.

October–February: transition from pre-production to production. Feichai and Linlu completed the script, storyboards, and animatic. Yuchuan and A’hai worked in parallel on backgrounds, props, scene mood illustrations, and other art design; A’hai also worked on character performance tests for Zhipianfu and Mihuashi. Xiaoli joined slightly later, and at that stage mainly focused on adapting to the art style and performance style, such as drawing Huzhen’s character expressions.

There was also some testing work. For example, for the part where characters interact with the animation software on screen, we needed to design the appearance and buttons of these “software” interfaces in advance, decide how to split up the parts, where the character key animation should stop, and where post-production would take over. We initially wanted to do the interface motion in AE, but after A’hai’s actual testing we found it was actually more convenient to do directly in CSP, so the later interface animation was also moved to CSP, with AE mainly handling rendering and post-processing.

March–May: the mid-production key animation stage. We prioritized the key animation for the interview segments, because those shots were relatively short and numerous, with less complex performances — well suited for磨合 the art style and practicing lip sync. Although we had actually already started drawing some key animation during winter break, we made some workflow mistakes back then that slowed progress.

One was that the pre-recording was done too late. We drew a portion of key animation based on the live-action animatic first, then went into pre-recording. But only after the recording was done did we discover that my speaking pace in the live-action animatic didn’t fully match the voice actors’ pace in the final recording, so the key animation had to be redone. For example, for Xiaomo’s big breakdown performance near the end, we had already animated thirty-plus seconds of performance, but because the sound and lip sync didn’t match, we had to redraw it all. Looking back now, the pre-recording should have been finished much earlier, which would have avoided a lot of rework.

​Linlu:The other was a production management problem. We idealized animation production far too much at the start. The earliest production sheet was extremely simple — basically just a schedule and a shot list: who drew the storyboard for this shot, who did the key animation, who did the in-betweens; fill in the names and done.

But once we actually started, we realized this was nowhere near enough. Because our key animation was divided by character — Feichai was responsible for Fanqietou and Huawanmeiyou, A’hai for Mihuashi and Zhipianfu, Linlu for Xiaomo, and Xiaoli for Huzhen. But sometimes three or four characters could appear in the same shot, each handled by a different person. If the “key animation” column in the sheet only had one name, we simply couldn’t tell who had finished this shot and who hadn’t.

​Feichai:In February this problem caused the same character to be drawn twice by two different people, so we realized the workflow had to be reorganized, and everyone held a meeting specifically to rebuild the production sheet.

So the later sheets went down to every single character and every single production step:

For multi-character shots, everyone had to upload their files after finishing
Only once every character in a shot had finished line cleanup could it move to coloring; after coloring was done, everything was composited together, and finally went into post-production and rendering

Who finished key animation, who finished line cleanup, who finished coloring, and when it could be handed to post — all at a glance. After this workflow was officially settled in March, the whole production actually went much more smoothly.

Xueshupa: Why did you choose to assign key animation by character rather than by shot?

​Feichai:Mainly to keep the characters consistent. Everyone has their own drawing habits, and it’s hard to guarantee five people would draw identically. Since absolute overall consistency was impossible, we hoped to at least keep each individual character’s overall design and performance style consistent.

For instance, A’hai is better at designs with strong graphic sensibility, so Mihuashi, Zhipianfu, and the many software windows in the film were all her responsibility; Xiaoli’s own drawing style leans more anime, which suits Huzhen.

​Linlu:Of course, even divided by character, everything still had to pass the director’s review; if it didn’t match the character’s state, it would be sent back to be redrawn.

​Feichai:Not so much sent back as I’d step in and fix it myself. Especially during the early art-style adaptation stage, I was quite strict about nailing the characters’ “forms” and performances.

Take Huzhen: although her design doesn’t look complicated, it’s actually very delicate. Move the mouth down a bit, the eyes up a bit, and the face might look especially long. So when Xiaoli first started drawing her, I stepped in to adjust almost every single shot.

Same with performance: the live-action animatic we made stayed in the group chat the whole time; if anyone had no clear idea for a performance segment, they could reference the live-action performance first; and if they had a better idea, they were free to improvise — but they had to watch the animatic first to get the impression.

Xueshupa: During the creation of the graduation project, was there a particularly agonizing stage? What problems were you mainly facing at the time, and how did you overcome them?

​Linlu:One month before the screening, we suddenly received notice that the explosion sequence in the film’s climax could not be kept and needed to be revised.

We were devastated, because everything leading up to it had been designed for that final sequence. If the original ending couldn’t stand, a lot of content would need to be adjusted along with it. But at that point our production capacity was stretched thin — the key animators were working back-to-back shifts with no time to rest. Finishing the original content was already hard enough, and now we had to overhaul the ending from scratch — it was practically an “impossible” task.

​Feichai:We were given only three hours from receiving the notice to delivering a revision plan. And that day we had just finished shooting, with more key animation due that night. So all I could do was go back and draw like mad, and I cranked out the version everyone sees now:

The school blossoms open like fireworks, and all kinds of characters pop out of the frame, “bursting” the school

This plan actually involved even more work, because it added a lot of characters. I’m truly so grateful to my classmates!

Many of the characters appearing in the explosion sequence were ones we “borrowed” from other graduation project groups — most of them were characters people created during last year’s joint-creation exhibition. We reached out to ask for permission, asking whether these characters could appear in the film as Easter eggs, and almost everyone agreed. Without them, we probably wouldn’t have been able to finish this film.

Afterwards we negotiated again with the studio; they also really liked the plan, so they didn’t raise the price much and cooperated with us on adjusting the division of labor. We handled the character model sheets and key animation, and they completed the subsequent animation, line cleanup, coloring, and rendering. Truly, thank you so much!

Over the following days, we threw ourselves into overtime drawing the key animation of characters popping out, delivering the files to the studio before the weekend — the file size was absurdly huge. Once that was done, we continued pushing forward on our own remaining key animation and compositing work. Looking back now, it actually only took three days — roughly the 24th to the 27th — which seems pretty fast in hindsight, but the whole team was falling apart at the time.

Xueshupa: So when did you finish the entire work?

​Feichai:In fact, at 9 a.m. on the day of the screening, I was still editing the film.

​Linlu:We turned it in in a very, very last-minute way. On the day of the screening, I only tested the film’s audio one last time before leaving home.

​Feichai:One night, we were rushing the “play within a play” (the scene where several characters face the school together before the explosion). Partway through drawing, Xiaoli suddenly posted in the group: “Oh my god, I had the lights on while drawing — it’s dawn outside.” Then we all looked out and said, “Ah, it’s dawn.”

​Linlu:The four key animators — none of us slept that night.

Xueshupa: Is there anything you’d like to say to your junior schoolmates, or to students currently rushing animation assignments or working on their graduation projects? It can be advice, or just a word of encouragement.

​Feichai:Do spend time on pre-production, but don’t spend too much of it. The most important thing is knowing what you truly want to make.

One big reason we revised back and forth during pre-production was my perfectionist streak. I’m the kind of person who needs someone to tell me “this can work” before I dare to truly commit. If the advisor didn’t explicitly tell me a plan was OK, I’d feel it wasn’t good enough and could keep being revised — which is also why Linlu and I clashed during the creative process.

Of course you should listen carefully to your advisor’s opinions, but you need to know what you truly want to make. If there’s something you know you’ll regret not doing, then stick to your own idea and do it.

Xueshupa: After so many revisions, rework, and DDL sprints — do you still feel that making animation is a joyful thing?

​Feichai:Making animation is genuinely painful, but after finishing, there’s still a brief moment of happiness.

​Linlu:When the film was screened, I felt it was all worth it.

​Feichai:Right. (During the screening) hearing people laugh — it was all worth it.

Travel Diary | Kusameshi x Hiroshima Animation Season

· 32 min read

This article is reposted from the WeChat public account: Most Trash Animation Festival

In August 2026, the Most Trash Animation Festival was invited to the Hiroshima Animation Season

During the third Hiroshima Animation Season (HIROSHIMA ANIMATION SEASON 2026), the Most Trash Animation Festival and the Hiroshima Animation Season co-curated a special screening program: 「ヤバいアニメーション映画祭+HASヤバいセレクション」 (Most Trash Animation Festival + HAS “Trash” Selection)

This was the first time the Most Trash Animation Festival entered the official program system of an international animation film festival. The program was selected from works in the first edition of the Most Trash Animation Festival, while the Hiroshima Animation Season was also invited to choose works from around the world that resonate with the concept of “trash.” On the evening of August 21, Shangshan Ruoshui, founder of the Most Trash Animation Festival, came to Yokogawa Cinema and held a post-screening conversation with Koji Yamamura, discussing the evaluation of animation, creation, and what “trash” actually means.

Yokogawa Cinema, August 22, 2026|Photo by Hiroshima staff
Back of the previous photo|Photo by Hong Shiliu
Hiroshima Animation Season (HAS)
An international animation film festival held in Hiroshima, Japan, every two years since 2022, and a core project of the media arts division of the “Hiroshima International Peace Culture Festival.” The festival focuses on the Pacific coast and Asian regions while being open to animation creators worldwide, aiming to make Hiroshima a city where the world’s diverse animation cultures can be experienced in one place. It is also Japan’s only festival dedicated exclusively to animation that is qualified by the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences (the Oscars).
The Hiroshima Animation Season carries on the tradition of the former Hiroshima International Animation Festival, with competition, honorary awards, and animation education as its main components. The competition section collects animation works from around the world, judged by an international jury for the Grand Prize and other awards; at the same time, through screenings, special programs, lectures, and workshops, it connects animation creators, researchers, students, and general audiences. The artistic director is Japanese animation director Koji Yamamura. The 2026 key visual was created by Swiss animation master Georges Schwizgebel.
Koji Yamamura
Japanese independent animation director, animation artist, and picture book author, born in Nagoya in 1964, graduated from Tokyo Zokei University, and currently a professor at the graduate school of Tokyo University of the Arts. His representative work Atama Yama won the top prize at the Annecy International Animation Film Festival and was nominated for the Academy Award for Best Animated Short; works such as Kafka: Kiiroi Kokkei and Muybridge’s Strings have also won numerous grand prizes at international animation festivals. He has long been engaged in independent animation creation, animation education, and international exchange, and is one of the important creators of contemporary Japanese independent animation.
Shangshan Ruoshui
Animation creator and curator, initiator of the Most Trash Animation Festival. Their curatorial practice focuses on works excluded by mainstream aesthetics and animation evaluation systems, rethinking the value, classification, and ways of watching animation through the ambiguous and ever-changing concept of “trash.” They founded the Most Trash Animation Festival in 2025 and continue to carry out touring screenings and curatorial activities in China, Japan, and abroad.
Shancheng Tieguanyin
Animation creator and animation director, core member of the Most Trash Animation Festival. Participates in the festival’s planning, organization, and international exchange, working with Shangshan Ruoshui to advance the project. In 2026 they took part in the Most Trash Animation Festival, helping organize screenings and exchange events in Japan, Singapore, and other places overseas.
Luo Sijia
Independent animation director and video artist, graduated from the Graduate School of Film and New Media at Tokyo University of the Arts, currently living and working in Tokyo. She creates in various forms including animation, video, and sound, and has long explored the possibilities of animation expression through experimenting with different media and visual languages. Her work has been selected for international festivals such as Annecy, the Hiroshima Animation Season, and Feinaki, and she has served as a jury member for several festivals. She was a juror for the first edition of the Most Trash Animation Festival.
A festival curator
Animation director, festival curator, mysterious and mysterious
Teacher Chen
Animation director, festival curator, mysterious and mysterious
Post-screening talk, the Trash Newspaper|Photo by A-Wei
When you learned Most Trash was going to Hiroshima, what was your first reaction?

​Shangshan: I didn’t take it too seriously at first — I figured it was just a comprehensive consideration on Hiroshima’s side, wanting to program a section with a different voice. My first thought was whether they would cover our flights (they did!)

​Shantetsu: It felt like Yamamura had finally been won over — before, no matter how many times I mentioned it in front of him, deliberately or not, he seemed uninterested. Somewhat gratifying.

The chemistry you felt between Most Trash and Hiroshima?

​Shangshan: The first time I felt a similar chemistry was in Annecy’s WTF section — having such a section at the world’s biggest animation carnival for animation people felt incredibly spicy and numbing! I really love WTF. Although I didn’t think of WTF when I first started Most Trash (the programming effect is similar, but the direction we want to pursue should be different), coming to Hiroshima with Most Trash this time made me think of the WTF section over and over. Because I likewise felt Hiroshima’s — or rather Yamamura’s — tolerance, and also the fact that he’s genuinely worn out from watching “good” films.

​Shantetsu: When Yamamura gave his speech at the closing ceremony, he used Most Trash as the opening hook of his address. He said that collaborating on a program with the Most Trash Animation Festival this year also made him start thinking about what is “good” and what is “trash” — he served on the selection jury for all three editions of the Hiroshima Animation Season, and after reviewing so many films, his standards for “good” and “trash” had gone a bit numb. I think this is a problem many other festivals face too, so Most Trash happened to serve them a meal they could immediately bring to the table and chat over while eating. Once Hiroshima finished this table, everyone who sat down knew Most Trash, and they might still remember this taste after they returned home. I think it opened a door within the circle of festival curators.

​Sijia: The Hiroshima Animation Season, as the legendary one of the world’s four great animation festivals, should count as one of the authorities of the animation evaluation system. But during the post-screening talk, the artistic director Koji Yamamura also said that he happened to have recently started thinking about selection criteria and how “good” and “bad” should actually be distinguished… Most Trash should be a catalyst!

A festival curator: I felt this screening brought people closer together. Film festivals generally evaluate the “best,” but having a “Most Trash” within the overall event is, in a way, a liberation from the rat race. You could tell many creators were excited and eager to take part in such an event, not knowing what kind of works they would encounter.

Most Trash left its mark on a Hiroshima signboard|Photo by Shangshan
Did Hiroshima make you rethink Most Trash?

​Shangshan: Yes — having a Most Trash section at a very proper large film festival is quite magical. Before an animation is called “trash,” it doesn’t carry an essence called “trash.” Only within some evaluation system, some way of watching, some discourse does it gradually acquire that name. As the times progress or regress, part of the trash begins to be absorbed by the good — for instance, the trash (clumsiness) retained in excellent independent animation works actually nourishes a film’s uniqueness. That’s very good, but such “good trash” isn’t what interests me most within Most Trash. I still want to see the trash discarded by most evaluation systems — genuinely trash, valueless trash. I want to see what the state of peeling trash off the good looks like, and how festivals decide whether a film should be praised or discarded. It made me think again of the caterpillar-and-butterfly relationship — the claim that the butterfly is a neuron in the caterpillar’s brain, and inside the chrysalis, that neuron eats the caterpillar’s flesh and then becomes the butterfly; the caterpillar and the butterfly are actually two different things (biology has many takes on this; it’s probably not rigorous). But this claim concretized part of my feelings about “good and trash.”

​Shantetsu: Not that much. When I first learned the first edition was going to happen, I quickly arranged a podcast episode with Shangshan Ruoshui, talked through many questions I was curious and puzzled about, and offered some suggestions — so I didn’t support the first Most Trash simply because it seemed “fun.” In Hiroshima I watched the first-edition Most Trash program plus Hiroshima’s trash selection of shorts again, and I think when we use the word “trash” as an adjective, we must make a clear definition and delineate a clear scope before we can use it, because it’s truly too broad. That’s why there must be a platform like the Most Trash Animation Festival to talk about “trash” — which is one of the biggest reasons for its existence. But I also realized: selecting trash is really, really, really hard, because most of Most Trash’s works are merely “not good,” and the “not-trash” parts of them are very hard to ignore.

Hiroshima handbook, the Most Trash page|Photo by Shantetsu
Hiroshima’s official Instagram, the Most Trash page|Screenshot by Shangshan
Why would Hiroshima be willing to show Most Trash?

​Shangshan: From a participant’s perspective, this year’s Hiroshima Animation Season as a whole felt much more open to me — many feelings that weren’t there before, becoming more open?, more publicity too. There were probably internal adjustments we don’t know about, which I think is one of the important reasons they invited us. That Most Trash could screen in Hiroshima mainly relied on Yamamura’s invitation — he mentioned in the conversation his fatigue from film reviewing and his reflections on the evaluation system of good and bad, and that he resonated with Most Trash. Yamamura is a great senior who maintains curiosity and an open attitude toward new things. Beyond the resonance, it should also be his own artistic cultivation and his original passion for animation — a willingness to leave room for attempts not yet fully defined. In any case, many thanks!

​Shantetsu: 🎤 Passing the mic to Yamamura

The difference between the “trash” we understand and the yabai Hiroshima understands
(The Japanese translation of Most Trash Animation Festival is “ヤバいアニメーション映画祭”. Yabai in Chinese often means “uh-oh/disaster”; fan subtitle groups sometimes render it as yabai — it carries both a good and a bad meaning.)

​Shangshan: If the category of “trash” had the same treatment as “good,” then “yabai” and “trash” would be like “a very mature, thought-provoking, good work” versus “an excellent experimental film with a very strong authorial quality” — both “good,” but very far apart. At the Most Trash post-screening, a Japanese animation creator friend told me I should invite XXX to the second edition of Yabai; her work is relatively dark and obscure hand-drawn animation, but absolutely excellent independent animation — it just doesn’t fit any suitable festival, so it rarely gets selected. I’ve seen that animation, I love it very much, but it would never be trash. It’s yabai. That’s the first difference I noticed. The second is a difference in register: you can directly say “your animation is so yabai,” but you wouldn’t dare directly say “so trash.” Compared to yabai, trash seems to carry more of an offense. Also, Yamamura’s understanding of Most Trash seems to lean more toward the good kind of trash — films that can’t be classified. Although that is part of what makes up trash, it’s not what Most Trash is mainly about — it’s trash, the most trash. If an animation has nowhere to go, that doesn’t mean it’s trash. It just means no place to house it has appeared yet; but if we think it’s not trash, not bad, even commendable, then we may need to find another place. Interestingly, the understanding of Most Trash was bent a little in Hiroshima, yet it still held. Yabai might in the future be able to exist as a section of Most Trash.

ps: The Japanese translation “yabai” was proposed by Most Trash’s photographer Hong Shiliu. We hesitated at first, and by the time we’d used it for a while we never changed it — we never expected Yamamura to identify with the word so much hhh.

​Shantetsu: After Hiroshima, I think perhaps the Japanese word yabai is the most fitting non-Chinese term when we discuss “trash.” As a word that simultaneously holds the meanings of two antonyms — “very good” and “very bad” — we cannot know its meaning without context, so it inherently carries a property connected to the chaos of the universe. And I think this concept is very much like metamorphosis in animation: the process of linking two different forms and visualizing that unnamable, chaotic in-between feeling. What differs between “trash” and yabai is that, except in certain specific cases (like saying meat was stewed until very tender), “trash” basically never carries the meaning of “good.” But I don’t think it should stand as “bad” on the opposite side of “good” — rather it’s a kind of “not good,” a feeling of “having deviated from the normal/appropriate range of good,” and that “normal” and “appropriate” should themselves just be statistical concepts, representing the evaluation standard of “good” as defined by the broad majority. So trash can be “not good,” can be “a minority,” “abnormal,” “bizarre” or “unexpected,” and can be… But all in all, the biggest difference in content is that in Hiroshima’s “yabai selection,” the films Yamamura chose were all too high in quality and polish, too mature — too good. Whereas our “trash” appears a bit more feral.

​Sijia: Yes — I feel “yabai” may have a broader range, and can even sometimes carry a positive connotation. “Trash” still feels more strongly negative.

A festival curator: There’s a difference, but both are striking in their promotional effect — both extremely curiosity-inducing. I feel perhaps we needn’t dig too deep into the meaning; as an audience member you simply know you’ve come to watch a “particularly different” kind of animation, and while watching you don’t have to sit so formally — you can approach it with an open mind.

During the Hiroshima talk, Yamamura laughing heartily|Photo by Hiroshima staff
During the Hiroshima talk, Yamamura chuckling|Photo by Hong Shiliu
Could Most Trash also become a very elitist aesthetic judgment?

​Shangshan: I think it’s very possible. Looking across history, if we grow big and strong, it’s probably inevitable. But for now there’s no need to worry, because we’re small and poor, and we still have many questions and curiosities about “trash.” Most Trash tries to pry off a bit of the wall’s paint and resist the existing evaluation system, but it’s quite possible that, in places we haven’t noticed, we’re secretly building another set of standards. If that truly happens, it would by no means be intentional — it would be because we were too foolish to be vigilant about it and even felt smug about it. Keeping the crust out of your eyes is a genuinely difficult thing.

​Shantetsu: There are actually some festivals without a jury system (I recently learned of one called Bang Awards — they have a section where any submission gets in, is posted on their website where everyone can watch it, and after watching you can vote, with the highest-voted works ultimately selected), but most humans still prefer appealing to authority, because it reduces the cost of thinking and filtering, so such festivals find it hard to make much of a splash or be widely discussed. As a public event, Most Trash adopted most festivals’ judging framework, which I consider a strategy for attracting attention — if the first edition had just grabbed a few random people off the street as jurors with zero promotion, probably nobody would have watched. But from another angle, the very existence of a so-called “elitist aesthetic” jury and selection system itself provides an opportunity to discuss it or diss it. Back in the first edition, audiences were already debating during the screening — “this isn’t trashy enough at all” — or after the awards, “how did this one win?” I think that’s great. Collaborating on screenings with traditional/large festivals is also a kind of early “pushing out” strategy — only with more participants can there be more possibilities and greater meaning. What the future holds is hard to say; it involves all kinds of practical factors, and given the existence of the act of “selection,” I don’t rule out the possibility of it becoming that. But we do have one rule to guard against it: if Most Trash ever loses its reason to exist, loses its ability to raise questions, or starts becoming boring, we will suspend or end Most Trash at any time. At least I don’t think the first edition was there yet.

​Sijia: Animation festivals are elitist, authoritative occasions — it’s hard to avoid being absorbed into various people’s discourse… But I feel Most Trash is still rather grassroots. As for whether it will become elitist, you’ll need to consciously adjust it yourselves (sorry, I feel like I sound a bit preachy)…

A festival curator: As long as a curator is making selections, there will inevitably be judgment criteria — either a very personal set of standards or a very objective set; there can be no such thing as no standards. But even when I run regular festivals, I strongly dislike so-called elitist standards. What we hope to encourage is the pure, the interesting, the creative. Is that also consistent with Most Trash?

After the screening|Selfie
Post-screening discussion|Photo by Hong Shiliu
Why were you willing to do Most Trash?

​Shangshan: In order of importance: guided by a mysterious force / fresh and fun / getting feedback / catching a breath from the festival evaluation system / meeting lots of fun people

​Shantetsu: In order of importance: believing the world needs Most Trash | doing things we find interesting | temporarily escaping everyday aesthetic fatigue | meeting/gathering people who love animation or are interesting | because it’s punk

Among the works selected for Hiroshima, were any suited for Most Trash? Or any that could have been selected for Most Trash?

​Shangshan: Yes hahaha! But I can’t find the Hiroshima booklet! So let’s skip that for now

​Shantetsu: Hard to judge suitability, but there are definitely ones that could make it in.

During these days in Hiroshima, was anything different from what you imagined before setting off?

​Shangshan: I didn’t expect such good treatment — great food, great lodging, and from the main venue to the Most Trash screening venue, Doi came over and got us a taxi. Also, it’s so hot outside! The venues are so cold! The hotel breakfast buffet was delicious

​Shantetsu: Before leaving I thought: wow, so many friends are coming this time, we can all have fun together. But in reality, attending a festival is truly draining — after a day of intense film-watching and socializing, your battery is quickly dead. With many old friends and new ones, we only managed to meet and say hello, and it was hard to have any deep exchange on-site; plus there was always a sense of urgency while chatting (the next screening is about to start and you have to rush over, the party is about to end and you’ll be kicked out, the restaurant you want to eat at is about to close…), so we were always rushing around. I brought board games from Tokyo and never got to play; brought letter mahjong too and only played a little on the second-to-last day. Every day back at the hotel I fell asleep instantly.

Nighttime cultural exchange|Photo by Shangshan
The hotel breakfast buffet|Photo by Hong Shiliu
During the screening, what was the audience’s state of mind watching Most Trash?

​Shangshan: This screening in Hiroshima had Japanese subtitles. Some of the jokes we worried might not land — but everyone laughed out loud anyway. The Japanese subtitles were added by the creators themselves, mostly translated with AI, and the subtitles also had some visual effects matched to the images. Some subtitles appeared very fast, some text was tiny — extremely unprofessional. Wonderfully trashy. Of the Hiroshima trash films Yamamura selected, I only saw one before heading backstage early to prepare

​Shantetsu: The atmosphere was great — I heard many kinds of laughter: laughter from finding things funny, and laughter from finding things baffling, and very few people left midway, no more than 10 in the whole session. A reporter from eiga.com also came to watch and wrote a report (published on their site on August 22); for traditional festival audiences it should have been a fairly novel experience too. And our trash merchandise, the fly swatters, were quite popular — when Sachiko Yokota went on stage to receive her award on the last day in Hiroshima, she was holding our blue fly swatter (attention-grabbing!).

Sachiko Yokota takes the stage with the Most Trash fly swatter to receive her award|Photo by Shantetsu
Before the screening, the audience receiving the newspaper|Photo by Hong Shiliu
Anything unexpected about the screening?

​Shangshan: So many people came! The owner of Yokogawa Cinema was also very friendly! Shancheng is so dependable! The conversation with Yamamura went unexpectedly smoothly too, ending in a very pleasant atmosphere. Afterward we strolled and drank with everyone; sitting by the river near the A-Bomb Dome chatting, my feelings were a bit complicated.

​Shantetsu: I still hadn’t expected a full house, because Yokogawa Cinema is quite a distance from the main venue — over twenty minutes by car, or about forty minutes on foot. Usually people at the main venue can watch the entire program just by staying there, and unless they missed a section they really wanted to see, they wouldn’t go to the satellite venue. Afterward I asked Yamamura why he chose Yokogawa, and he said it was to make it convenient for residents living in the city to watch the festival’s films. But Most Trash only had one screening at the Yokogawa satellite venue this time, so having so many people come all the way to Yokogawa was both surprising and delightful. My thought: good thing we printed A2-size newspapers — when audience members unfolded the newspaper one by one in their cinema seats, it was stunning, like small wildflowers suddenly blooming across a desert.

​Sijia: I think both the time and place of this screening were chosen very well — 9:30 pm, an independent small cinema… packed, even people sitting on the stairs. The people who came were first of all festival audiences — professional (?) and sincere, probably the group best able to catch Most Trash’s programming. The atmosphere was especially good.

A festival curator: Perhaps “Most Trash” might actually be someone else’s “best”? I remember what the Hiroshima artistic director Koji Yamamura said at the closing ceremony moved me very much. Roughly: festivals and animation creation are about pursuing something beyond established standards. My understanding is: so as not to pander to the real world. To me, the Most Trash Animation Festival is a guardian of what lies beyond established standards, and a guardian of the spirit of pure creation.

The Hiroshima A-Bomb Dome|Photo by Hong Shiliu
Across the riverbank|Photo by Hong Shiliu
Watching on a big screen for the first time — any new feelings?

​Shangshan: Even trashier! The trash was magnified! So satisfying to watch! I thoroughly enjoyed laughing out loud together with the audience in the dark.

​Shantetsu: The trashy visuals and trashy audio were both magnified! Extraordinarily trash! But the cinema environment still felt too serious — as soon as the lights went out there was a muscle-memory sense of having to sit down and watch the film properly (though I stood at the very back watching the whole time). Most Trash should really be screened in unconventional places, where people can eat, drink, and move around freely, chat and laugh while watching, and give the most sincere feedback and discussion right after each film, rather than having to summon their memory afterward to reflect on everything at once.

​Sijia: I was late and missed the Most Trash part — only saw the HAS part… sorry… but I imagine it was quite striking!

A festival curator: We rushed over from another venue, but regrettably still missed the first half — such a pity. We watched the second half, Hiroshima’s own trash selections, and kept exclaiming “pretty powerful,” “this isn’t trashy at all.” I feel this section actually selected a kind of personal taste and distinctiveness of the author — sometimes clumsy, sometimes primitive, but sometimes extremely bold, sincere, and lovable.

Sijia screened Niulai in Hiroshima — how was the vibe? Why screen Niulai in Hiroshima?

​Sijia: After watching, I felt it was absolutely worth it! Copying my short review on Douban: “…At the beginning everyone laughed loudly; in the latter half the whole room fell silent — not out of boredom, but because the brain began to adapt to the director’s unique language and truly entered the story, and was moved… Niulai can only ever migrate and flee, never confronting problems head-on, and I couldn’t help wondering: what kind of life is this a metaphor for…?…” This film really must be seen in person. As for why I screened Niulai in Hiroshima — I was too eager to see it, and I happened to be attending the Hiroshima Animation Season, where I could meet many animation people; better lucky than early, so we appreciated it together. This appreciation gathering was entirely private, with no official connection, and was invitation-only with the location kept secret. Actually many people present (including half of them Japanese) were drawn in and moved. I think they, precisely because they hadn’t encountered the Chinese domestic derivative discussions and memes, had a rather pure perspective — which indirectly proves how great Niulai is.

Sijia in Hiroshima|Photo by Hong Shiliu
Setting Most Trash aside, purely as animation creators, what kind of animation attracts you most right now?

​Shangshan: Funny films attract me; I also like traditional narrative films

​Shantetsu: One type is works that sincerely want to tell something; the other type is works where both the eyes and the ears feel comfortable at the same time

​Sijia: Consistent as always — works with their own unique expression, new, interesting, and unpretentious.

A festival curator: What attracts me most is of course what I consider “good” films, but I think everyone’s definition of “good” is a bit different. For example, extremely utilitarian works made purely to pander to festival tastes with selection as the goal don’t attract me much — I prefer pure things. During my career I’ve attended a dozen or so festivals around the world, and I think most festivals’ regret is that, because submission volumes are so large, works competing on resources and production tend to stand out more. But animation’s possibilities should be far greater — among the works that don’t get selected, there are actually quite a few pure treasures worth being dug out, worth being loved.

If there were no next edition, what do you think it would leave behind?

​Shangshan: Leave behind a total mess! People will surely come ask us why we stopped, and we’ll answer why we stopped. Then before long a similar festival will spring up, and we’ll start regretting missing the era’s dividends, not charging to the front lines for a share. Many years later, facing young creators, we’ll reminisce about the good old days. But as for the times, I don’t think we’ll leave anything.

​Shantetsu: At the very least, we’d leave the ruins of a trashy website you can only enter by playing a mini-game (or maybe a 404 not found), some trashy newspapers, some trashy fly swatters that may take five hundred years to decompose, and people’s memories — joyful or doubtful.

​Teacher Chen’s impressions of watching Most Trash in Hiroshima:

Before the Most Trash screening in Hiroshima, I happened to catch a Contemporary Classics (International) animated shorts screening featuring shorts by Don Hertzfeldt, Nikita Diakur, David OReilly, and Tomek Popakul — these are the most “powerful” films in the world today. Yet I suddenly realized that the reason they are considered the strongest is precisely because all these films share one common taste — trash. This trash has its own lineage: from the pursuit of minimalism to the pursuit of contrast between the refined and the crude, from the embrace of bad taste to the subversion of established aesthetics, and even from anti-luxury to anti-commercial to anti-elite. These “countercurrents” constitute the “power” of these works, constitute a vivid, raw force. This “trash” is not anti-intellectual — it is candor, is spontaneity. The Most Trash screening seems to go one step further, even more extreme. Although the core concept of “trash” is still under constant discussion, it is clearly in step with the current era’s evolution toward decentralization and humanism — of course also carrying a certain populist coloring. The live experience of the Most Trash screening was fun, like a kind of safety and release within this anxious and repressive era, an opportunity to re-examine animation as well as oneself. I’m very interested in continuing to observe.

Shangshan Ruoshui and Koji Yamamura, a photo together in Hiroshima|Photo by Hong Shiliu
The Trash Newspaper displayed|Photo by Hong Shiliu

​After the event, this screening and conversation also drew the attention of Japanese media The Japanese film news outlet eiga.com reported on this screening, with a feature on the Most Trash Animation Festival titled “Popular in China, a Collection of ‘Incredible’ Works from Around the World — What Exactly Is the Most Trash Animation Festival?”

Report link: https://eiga.com/news/20260822/18/#google_vignette

eiga.com report page|Screenshot by Shangshan
Submissions for the 2nd Most Trash Animation Festival are now open!
One minute to submit! A whole year of joy!
The Trash Newspaper|Designed by Nengjianri, edited by Shangshan Ruoshui
Submission period: August 8, 2026 – November 20, 2026

​Submit:https://mosttrashanimationfestival.neocities.org/submit

Entry fee: 0!
Restrictions: 0!
Prize money: 0!
🔥
Special Thanks
Koji Yamamura
Hiroshima Animation Season
Luo Sijia (juror of the 1st Most Trash Animation Festival)
A festival curator
Teacher Chen
suru (Trash Newspaper shipping)
Newspaper design|Nengjianri (key visual of the 2nd Most Trash Animation Festival and special guest co-host)
Newspaper English translation|Toudiaole (special guest co-host of the 2nd Most Trash Animation Festival)
Headpiece design|K.K (Most Trash fabric-related designer)
Lead photography|Hong Shiliu (Most Trash photographer)
----------\nMost Trash Animation Festival🔥\nEmail: mosttrashanimation@yahoo.co.jp\nWeChat public account: Most Trash Animation Festival\nBilibili: Most Trash Animation Festival Xiaohongshu: Most Trash Animation Festival\nInstagram: mosttrashanimationfestival\nWebsite: https://mosttrashanimationfestival.neocities.org\n