Growing up with a deep love for stop-motion animation, I’ve always considered it a gift anytime a new project in the medium lands in my queue for review. Olivia Loccisano’s Pocket Princess is no exception—this beautifully unsettling short film is a dark little gem that reminds us just how powerful animation can be when paired with weighty, real-world themes.
The visual style is instantly nostalgic, calling to mind the charming simplicity of vintage bumpers from Pee-wee’s Playhouse or the surreal elasticity of Gumby. There’s even a hint of James and the Giant Peach in its macabre whimsy. But make no mistake—while the look may feel suited for Saturday morning cartoons, Pocket Princess is anything but lighthearted.
The story follows Anna, a young girl who, after losing her mother to illness, finds herself in the care of her predatory and abusive uncle. To survive the trauma of her daily life, Anna retreats into a fantasy world built around her doll collection. Within this tiny kingdom, her miniature friends begin to whisper guidance—leading her toward a chilling but empowering resolution.
The stop-motion work here is wonderfully tactile, with a slightly rough texture that enhances the grim fairy-tale atmosphere. Catherine Hois’s art direction adds an eerie, almost wet look to the sets and puppets, giving everything an unnerving sheen that mirrors the film’s emotional tone. While the animation may not be as polished as big-budget efforts, it’s filled with passion, creativity, and a clear artistic vision.
Sound design is one of the film’s standout strengths. Chihiro Nagamatsu’s score is both haunting and delicate, perfectly heightening the tension and emotion. Gino Visconti’s sound design complements the visuals with just the right amount of dread and subtlety. The voice performances—particularly from Naiya Novak as Anna—are solid across the board, lending depth to characters who, despite their doll-like appearances, feel very real.
Pocket Princess succeeds in telling a harrowing allegory of abuse, resilience, and imagination. Loccisano’s decision not to show adult faces adds a layer of childlike perspective that makes the trauma even more poignant. It’s a smart, creative choice that speaks volumes about how children process the horrors around them.
With its heavy themes and disturbing content, this isn’t a short for everyone—but for those who appreciate when animation dares to go deeper, Pocket Princess is a bold and affecting work. It’s easy to see why it’s been garnering attention on the festival circuit.
Olivia Loccisano clearly has a unique voice and vision, and I genuinely hope this is just the beginning. I’d love to see what she does next with this medium—especially if it stays within this beautifully dark and deeply human space.
Jessie Hobson