In Andreea-Lorena Florea’s striking animated film Dance of the Spirits, traditional fine art mediums become the battleground for a young boy’s soul. The story follows Matei, a youth trapped under the crushing weight of his father’s expectations and the rigid judgments of his village community. When his internalised pain manifests as violence against the very things he loves, Matei faces a profound crossroads between repeating the sins of his father or forging his own path.
We sat down with the Andreea-Lorena to discuss the psychological weight of peer pressure, how charcoal and soft pastels can express complex trauma without words, and the heartbreaking reality of how easily human pain is projected onto the vulnerable.
How much of the film is about the damage caused by believing someone else’s version of who you are?
I’d say that’s the main source of conflict within Matei. Constantly subjected to his father’s expectations, he never truly had the opportunity to form his own self-image.
As a child, you naturally mirror the behavior around you. Until you’re able to discern right from wrong, you’re essentially just an imitator, assuming whatever your parents do must be the correct path. The film explores that exact turning point, when Matei realizes he doesn’t have to follow in his father’s footsteps, and that he’s finally free to choose his own path.
What can hand-drawn imagery communicate about a character’s inner world that might be harder to express through dialogue or live-action storytelling?
Coming from a fine art background, where I studied traditional techniques before becoming an animator, I’ve always been fascinated by texture. Different mediums evoke completely different feelings. For instance, watercolor usually suggests fluidity, something shifting, fading away, or rooted in tradition. Artists carefully choose their medium to reflect the psychological state of the piece.
To be honest, I approach imagery more through a fine art lens than a cinematic one, which is why the film relies so heavily on visuals rather than dialogue.
I chose charcoal because it’s an incredibly expressive way to convey raw emotion, ranging from gossamer-soft and fragile to harsh and dense. The same reasoning drew me to soft pastels. I especially love the sheer thickness of certain brands; they have an almost buttery quality that builds up on the paper like a layer of snow.
People instinctively feel the anger and distress in hard charcoal lines, just as they sense the atmosphere in those rich, snowy pastels or the hopelessness in smudged, faded spots. I could have used narration to explain Matei’s feelings, but I wanted the audience to experience them directly, to sit right there with him and feel that discomfort.
To me, hand-drawn imagery holds an immense amount of power when it comes to emotional resonance. Every single line is laid down with a specific feeling behind it, and as humans, we naturally perceive that energy. It lets us dive deep into someone’s inner psyche without ever needing to overexplain or spell things out.
What interested you in using his relationship with animals to explore how violence can pass from one person to another?
Growing up around animals – my grandparents kept goats, rabbits, chickens, and many others – I learned early on what incredible souls they are. The connection you form with an animal, whether it’s a pet or a farm animal, is precious and pure. It rests entirely on trust and unconditional love. Their view of the world is simple, yet their emotional experiences are surprisingly complex. Because of this, I associated the lamb with Matei’s innocence, his untainted childhood feelings, as yet untouched by the harsher realities of the world.
That pure human-animal bond makes the moment Matei hits the lamb so much more dramatic and painful. The lamb doesn’t understand what it did wrong; it trusted Matei completely, only to end up hurt. Matei simply repeated what he had seen his father do, but in following that path, he ended up hurting the very soul who was most precious to him, the one he should have protected.
Looking back, the idea of Matei striking the lamb just as his father struck him stems from a heartbreaking human truth about how easily people project their pain onto those weaker than them, lashing out at beings who cannot fight back.
Why was it important to include the community in his story, rather than keeping the conflict entirely within the family?
The idea of community was built into the blueprint of this story from the very beginning, because none of us exist in isolation. We are inextricably part of a collective, a group that defines us both directly and indirectly. It isn’t just our immediate families that shape who we become; our communities mold us just as deeply.
As human beings, we aren’t wired to be alone. We care deeply about how we are perceived, which is precisely where the weight of peer pressure comes from. We carry this silent, constant anxiety: “What will people think of me?” or “I’m going to embarrass myself.” In many ways, it’s far more daunting to live up to the expectations of a collective than to hold oneself accountable to a personal standard.
In the film, I treated the crowd not just as a backdrop, but as an entity unto itself, a physical manifestation of Matei’s inner insecurities. When he stumbles, the impact feels overwhelming because he has spent his whole life terrified of failing. He is burdened by rigid preconceptions of who he ought to be, caught in the painful reality of knowing he simply cannot meet them.
What does the idea of spirits mean to you in the context of Matei’s journey?
The title Dance of the Spirits is a bit of a play on words, as the ritual in the film is traditionally called the Dance of the Masks. I chose the word “spirits” because I wanted to look past the surface at the core essence of a person. To me, the human spirit isn’t fixed; it’s fluid, constantly shaped and transformed by our actions and the beliefs we hold about ourselves.
Early on, the project was called Amid, reflecting the feeling of standing at a crossroads. That core idea naturally carried over into Dance of the Spirits. Matei finds himself at a total crossroads with everything he believes in, making his escape less about a physical location and more about the liberation of his spirit, his soul.
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