Those who vanish

It started as Asphalt.

A raw, ambitious animated feature idea that ambushed me one night while walking through the city, staring at rooftops and stars, and wondering:

What if wildlife had to evolve, not against nature, but against us?

How would animals survive human neglect, our concrete takeovers, our apathy?

Would they shrink, disappear, adapt?

And what if they could tell us what it felt like?

That thought stuck. And by 2015, it had mutated into a feature film project, fully fleshed out, pitched at Cartoon Movie, and built with a team of absolute powerhouses.

The art direction? Led by Daniel Balage, crafting a world where organic architecture fuses with forgotten nature, where the city itself is as much a character as those trapped inside it.

The character design? Jean-Baptiste Vendamme, who sculpted creatures that felt real—not just in movement, but in the weight of their existence.

🚪 A Prison Break, but make it poetic

Somewhere, in a dying zoo by a fading city, a massive black bear named Asphalt has given up.

She doesn’t fight, doesn’t hope, doesn’t try to be seen.

Around her, the younger animals—Capu the koala, Massa the gorilla, Kalak the fox—are still clinging to their last illusion: visitors will return, the world hasn’t forgotten them.

Their only tie to the outside? Utang. A wise old orangutan who escaped years ago. Every night, he calls them from the outside, his stories keeping them alive.

Until one night, the phone doesn’t ring.

And just like that, hope collapses. But Massa refuses to let go. He convinces the others: They must find Utang. They must break free.

Even Asphalt, heavy with resignation, follows—because deep down, she isn’t ready to disappear either.

🐾 What follows is a race against time, a battle against the world that refuses to acknowledge their existence.

Their escape is not just about freedom—it’s about proving they still matter. They slink through alleyways, slip past neon-lit highways, hide in crumbling buildings—all while trying to find the one creature who promised them there was something worth running toward.

🎨 This wasn’t just a script. We built this world.

🔹 An organic ‘concrete’ fur for Asphalt, the result of months of R&D insanity to make her feel like she belonged in a world that had already started absorbing her.

🔹 A co-production with Canada, national funding, and an early teaser that breathed life into the idea.

🔹 A writing residency under Vincent Robert, the best damn writer I’ve ever worked with, who helped shape every last nuance of the narrative.

🔹 A final rewrite deeply inspired by Marie de Hennezel’s books, diving into aging, loss, and how we abandon those who remind us of our own mortality.

⏳ By 2018, despite all the work, all the vision, all the talent, we had to pause development. It wasn’t failure—it was timing, industry shifts, and the brutal reality of independent animation. But some stories refuse to die.

A year, I came back to it. The script, the deck, the world—it’s all still here. And Asphalt?

🐻 She’s still waiting.

Somewhere in the shadows of the city, she’s still hoping to be seen again.

As Writer & Director, I developed this 3D animated feature, writing multiple drafts and refining the world, characters, and themes to explore aging, memory, and loss through a poetic adventure. 🎬

✅ Active Development