Ugo Bienvenu began working on Arco, which won Best European Animated Feature Film at the 38th European Film Awards, during the pandemic, at a time when the future felt difficult to picture in any constructive way.
After more than a decade writing science fiction, the filmmaker found himself reassessing the genre’s legacy. “I felt that maybe science fiction writers were partly responsible for what we are going through today,” he says. “Everything we imagined kind of happened.”
That realization marked a turning point. Instead of extrapolating anxiety or collapse, Bienvenu wanted to redirect speculative storytelling toward something more fragile and deliberate. “Maybe it’s our turn, as new science fiction writers, to tell stories that spread better ideas,” he explains. “If we want the world to be better, we first have to imagine it.”
At the same time, Bienvenu was being approached by studios in France, the United States, and the United Kingdom about adapting his books. The attention pushed him to consider directing a feature himself. When he looked back at the films that had shaped him most deeply, animation stood out.
“The films I loved most were animated films or films for children,” he says. “These are the films that impact people the most, because you see them again and again when you’re a child and then again later, when you want to share them with your own children.”
The emotional starting point for Arco was not conceptual but personal. Bienvenu describes the COVID years as a period of uncertainty and emotional fatigue. “Things were not going well, and I couldn’t see how they would get better,” he recalls. “I personally needed tenderness. I needed light.” That need became a creative compass. “If I need this, maybe other people need it too.”
This instinct aligns with how Bienvenu approaches writing more broadly. “When I write, it’s usually because I feel something is missing in reality,” he says. “I go to bookstores or cinemas and think: I miss that.” Arco emerged from that absence. “I wanted to put a film into the world that could spread light, happiness, and hope. I often say that I wanted to make a hug.”
The future depicted in Arco was never designed as a cold or intellectual exercise. Bienvenu describes the process as intuitive rather than analytical. “It wasn’t very intellectual, actually. It was quite unconscious,” he says. His guiding reference point remained the films he loved as a child. “They looked me straight in the eyes. They didn’t talk down to me.”
That respect for young audiences shaped the film’s tone and narrative perspective. “I didn’t want to lie to children,” Bienvenu explains. “I wanted to trust their intelligence.” The world Iris inhabits is not a radical departure from the present. “It’s basically our world, just pushed a little further,” he says. “Robots are AI, holograms are Zoom. It’s very basic.”
What interests Bienvenu is not efficiency or technological novelty, but orientation. “Maybe we can build a future that is better for our bodies and our souls, not just more efficient,” he says. Calculation alone does not inspire him. “Imagination is wider and deeper. We should rely more on ideas than on numbers.” Ideas, he adds, rarely arrive fully formed. “They always start fragile and small, and it’s our job to bring them into the world and fight for them.”
That emotional complexity is distilled in one of the film’s central motifs. “The rainbow unifies the two worlds,” Bienvenu says. “It’s a positive symbol.” He is drawn to its contradictions. “They appear when it’s raining and sunny at the same time.” The image mirrors the film’s emotional register. “I wanted the film to be like that: beautiful and painful at the same time.” For Bienvenu, tenderness gains meaning only when preceded by loss. “A hug works better when there is sadness first.”
Music plays a comparable role. Hearing singer November Ultra perform for the first time produced an immediate response. “I cried like a baby,” he says. The association was intimate rather than cinematic. “It felt like my mother singing to me when I was small.” The decision felt instinctive. “I immediately knew it had to be her.”
As Arco moved through Cannes, Annecy, and into the awards conversation, Bienvenu observed how audiences responded across generations. The reactions that stay with him are not critical accolades but shared emotional moments. “The most beautiful thing for me is when I go to screenings and see a grandmother and her grandson crying or laughing at the same time,” he says. “That’s the best of cinema.”
Children, he notes, often engage with the film more precisely than adults. “Sometimes children ask better, more precise questions,” he says. The experience aligns with his life outside the studio. Bienvenu had two children during the film’s production. “When I lie to my daughter, she knows immediately,” he says. “Children want the truth.”
This belief extends to how he views audience segmentation. “I never thought in terms of age targets,” he explains. “Dividing ourselves into categories, children, adults, races, is artificial. We’re one community.”
Comparisons to Hayao Miyazaki have followed the film since its premiere. Bienvenu understands the association, though he did not pursue it consciously. “I haven’t changed my style,” he says. What resonates is a shared interest in ambiguity. “Children’s cinema is often black and white, good and bad. I don’t believe in that.” He also points to a mutual respect for nature and an aversion to spectacle-driven violence. “I don’t want to bring more violence into the world.”
His commitment to hand-drawn 2D animation reflects the same values. “I love errors,” he says. “3D is too perfect.” During production, the team experimented with AI-generated robot voices trained on thousands of recorded lines. The result was unusable. “It was technically perfect, and completely empty.” Emotion returned only through manipulation and imperfection. “What we recognize as human is imperfection. Errors.”
Asked about the current state of independent animation, Bienvenu does not soften his assessment. “It’s in danger,” he says. Rising costs and AI-driven production models place pressure on handcrafted work. The future remains uncertain. “I don’t know what will happen. I hope it survives.”
Recognition brings visibility, but also weight. “Awards are nice, but they’re also heavy to carry,” he admits. His focus remains straightforward. “What matters to me is being able to continue my work.”
For Bienvenu, Arco was never conceived as a statement about the industry’s future. It grew from a more immediate concern: the feeling that something essential was missing from contemporary cinema. The film’s quiet insistence on presence, imagination, and shared emotion reflects that starting point. In imagining the future, Arco returns to something older and increasingly rare: the need to look directly at its audience and trust what they are capable of feeling.
Cover image courtesy of 38th European Film Awards Berlin 2026, Sebastian Gabsch