The Chapulín Colorado is said to be the son of entomologist Pantaleón Colorado y Roto and Lois Lane —possibly the same journalist from The Daily Planet. There is also a theory that his powers originated from a benevolent scientist who, before dying, chose to transfer special abilities to someone with a pure and noble heart.
He possesses a quirky set of powers that make him both comical and surprisingly formidable. He achieves hyperspeed by adjusting his antennae. He's capable of teleportation, understands multiple languages —including extraterrestrial ones— and can leap great distances like a real grasshopper. His superhuman reflexes allow him to dodge danger with ease, and he can disguise himself using nothing more than a fake mustache, though it only fools some people. Despite his slim build, he has remarkable endurance and even the ability to travel through time and space.
The most iconic weapon of this hero is the Chipote Chillón, a red and yellow hammer that lets out a distinctive squeak with every strike. With just a whistle, the Chapulín can summon it, and it flies to him on its own.
The Pastilla de Chiquitolina shrinks him to a tiny size, allowing him to sneak past villains unnoticed —although he’s often discovered, and they usually try to crush him with a shoe or a flower vase.
The Chicharra Paralizadora is a handheld horn he uses to paralyze his enemies, while his Antenitas de Vinil (vinyl antennae) allow him to sense nearby danger and detect the presence of enemies.
As for his enemies, the Chapulín Colorado has several, including Chory Malgesto Malacara, Matalote, El Pocas Trancas, Rufino Rufián, El Cuajináis, Dr. Panchostein, Tripaseca, Alma Negra, Súper Sam, the Great Chief Carne Seca, Rascabuches, El Bulldog, La Minina, Rosa la Rumorosa, Plaza Loca, The Great Chief Bola Barrigola, La Bruja Baratuja, among others.
El Eternauta, the Argentine series directed by Bruno Stagnaro and based on the legendary graphic novel by Héctor Germán Oesterheld and Francisco Solano López, has brought one of the most influential Spanish-language works of science fiction to the screen with both technical ambition and deep respect for its original spirit. At its core, the series embraces the concept of the “collective hero” —a foundational idea in the story and one that Stagnaro champions as a political and cultural stance against individualism.
From the outset, El Eternauta declares that survival is not an individual act but a collective endeavor. This theme permeates the narrative and is mirrored in the collaborative nature of the production itself. The plot unfolds in a Buenos Aires gripped by a deadly, mysterious snowfall that wipes out much of the population. As the survivors begin to understand they are facing an alien invasion, they realize that unity is their only path forward. To preserve the urgency and social resonance of the original story, Stagnaro chose to set the adaptation in the present day.
One of the most striking creative decisions was casting 68-year-old Ricardo Darín as Juan Salvo, a character portrayed as much younger in the original comic. Stagnaro initially questioned the choice due to the physical demands of the role, but ultimately saw in Darín’s age an opportunity for deeper symbolism. By connecting the character to the generation of Argentine veterans from the 1982 Falklands War, the series adds layers of emotional and historical meaning. This perspective is echoed in one of the show’s recurring lines: “old things work.” It’s a reference not just to analog technology that survives the snowfall, but to human experience and resilience in a culture obsessed with novelty and youth.
Bringing El Eternauta to life also required cutting-edge technology. To create its dystopian vision of Buenos Aires, the team turned to Unreal Engine —a software platform originally designed for video games and now widely adopted in film and television. Using this tool, real-world locations throughout the city were digitally scanned and reimagined as detailed three-dimensional environments.
These virtual sets were then projected onto massive LED walls during filming, a process known as virtual production. This technique allowed actors —including Darín and César Troncoso— to perform within immersive digital landscapes in real time. More than just a visual upgrade, this approach gave the creative team tighter control over mood and tone, transforming Buenos Aires into a fully integrated character within the story rather than a passive backdrop.
Visual effects supervisor Ignacio Pol emphasized that one of the production’s greatest challenges was making Buenos Aires feel both authentic and transformed —a city viewers could recognize, yet altered by catastrophe. Its presence had to communicate emotion, memory, and loss in a single frame. Achieving that required painstaking attention to detail and a production process that spanned years.
The series was the result of an unprecedented collaborative effort among several Argentine studios — including Control Studio, Many Worlds, Beat, Malditomaus, and Bitt Animation— alongside international partners. Virtual production involved months of research, 3D modeling, texture design, on-set coordination, and over a year of meticulous post-production, during which every shot was reviewed alongside Stagnaro to fine-tune its visual storytelling.
Beyond the technical sophistication, Stagnaro sees El Eternauta as an opportunity to build an Argentine heroic mythology —one rooted in local identity yet capable of resonating globally. Rather than softening cultural references to appeal to an international audience, the series proudly amplifies them. It’s a deliberate choice grounded in the belief that authenticity, not universality, is what fosters true connection across borders.
Nearly seventy years after its original publication, El Eternauta remains a story of resistance, solidarity, and memory. Oesterheld’s visionary work begins a new chapter —where art, technology, and collective spirit come together to once again remind us that in the face of catastrophe, no one is saved alone.
Planeta Inquietante is a comic that serves as both a parody and a tribute to the Ancient Astronauts theory, popularized in the 1970s by Erich Von Däniken. This theory suggests that extraterrestrials visited Earth in ancient times and influenced early human civilizations. Supporters believe these beings helped with technology, inspired myths, and were seen as gods.
The comic’s creative team includes José Ramírez (magazine editor), artists Gustavo Rubio, Ángel Bernuy, Jen del Pozo, and Conrado Martín, with Adolfo Rodríguez in charge of scriptwriting and creative direction.
While they acknowledge that comics are receiving more attention today, there remains skepticism about whether publishers fully understand how to capitalize on this interest to broaden their readership. Furthermore, they argue that print comics and webcomics are not mutually exclusive; instead, they can coexist and even support each other. The reading experience varies depending on factors such as screen size and tactile interaction, and these differences should inform publishing strategies. Ideally, digital comics should go beyond being mere PDFs formatted for print and instead make use of the unique capabilities of digital platforms.
Cosmic is a comic magazine that brings together multiple stories and artists. The idea was born years ago, inspired by the legacy of Máximo Carvajal—a prominent Chilean comic artist and mentor to our editor, Fyto Manga. Before his passing, Carvajal urged Fyto to "never stop fighting for [Chilean] comics", and that became his driving motivation.
While working on projects for other creators, Fyto began developing his own characters and stories, gradually weaving them into a shared universe. Later, he invited other artists to contribute their own narratives, leading to the creation of a “multiverse.” Cosmic currently features seven interconnected storylines, all subtly tied together. Most of the protagonists are children or teenagers, and the unifying concept across these stories is bio-acceleration—a unique condition that grants them special abilities.
The creative process starts with story development, which is then divided among the scriptwriters. Once a script is complete, it’s handed off to a designated artist who provides a layout. After layout approval, the final comic is produced. Throughout this process, the team is careful to maintain consistency within the "Cosmic Universe" and ensure the connections between stories remain subtle yet meaningful.
The Cosmic team is small but multi-skilled. Paulina Verdejo, an electronics engineer and comic enthusiast, serves as editorial director. Fyto Manga, a comic artist and illustrator, is the editor. Creative support comes from Juan and Pedro, while Pedro and Valentina write scripts. Nell handles publicity and gives counsel, and the team of comic artists includes Jade, Cecy, Crispawn, Rina, Romina, Sergio, and Pablo.
Although Cosmic is currently a local publication, copies are available for international readers via traditional mail—we recently sent one to a friend in Italy!
When it comes to comics in general, the team believes that the digital era is reshaping the industry, and comics are no exception. Readers want quick access, preferably online—and if there’s animation involved, even better. Webcomics are clearly the future. That said, there’s still a passionate audience for print editions. For many, a physical comic is a treasure. Print continues to hold value in the world of comics.
In terms of distribution, webcomics have the potential to reach far more people than printed editions—but only if they’re free to access. That creates a challenge: either charge readers, or bring in sponsors. Both routes are complicated. Some creators take the risk and rely on popularity to attract sponsorships through traffic and views. The Cosmic team chose a slower path, but that doesn’t mean they won’t explore the digital landscape. Their universe is just getting started.
Calien is a short novel that delivers a keen reflection on the human condition in a world where scientific progress and moral decline go hand in hand. Published in 2009 by Diego Darío López Mera, it stands as one of the most original efforts to fuse science fiction with Colombia's cultural and social landscape —particularly that of the city of Cali.
At its core, the story follows a family in pursuit of the elixir of immortality, only to become entangled in a web of conspiracy, betrayal, and encounters with non-human intelligences. Rather than a path to salvation, immortality emerges as a symbol of inner decay. In Calien, the strange inhabits the everyday, and the alien reveals itself to be none other than ourselves.
López Mera's writing is straightforward yet densely layered with philosophical, cinematic, and cultural references. His prose strikes a delicate balance between humor and disillusionment, satire and introspection. The science fiction he envisions doesn’t unfold in distant galaxies or pristine futures, but in a present warped by ambition, nostalgia, and absurdity.
Calien is a vital work in the context of contemporary Colombian science fiction. It doesn’t attempt to replicate Anglo-American genre norms, but instead forges its own voice —grounded in local realities and critical of global narratives. Its true power lies in the way it reimagines Cali —and by extension, Colombia— as a space for the fantastic, the ethical, and the alien.
The story is also available as part of the anthology "9 Fantastic Monsters".
Cacahuetex was born from a shared love of movies, series, and TV shows that shaped the team’s childhoods. What began as a hobby —filming sketches and short films— gradually evolved into their own audiovisual collective. From the very beginning, the dream was always to create something bigger: a film or a series of their own.
When they came across an online web series competition, they saw the perfect opportunity to take that leap. But rather than follow the familiar sitcom format so common in online series, they wanted to try something different —something bold. That’s how Styncat was born: a wild mix of action, comedy, and science fiction inspired by all the shows and films they grew up loving. Winning the contest wasn’t the main goal; the real motivation was to bring their idea to life. And even though they didn’t win, they chose to keep going —and they did.
The production process for Styncat took over a year, and as their first serious project, it brought plenty of challenges —and plenty of stories.
One of the most memorable episodes took place at a key filming location used for the final episode’s action scenes. From the start, the team felt like the place was cursed —nothing ever went according to plan. Although it was an open space, it required a key for access. Every time they got hold of the key, the lock had been changed, or the space was booked, or there was a gym class… or even a full-blown concert with hundreds of people. Somehow, despite all this, they managed to film —and the end result turned out even better than expected.
Another fun anecdote: since Toledo is known for its steel and sword-making tradition, they traveled there to buy weapons for the series. After browsing several stores, they ended up in a shop where the owner offered them a pair of extremely cheap —and incredibly ugly— zebra-striped katanas. They bought them anyway, and now those swords have become part of Styncat’s identity. Anytime someone sees a zebra katana, it’s a nod to the series.
The team shot the series using three Canon 550D cameras. The choice was purely practical: they needed something affordable with decent quality, and the 550D was a perfect fit for their YouTube-based project.
In terms of visual style, they wanted a conspiratorial, mysterious atmosphere. That led them to use a cold, bluish color palette throughout the show.
They started with just €450 and added money along the way whenever needed. Most of the budget went into fuel for driving to filming locations. While they don’t have an exact total, they estimate the entire project cost under €1,000.
The web series world has grown massively in recent years. Nowadays, everyone has a camera—even in their pocket —and anyone can upload content online. That’s a great thing, as it makes filmmaking more accessible. But it also means the internet is saturated with content, and standing out is harder than ever. Even with a good idea and solid execution, it’s no guarantee that a project will find an audience.
The team believes the internet is a powerful space where great talents are emerging —but there’s still work to be done in recognizing that online content can be just as valuable, if not more, than what’s shown on traditional television or in cinemas. In fact, Styncat itself offers a critique of that very reality: how internet culture often rewards randomness over quality, and how that continues to affect how online creations are perceived.
Now Franc Sellers tells us about his webseries "Genesis 88":
The team's main motivation was to enjoy the creative process, to learn, and to bring a fictional story and its characters—who eventually became deeply loved—to life. The project was born from a genuine passion for storytelling and the pure pleasure of creating. The series consists of thirteen episodes that make up its first season, but it was conceived with continuity in mind. In fact, the final episode was written with an open ending, paving the way for future seasons.
The series was filmed using a Canon 60D DSLR camera. The choice was driven by practicality: the team had no budget, and the Canon 60D offered the best possible image quality within their limited means. Visually, the creators aimed for bright, vivid colors inspired by the original drawings featured in the opening credits and certain key scenes, evoking a comic book aesthetic. At the same time, they wanted to blend this look with the visual language of Latin American soap operas, infusing it with elements of suspense, mystery, action, humor, and science fiction—hallmarks of the genre they were paying tribute to.
No financial support or subsidies were received. The production was fully self-funded, with all expenses coming directly from the creators' own pockets. Filming was limited to weekends due to the team’s day jobs, family responsibilities, and personal commitments. Despite the challenges, they worked entirely out of passion and dedication. They believe the internet is now an invaluable platform for independent creators, offering visibility and reach that didn’t exist in the past.
The production process was filled with anecdotes, but one stands out in particular. During a key scene that took place in a restaurant parking lot, the team had already filmed several sessions there. On the final two, things got complicated. They began shooting around 8:00 p.m., when the restaurant manager approached and told them they had just 30 minutes to wrap up before a large busload of guests arrived. Miraculously, they managed to shoot twelve or thirteen takes with excellent results. What seemed nearly impossible turned into one of their most successful filming sessions—an unforgettable moment for everyone involved.
Now Julio Acuña Formador tells us about his comic "Black":
Black was born when I was thirteen years old. Back then, I dreamed of creating a superhero inspired by Tim Burton’s Batman and Carl Macek’s Robotech (a strange mix, I know —but I was just a kid). Over the years, that concept evolved, and through it, I discovered my passion for storytelling.
By 1997, the idea had transformed into what Black is today —a project that still continues. Initially, I just wanted to draw a cool, modern superhero and dreamt of getting published in the U.S. But over time, the focus shifted. Now, Black is about Chilean teenagers, their daily lives, and the mistakes we all make growing up. These characters live, love, fear, cry, and grow. To me, the characters of Black are like my children, and when I write, I truly believe the readers can feel that connection. I think that’s a big part of why the series has resonated with people.
I’ve always admired many artists. Among the Chileans: Themo Lobos (Ogú and Mampato), Mario Igor (Sigfrido, Mizomba the Untouchable), and Genzoman (illustrator). I also have great respect for Lucho Olivera (Gilgamesh the Immortal), Rubén Meriggi (Wolf, Crazy Jack), Ariel Olivetti (Cazador), Mandrafina (Savaresse), Toppi (Thalerg), Nik (Gaturro), and of course, Quino (Mafalda).
As for the future of comic book distribution, I’m cautious —not because I’m an expert, but because I can only speak from my experience here in Chile. We still rely heavily on print. While digital comics are growing, printed editions remain popular. In fact, many readers here download scans online but then go out and buy the print version. One local publisher, which distributes Marvel and DC, has proven that Chileans still love physical comic books.
Of course, print has its challenges. Publishing is expensive, and there aren’t many comic publishers in Chile. Most creators —myself included— have to self-finance our work and publish independently. The upside is that this creates a more personal and direct connection with readers. Handing someone a physical copy and getting immediate feedback is incredibly rewarding, and it builds a solid, grassroots distribution network.
Digital comics have advantages, though. They’re easier and cheaper to publish —just a scanner or digital tablet, a graphics program, and an internet connection. But Chile still struggles with slow internet, and platforms like HTML5 (such as Wix) can be tough to manage. We often rely on simpler options like Blogger or WordPress and promote through social media —Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram. The biggest benefit of digital publishing is global reach: your work can travel faster and reach more readers.
That said, I plan to publish Black in the United States. The English version of the comic is on the way—our first big step in expanding to international audiences.
Over these three years of publication, there have been many memorable moments. The fans of Black have become an essential part of the series. They comment, suggest ideas, and even debate the romantic entanglements of the characters —especially the love triangle between Eric, Claudia, and Inés. Some readers are firmly Team Claudia, while others argue Eric should find someone new. It’s hilarious and heartwarming. I’ve even received help from readers with technical details —one fan provided scientific information that’s now part of the comic’s plot.
At Chilean comic conventions, I’ve seen this same engagement in person. Readers give feedback, share ideas, and connect deeply with the characters. For me, that’s what keeps a comic alive: the readers.
And yes, many of the characters are based on real people. Eric is me in high school. Alberto, aka the Boogie Man, is based on my high school friend Alfredo Santana. Víctor is inspired by an old "bad boy" who used to call me, “Teddyyyyyy…” Claudia is a mix of girls I liked in the past, while Inés represents a part of myself —my Christian side— and a bit of Winona Ryder from Lucas.
Black is created by just two people: my fiancée Loredanne and me. I write, draw, ink, and apply screentones, while she serves as the editor-in-chief.
Survivors is a short film directed by Diego López, shot over the course of two intense days during a single weekend. The film was set in the garage of the lead actor’s house, which was creatively transformed into a neglected warehouse to match the story’s atmosphere. Originally, Diego intended to shoot the film with a basic video-mode camera, but thanks to one of the actresses who offered her Canon T3i, the project gained a higher visual quality.
The story is set in a post-apocalyptic world that has been invaded by aliens. In this hostile environment, survivors hide to stay alive —but tensions rise and betrayal unfolds, driven by a particular “special” situation revealed in the plot.
Post-production took a considerable amount of time, as Diego handled the editing himself during his spare time.
The short film is part of a larger collaborative online project aimed at producing a feature-length film titled Space-Time Experiment. Diego hopes that more creators will be inspired to join and contribute to this collective effort.
Now Ezequiel Romero, one of the directors, tells us about his movie "Nova":
Nova was a kind of experiment —it was shot in just 24 hours, and all the dialogue was improvised. I had this idea of a world that first celebrates beauty and then slowly dies as the light from a distant supernova reaches it. To film an entire hour of footage in a single day, we split the crew into two teams, each following one of the main characters. We used Canon 5D cameras simply because they were cheap and readily available.
The cinematography in Nova was completely incidental —it emerged from the efforts of our directors of photography to achieve a professional or semi-professional look with zero budget and almost no lighting. We had no time to set up scenes carefully; with only 24 hours, we had to shoot fast and adapt on the fly.
Every resource —props, permits, catering— came from the directors’ own pockets. The whole film was made with around $500. "Nova" is a true DIY experiment, born from nothing but our love for filmmaking.
(Spoiler alert: don’t continue if you haven’t seen the film) We only planned the opening and final scenes —those that brought all the characters together. As we shot, the script evolved through the actors’ improvisations, and eventually, we lost control of the narrative. At one point, I called Bruno (the other director) and said: “Mate, we just killed our main character. You’re going to have to come up with a new ending.”
Predicting the future of film distribution is difficult. We need to re-educate audiences to support cinema financially— to understand that films can’t survive without their backing. But at the same time, we can’t expect people to pay the same prices they did during the old model, when technology and reproduction costs were high. Indie video game and music creators have adapted more successfully to the new economy —maybe it’s time we filmmakers start learning from them.
As an ultra fan of scifi and action movies, the peruvian director Arthur Cross felt a natural need to create something that combined those two genres, despite the fact that neither of them were often explored in his own country.
Science fiction is a genre that allows to explore the relationship between humanity and the universe. And more often than not, the difference in scale between these two elements. Humanity as mere speck of light in the vast impossible void of time and space.
With that in mind, The 2nd Horseman tells the story of the struggle between two factions vying for control over a single girl, who holds the destiny of mankind in her hands after returning from an alternate dimension.
Though the filming is still in progress, the trailer put together with early footage showed favorable reactions in the public. Proving this blend of genres is something people want, even in Peru.
Using independent film making techniques and resources such as the popular Canon 5D Mk2 and Mk3, a wheelchair for a dolly and applying lots and lots of post production wizardry, The 2nd Horseman production team strives to optimize resources to crank out the best production value despite the inherent adversity of working a project of this kind.
Luckily, the internet helps breaks down many of these difficulties, such as providing know-how, tips, strategies, information and even expanding the possibilities for independent movies to secure an audience. New means of exhibition are made available through streaming services, and indie films can easily find their way into international festivals via digital transfers.
It could be said that there is a bright future ahead for indies, and as science fiction becomes science fact, we look forward to the new film-making, post production and network technologies that will even expand our horizons even more.
Now Daniel Del Grande tells us about his webseries "Rosario necesita héroes":
The camera I used is an old Kodak, mainly designed for taking 7-megapixel photos —at least I think so. I don’t have it with me right now, but I can say its video mode is quite basic and nowhere near the quality of its photo mode. Still, it was the only tool I had at hand.
The budget? Practically nonexistent. I simply use whatever resources I have available, since this isn’t a professional project —at least not yet. Making money isn’t the goal.
And what’s my motivation? That’s harder to explain in just a few words. What I can say for now is that, over time, I hope to share a deeper spiritual journey —my own path— and everything I’ve learned along the way.
Now Carlos Atanes tells us about his movie "Proxima":
I made Proxima because, as a child, I was a huge fan of science fiction films, and I wanted to recapture that "sense of wonder" I felt when watching movies like Silent Running, 2001: A Space Odyssey, or Planet of the Apes. Proxima is a tribute to those films —and to all the dreamers who, like me, imagine humanity conquering the universe.
Making Proxima was a wild and chaotic ride, full of memorable moments. There's even a documentary about the experience, titled Made in Proxima, available on the film’s official website. One of the most dangerous incidents occurred while we were shooting alien landscapes at the bottom of Corta Atalaya —the largest open-pit mine in Europe. While a red lake of sulfuric acid at the bottom emitted toxic fumes, a violent storm triggered landslides on the surrounding walls, putting us at real risk of flooding and collapse. Had the walls given way, we would have been buried under tons of rock. Another unforgettable (and slightly terrifying) moment was when we filmed Oriol Aubets —the lead actor— with real ammunition.
The entire shoot lasted between 30 and 40 days, although I honestly lost track.
For this film, I left the technical side of cinematography to our Director of Photography, Joan Babiloni, a highly skilled professional. He chose the camera —an HDV model from JVC. I don’t recall the exact specs. The film’s visual style was shaped by the budget, Babiloni’s personal taste, and our early discussions about lighting, tone, lenses, and color. I showed him many comics from the 1970s and '80s. We discussed how Enki Bilal created cold, alien atmospheres using warm color schemes. We also looked at works by sci-fi illustrators like Chris Foss and Tim White. Based on those references, Babiloni created a color palette that guided the props, costumes, and set design. His lighting corrections in post-production were minimal —most of the look was achieved in-camera.
As for the future of cinema, I believe it belongs either to big-budget or ultra-low-budget productions. Big-budget films have multiple financing avenues and marketing power. Low-budget films, on the other hand, can be profitable because their costs are minimal, and with some luck, they can still earn a return. Medium-budget films, however, are caught in the middle and are often doomed —except for a handful of breakout successes. In Europe, these films only survive thanks to government subsidies, which says a lot. I believe the future holds the decline of mid-budget filmmaking.
Proxima had a budget of roughly $65,000 to $70,000, funded mainly through personal contributions from friends and, most significantly, a bank loan. We're still paying it back. That’s the less glamorous side of ultra-independent filmmaking.
Watch Made in PROXIMA: Underground science fiction:
Now Mariano Cattaneo tells us about his webseries "Martin Mosca":
Martin Mosca is a science fiction comedy that follows the misadventures of an ordinary man who builds a time machine —only to use it for trivial purposes. However, he soon discovers that tampering with time can have serious consequences: altering the natural order of the universe and endangering both his life and the lives of those he loves.
The concept for Martin Mosca was inspired by the beloved sci-fi and adventure films of the 1980s, including Back to the Future, Terminator, Weird Science, Ghostbusters, Indiana Jones, and Superman. These nostalgic influences helped shape the tone and spirit of the series.
Behind-the-scenes: Martin Mosca's house
Each episode’s budget varies according to the demands of the script. As with many independent productions, teamwork is essential. Every person involved contributes according to their skills and possibilities, and the human commitment behind Martin Mosca is invaluable. While digital platforms such as YouTube, Facebook, Google+ and Twitter provide a vast window for exhibition, there is still a lack of formal distribution channels that are willing to take risks on web series and offer creators sustainable compensation.
Creating an independent web series means being prepared for the unexpected. With limited funds and tight schedules, improvisation becomes a necessity, and every challenge must be resolved on the fly.
One memorable anecdote occurred during the filming of the eighth episode, which required a scene in a cemetery. Without the time or resources to obtain a permit —which in Argentina could take weeks— the team decided to film guerrilla-style, entering as regular visitors. The actors playing Martin and the future traveler had to hide behind tombstones in their elaborate costumes and helmets. Surprisingly, many passersby asked them for directions without noticing anything unusual, despite their eye-catching outfits.
The series was filmed using a variety of Canon DSLR cameras —5D, 7D, 60D, T3i, and T2i. These cameras provide a simple yet powerful toolset, delivering full HD (1920 x 1080) quality. Their affordability, portability, and flexibility have transformed consumer-grade equipment into reliable tools for professional filmmaking.
Martin Mosca is the result of a passionate and collaborative effort by Mariano Cattaneo (director), Leandro Cóccaro (actor), Hernán Márquez (actor), and Pablo Boyanovsky Bazán (writer/producer).
La Furia de Mackenzie is a 2005 Spanish film that pays affectionate tribute —through laughs, gooey monsters, and an unapologetically ’80s vibe— to the golden age of horror and adventure flicks from the VHS era. Directed by José Luis Reinoso, Paco Campano, and Félix Caña, the film is a love letter to the B-movie gems that shaped a generation raised on video rentals, dazzled by bold cover art, and obsessed with monsters, explosions, and square-jawed heroes.
The directors, then in their early thirties, nostalgically recall those days when choosing a movie felt like a sacred ritual. That very sense of wonder inspired La Furia de Mackenzie, a horror comedy where two escaped convicts, a relentless sheriff, a not-so-normal family, and ravenous alien creatures collide in a blood-splattered mix of camp and chaos—all brought to life with tongue-in-cheek humor and charmingly DIY effects.
Though the story is set in the deep American South, the movie was actually shot in Carmona, a town in southern Spain. The idea to set the action in rural America came after the team—long-time friends and veterans of homemade cult projects like The Slaughter of Utrera—scrapped their initial concept (Dracula vs. Bin Laden) and embraced the spirit of the ’80s "monster-in-the-house" formula. When they arrived in Carmona and saw the dusty roads and wide open spaces, they knew they’d found their own little Texas.
Despite what one might expect, having three directors on set wasn’t chaotic. Each had a defined role —one handled cinematography, another directed actors or managed the monsters, and another worked with smoke effects or sound. While the occasional contradiction did arise, the final result feels surprisingly cohesive, thanks to a shared vision and a team-first mindset that prioritized fun over ego.
A standout of the film is lead actor Rubén "Cucaracho" Hernández, who the directors gleefully describe as the "Spanish Bruce Campbell". Initially skeptical about playing the hero, Rubén quickly proved indispensable, stealing every scene with his expressive performance. "Without him", they insist, "there would be no Mackenzie".
The shoot stretched out over nearly two years of weekend filming, fueled by passion and low-budget ingenuity. Special effects were crafted by hand. Sound was recorded under makeshift conditions, with whole sessions devoted to monster growls. Meals often consisted of cheap sausages. José recalls with a laugh that simply finishing the film was one of the greatest challenges —at one point, they even ran out of toilet paper on set.
Now David Contreras tells us about his movie "Zohe":
I enjoy stories of all kinds, in any genre.
Science fiction, in particular, feels beautiful and thrilling to me. It allows me to play, invent, and create fantastic stories with unusual characters —sometimes without even needing to explain why they act the way they do. I also believe sci-fi gives us the chance to speculate about parallel realities and imagine what our world or the universe could be like, often reflecting on human behavior and society in the process.
Zohe is exactly that kind of story: it follows an ordinary man who, after a great universal cataclysm, fights for his freedom and for love.
We shot the film using a Canon 7D. I had never worked with Full HD before, so it was a real pleasure to see that level of sharpness and image quality on screen.
Zohe was supported by the government of my country, and many public and private companies joined the project to help bring it to life. Still, finding the resources was far from easy —it’s been a long and complex journey.
Over the years, I've learned a lot, especially about creativity and improvisation. Things don’t always go as planned—sometimes because of limited resources, unpredictable weather, or other unexpected setbacks. When that happens, you need to react fast and find effective solutions. There were times during shooting when I had to completely rewrite scenes or drastically shorten them on the spot. With the actors ready and the technical crew in place, I would quickly analyze the surroundings and find a new way to tell the scene. I even started bringing white sheets of paper to the set to sketch out new shots on the fly when necessary.
Looking back at previous productions, I can say that poor planning was one of the biggest challenges. But this time, despite all the adversity, we made things work. We took a good step forward, and I feel like we made the most of every moment on set.
I’d like to end with a personal thought that I truly value: "Life is short. We’re just passing through this planet."
Now Vanessa Verduga tells us about her web series Justice Woman:
Six years ago, Justice Woman was just a domain name that happened to be available —and I bought it because it sounded cool. I grew up as a fan of Wonder Woman and especially Batman, a mere mortal with no superpowers who still cared deeply for the people of Gotham. I had recently graduated from law school, but I couldn’t stomach the idea of practicing law. My true passion was acting. Still, I had bills to pay, so I stuck with law and opened my own practice, which I ran for two years. It was during that time that Justice Woman was born.
Hanging out my own shingle was an eye-opening experience. I witnessed firsthand how our legal system —and those in charge of it— can work both for good and for harm, all under the guise of "the law". That realization pushed me to leave law behind and return to acting. I enrolled at the American Academy of Dramatic Arts, and that’s when I started writing.
After graduating, I needed an acting reel to showcase my work. But putting one together was exhausting —I spent more time chasing down directors to get copies of their films than actually promoting myself. At that point, I figured: with all the effort I’m putting in, I might as well write and shoot my own project —the Justice Woman story that had been simmering in my mind all along.
While writing the series, I watched as a wave of turmoil swept across the world. Those events ignited my desire to speak not just for myself, but for others who had experienced injustice. I began to write about the many inequalities in society—homophobia, immigration issues, discrimination, double standards, sexual hypocrisy, class privilege, political corruption, and more. These became the core themes of Justice Woman. Still, I took Oscar Wilde's advice to heart: "If you want to tell people the truth, make them laugh —otherwise, they’ll kill you". So I gave the story a comedic edge.
As a fan of Batman and Robert Rodriguez’s Sin City, I knew I wanted Justice Woman to have that gritty, comic book look. We achieved that mostly through production lighting and color correction in post.
Initially, I planned to shoot just a pilot, but I was too excited to wait for a network to pick it up—so I embraced the web series format. I did my research and drew inspiration from Felicia Day and her web series The Guild.
I didn’t go to film school, and I didn’t have a big budget, so I took on every role I could—writer, director, producer, and lead actor—to make Justice Woman happen. It was tough, but thanks to the encouragement and support of friends and former colleagues, it was also possible. Their generosity—offering locations, props, and time—made a huge difference. Sometimes, juggling so many roles gets hectic, but the cast and crew keep me going. We have fun on set, and everyone gets along—no drama, just lots of laughter.
Most of the cast are close friends I’ve worked with in theater, film, and even law. For them, it’s more than just another gig; it’s about our shared friendship, and that shows in the final product. They come to set, give it their all, and even help with production when needed.
For the first season, we used a Canon EOS 7D, because that’s what our first Director of Photography owned. I wasn’t very knowledgeable about cameras at the time, but I liked the crisp look it gave us. In season two, we switched to a Canon EOS 1D Mark IV, thanks to a new DP who owned that camera. The image quality was even better, but when he left to study in London, we went back to the EOS 7D for seasons 3, 4, and 5. It remains a solid choice for our budget and needs.
I tend to shoot first and aim later—which has gotten me into trouble at times—but it’s also shown me that if I commit and push forward, I’ll get things done.
We started Justice Woman with just $2000. I quickly realized that wasn’t enough, so I chose to shoot only on weekends while working weekdays to save more. I bartered services and goods —offering housing in exchange for filming space— called in favors, and relied heavily on the generosity of friends and family. It wasn’t often financial support, but every bit of help made a big difference.
The series is planned for six seasons and 18 episodes, but that doesn't mean it has to end there. It could go on indefinitely. As John Stuart Mill once wrote: "As long as justice and injustice have not terminated their ever-renewing fight for ascendancy in the affairs of mankind, human beings must be willing, when need is, to do battle for the one against the other". The fight for justice is ongoing, and nothing would make me happier than to keep Justice Woman alive. It’s something we’re actively exploring.
Thanks to advances in technology, filmmaking has become more accessible than ever. Anyone with the drive and desire can tell their story. I’m confident that we’ll continue to see more diverse, meaningful stories in the years to come. With web series distribution, we’re hearing from voices that once had no platform. Thanks to the internet, we’re no longer stuck watching bad TV —we can choose what we want to see.
The entire production of El Sol was, in itself, one long anecdote. I wanted to create an apocalyptic film that didn’t rely on action, and I chose characters who resembled my friends —because I had them in mind from the start. I didn’t approach this project with any commercial intentions, so whatever happens with the film now will be a pleasant surprise.
We made it using Adobe Flash, and it took us seven years to complete —mainly because we took our time (maybe a bit too much!). I first developed the script with the support of the Hubert Bals Fund, and later we received help from INCAA (Argentina’s National Film Institute). But above all, the film came to life thanks to the commitment and support of everyone involved in its making.
Seeing the final result has inspired me to start working on a new film much sooner. I’ve learned so much from this process, and I know that experience will be valuable in the future.
The project was born from a simple desire: to make the kind of movie they themselves wanted to see —one that broke away from traditional Argentine aesthetics. Both filmmakers are passionate about animation and deeply admire directors who incorporate animation logic into live-action cinema, such as Terry Gilliam, Sam Raimi, Peter Jackson, and Tim Burton. This influence became the foundation of the film’s identity: a live-action feature governed by cartoon logic.
The film is filled with references to South Park, Tex Avery, Hanna-Barbera, The Simpsons, and Richard Williams. At the same time, both Labat and Ross are avid fans of science fiction and B-movies, so the film became a playful and chaotic fusion of all these influences.
They shot the movie on a Canon 7D, simply because it offered the best image quality within their limited budget —and visually, the results surpassed expectations. The filmmakers openly reject realism, particularly the naturalistic style often associated with Argentine cinema. Their goal was to create a world entirely driven by animated logic and visual absurdity.
The shoot lasted 22 days, and the film was produced on an ultra-low budget —around $5,000 USD. From the start, they committed to writing, shooting, and releasing the film o nline within the span of a year —and they succeeded. Many people contributed along the way, offering services, time, or donations through the film’s website. But the bulk of the budget came directly from their own pockets.
According to Labat and Ross (the filmmakers), the Internet has fundamentally changed how we experience cinema. Musicians, they note, have embraced digital platforms, but filmmakers are often more resistant. Yet audiences are already consuming movies on their computers and mobile devices —streaming, downloading, and sharing content freely. Instead of fighting that trend, they believe filmmakers should embrace it.
For them, the internet is not a threat but a tool —one that democratizes film distribution and allows creators to reach global audiences on their own terms. Their primary goal was, and remains, simple: to have their film seen, by as many people as possible. In their view, the future of cinema lies in understanding —and leveraging— the creative freedom and reach that the internet provides.
Now Pablo Riquelme tells us about his film Ciencia Ficción: La creatividad de un artista:
Most of the short film was shot over the course of three days, primarily in the living room of a house, where the main character, Roberto —a screenwriter— works at his old typewriter. He’s been tasked with writing a script in a genre other than science fiction, but the monsters hiding in his wardrobe won’t let him. These creatures are trying to prevent him from losing his creativity.
Beyond the action set in the house, the film includes two dreamlike sequences —one on a beach and another in a mansion— which were filmed in a single day. So in total, the shoot lasted four days.
I wanted to make this film because I love B movies. I grew up watching Critters, The Fog, Night of the Creeps… but in Spain, science fiction tends to be overlooked. With this short, I wanted to comment on that reality. The main character is a sci-fi writer forced by his producer to work in other genres. He’s faced with a choice: write what the industry demands or stay true to what he really loves.
One important aspect I want to highlight is the creation of the monsters. They were brought to life using stop-motion animation—the same technique made famous by Ray Harryhausen in his iconic B movies, with skeletons, giant octopuses, and all sorts of creatures. This approach gave the film a different personality and, in my opinion, sets it apart from the typical short film.
There were many anecdotes during the shoot, but the most interesting one is that the two lead actors were never on set together due to scheduling conflicts. They filmed their scenes on separate days, but in the final cut, it looks like they’re sharing the same space. A similar thing happened with the famous Pacino–De Niro scene in Heat (Michael Mann, 1995).
The budget for the film was €9,000 (around $11,000 USD). We managed to make it happen thanks to the support of several private companies that believed in the project and contributed to it. In Spain, there are generally two ways to make films: you can wait for a government subsidy, or you can seek private investment, as we did. The problem with subsidies is that many productions end up delayed, incomplete, or canceled in post-production.
We shot with the RED ONE camera, which gave us a high-definition image and a lot of freedom in post-production. The cinematography was very clean, with lots of whites. In post, we toned down the whites, deepened the blacks, and gave the footage a greenish tint —a color that, for me, best captures the essence of sci-fi. We didn’t use 35mm for two reasons: first, because of our limited budget; second, because digital cinematography today arguably offers equal or better quality than film.
Film distribution is evolving. Distributors need to adapt if they want to stay relevant. Audiences don’t just watch films anymore —they devour them. They want immediate access; they don’t want to wait for international releases or pay $20 for a ticket or disc. For some, streaming might be the answer. There are many new paths for distribution.
Personally, I still buy films —lots of them, actually— but I admit, I always look for bargains in the DVD bin.
Gen Mishima is a Chilean science fiction series in the biopunk subgenre. Produced by Parox and funded by the Chilean National Television Council (CNTV) in 2006, the show targets a young adult audience. Comprising eight episodes of 50 minutes each, it is regarded as the first Chilean series to explore themes of genetic manipulation, drawing inspiration from works such as Brave New World and Children of Men.
The plot centers on Ignacio Maiakovsky, a journalist investigating the former students of the Instituto Porvenir —a secretive school for gifted children, shut down following allegations of illegal experimentation. His investigation uncovers a hidden web of genetics, religion, conspiracy, and deeply intertwined human relationships.
Independent film production in Argentina offers a vital advantage for animation: creative freedom. While major studios tend to stick to safe formulas that imitate Disney or Pixar, independent short films allow artists to explore bold, personal ideas with a distinct voice. Viaje a Marte (Journet to Mars) is a prime example of this freedom in action.
The short was inspired by a real-life anecdote that the director reimagined as a fantastical tale: a boy travels to Mars in his grandfather's pickup truck. This premise not only challenged the team to tell a complete life story in just a few minutes but also played with the idea of suspended disbelief —an essential element in all dramatic storytelling.
Visually, Viaje a Marte was crafted with exceptional attention to detail. The character and set design were key to conveying the innocence of a child's perspective. The director and his partner, Silvina —who led the miniature work— focused on textures and colors that evoked the era in which the story is set. Latex foam was used for the characters’ bodies to speed up the animation process, while plasticine was retained for the faces and arms to preserve expressiveness. As the director explains, foam allows for quicker animation, whereas full-plasticine puppets require constant adjustments.
Though made with more passion than resources, the short stands out as a visually rich and emotionally resonant film. Its delicate treatment of childhood and fantasy strikes a chord with audiences. Despite the possibility of expanding it into a feature film, the director acknowledges that its success as a short makes it difficult to imagine a version that could match its impact.
The artistic influences behind Viaje a Marte are diverse, blending animation legends like Norman McLaren, Nick Park, and Hayao Miyazaki with filmmakers such as Kubrick, Terry Gilliam, and Fabián Bielinsky. This eclectic mix is reflected in a film that, though handmade and intimate, achieves remarkable depth —making it a landmark of Argentine animated short cinema.
Kalimán first appeared on Mexican radio on September 16, 1963, through the RCN network. The character was created by Modesto Vásquez González —a Cuban lawyer and broadcaster who relocated to Mexico after the Cuban Revolution— and the Mexican writer Rafael Cutberto Navarro. The scripts were written by Víctor Fox (a pseudonym for Héctor González Dueñas) and Clemente Uribe. The radio show quickly became a massive success, leading to its adaptation into a comic book in 1965, published by Promotora K.
The comic ran for 26 uninterrupted years, producing over 1,300 original issues. Each edition sold between 1.5 and 3 million copies, making Kalimán one of the most widely read comic series in Latin America, with distribution expanding to Central America and beyond.
Interestingly, Kalimán was not initially the protagonist. That role belonged to Solín, a dethroned Egyptian prince and a child descended from pharaohs. Kalimán was originally conceived as his protector and guide. But over time, Kalimán’s popularity outshined that of Solín, and he became the central figure in the series.
Kalimán is portrayed as a man of striking beauty, unwavering calm, and moral integrity. His philosophy is summarized in a single phrase: “He who masters the mind, masters everything.” Unlike most Western superheroes, Kalimán does not rely on superpowers, weapons, or secret identities. His abilities come from years of physical discipline and mental training with Tibetan monks. He can levitate, use telepathy, hypnotize individuals or crowds, and control his vital functions to the point of faking death. He is a master of martial arts, speaks every language, and possesses encyclopedic knowledge combined with profound spiritual wisdom.
The character’s origin is loosely tied to Hindu mythology: Kalimán is said to be the seventh descendant of the goddess Kali, whose name he carries along with the suffix “-man,” a nod to the popularity of Superman. He has dedicated his life to justice and uses his powers to confront evildoers across the globe, from pirates and vampires to rogue scientists and criminal syndicates.
The transition from radio to comics exemplifies a successful case of transmedia storytelling —maintaining the same narrative essence while adapting to different formats. Radio relied on the power of voice and sound, while the comic book medium enriched the story through dynamic visuals and text, creating a new layer of immersion for the audience.
Kalimán’s lasting appeal lies in his uniqueness. In a world filled with superheroes who rely on violence or technology, Kalimán embodies an alternative ideal: strength through wisdom, serenity, and mental mastery. His iconic catchphrase —“Serenity and patience… great patience”— reflects a timeless message that continues to resonate with generations of fans. Kalimán remains a cultural icon, a hero shaped not by fantasy but by the inner strength that lies within us all.
