After 10 years working in animation—on TV shows at L’Atelier Animation and on feature films like Nimona at DNEG—I’ve developed a habit I can’t shake: I watch movies like I’m building them. Every shot, every cut, every movement—my mind breaks it all down. I’m not just watching the story unfold, I’m feeling the layers behind it. Because when you’ve spent years creating characters, shaping moments, and turning invisible ideas into cinematic experiences, you never look at movies the same way again.
Film analysis, for me, isn’t an academic exercise—it’s a creative reflex. And it’s one of the most powerful ways to grow as a storyteller. Here’s how I approach it.
How to review a movie like a professional critic
When I review a film, I don’t start with “did I like it?”—I start with “how did it work?” I look at the structure, pacing, emotional beats, visual language, and how everything comes together to serve the story. A good review isn’t just opinion; it’s observation. I ask: What’s the director trying to say? Where does the film succeed or fall short in delivering that message?
Over the years, I’ve learned that the best reviews look under the surface. They explore why something worked emotionally or why a scene fell flat technically. Reviewing like a pro means thinking like a filmmaker.
Scene breakdowns of iconic movie moments
There’s nothing more fun—or educational—than breaking down an iconic scene. I still remember the first time I paused Children of Men’s long take or studied the final confrontation in Nimona. These moments aren’t accidental. They’re designed with intention—composition, camera movement, sound, performance, pacing.
As an animator, I’ve storyboarded scenes frame by frame. So when I analyze a scene, I can feel the effort behind every choice. And when you see it click—when you realize how a simple pan or lighting shift carries emotional weight—it’s like reverse-engineering magic.
Decoding the language of cinema
Cinema is a language all its own: angles, colors, edits, movement. We don’t just watch movies—we read them. And like any language, it has grammar and rhythm. A slow dolly in feels different than a handheld close-up. A silence after a line can scream louder than a monologue.
Working in animation, I’ve had to think deeply about visual grammar. You can’t rely on actors’ improv or happy accidents—you build meaning deliberately. Film analysis sharpens your ear and eye for that language. Once you learn to decode it, you start seeing how movies speak to us without words.
What makes a compelling film structure
Structure is the skeleton of any story. Whether it’s a three-act arc or something more experimental, it shapes how we experience emotion, momentum, and payoff.
In animation, structure is everything. You can’t afford to “find it in the edit”—you plan the beats before production even begins. That trained me to recognize strong structure instantly: how a film introduces its world, builds stakes, delivers twists, and closes arcs. When I analyze a film, I look at the spine: does the story hold together? Does each act deepen the conflict or characters?
Great structure is invisible when it works—and painfully obvious when it doesn’t.
What defines a great screenplay?
Before anything is animated or filmed, there’s the script. A great screenplay doesn’t just tell a story—it breathes. It has pacing, subtext, silence, rhythm. Working in storyboarding taught me to respect the power of a well-written line or the absence of one.
When I read or analyze a film’s writing, I look for how it sets tone, introduces character through action, and handles exposition without preaching. A great screenplay is like a skeleton key—it unlocks every department’s creativity.
The role of cinematography in storytelling
Cinematography is storytelling through light, frame, and motion. As someone who’s spent years sketching key shots, I’ve come to love what the camera can do when used with purpose.
I analyze how cinematography sets mood—how warm light softens a moment, how a wide lens creates vulnerability, how camera placement controls power dynamics. It’s not just about making things look good—it’s about making you feel something before a word is spoken.
How editing changes the flow of a movie
Editing is the invisible rhythm of a film. When I review or study a movie, I pay attention to timing, transitions, and how tension builds or releases. One extra second on a shot can change everything. In animation, we pre-time everything down to the frame, so I know how precise those decisions need to be.
Great editing doesn’t call attention to itself—it lets the story breathe. It’s about knowing when to cut, when to hold, when to break the rules. A well-edited film flows like thought.
Why actor direction can make or break a film
Actors bring the script to life—but without the right direction, even the best talent can feel disconnected. I’ve worked closely with directors who know how to guide performance, even in animation where everything is drawn. It’s about clarity, intention, and emotional continuity.
When I analyze performances, I look beyond talent—I look at how the director shaped those performances. Did they build trust? Did they draw out nuance? Film is full of subtle, invisible decisions—and actor direction is one of the most powerful among them.
How music enhances emotion in films
Music isn’t just background—it’s emotional architecture. I always notice how a score guides the audience’s feeling without them realizing it. Whether it’s silence in the middle of chaos or a swelling theme that ties character to story, music speaks directly to the heart.
In animation, the music often comes late in the process, but it redefines everything. That moment when you hear your scene with a full score? Goosebumps. When analyzing films, I pay close attention to how and when music is used—and when it’s left out.
Key roles involved in film production
Watching a film with experience in the trenches gives you a deep respect for the army behind the screen. From layout artists to sound designers, from editors to VFX supervisors—every shot is teamwork.
When I analyze a film, I think about how these roles come together to serve the director’s vision. What choices were made in pre-prod? Who solved what problem in post? Understanding the machine behind the magic changes how you watch movies—it makes you appreciate every little decision that led to that moment on screen.
Final thoughts
Film analysis, for me, is more than an intellectual process. It’s emotional. It’s instinctive. It’s personal. Every frame tells a story. Every cut is a decision. Every beat holds meaning. And when you’ve spent your career shaping stories, you can’t help but feel deeply connected to the films you watch.
Because I know the feeling of an idea coming to life. I’ve seen sketches become scenes, voices become characters, and empty storyboards transform into stories that live forever.
And when I see that magic on screen—I don’t just watch it.
I feel it.