Alan The Infinite: Parabella’s Cosmic Dark Comedy That Begs to Become a Series

Sometimes a short film arrives with the unmistakable feeling that you’re only seeing the tip of something much larger. Alan The Infinite, the newly released stop-motion gem from directors Mikey Please and Dan Ojari, is exactly that kind of project—a proof-of-concept so fully realized, so visually and narratively rich, that releasing it as a standalone short almost feels like an act of restraint. Originally created in 2019 and tucked away in what the filmmakers jokingly describe as “internet cold storage,” the film finally resurfaced in 2024, revealing a world that is easily compelling enough to sustain an entire series or feature film.

The story follows the painfully eager Alan, voiced by Dan Ojari, on his first day at Lamin’8—a hilariously dull lamination company whose beige hallways and rigid procedures feel like a parody of office culture dialed just slightly past reality. Alan throws himself into the corporate grind with an enthusiasm that borders on tragic, desperate to impress Gary, his chaotic and unhinged supervisor played with manic glee by Baker Terry. But the monotony of his new job doesn’t last long. In the midst of routine tasks and awkward introductions, Alan stumbles into a cosmic mishap that tears open a supernatural rift inside the office, transforming Lamin’8 from a drab workplace into a surreal battleground of infinite possibility.

It is here, in the collision of bureaucratic tedium with reality-bending absurdity, that Alan The Infinite reveals its brilliance. The filmmakers’ signature combination of existential humor, meticulous craft, and philosophical undercurrent—qualities seen in their earlier works The Eagleman Stag and Slow Derek, as well as their contributions to Netflix’s The House—is on full display. Parabella Studios has always excelled at exploring characters trapped in rigid systems while brushing up against forces far larger than themselves. Alan’s journey, part cosmic horror and part deeply relatable office satire, continues this thematic tradition with an originality that stands out even among the studio’s impressive body of work.

The production itself is a masterclass in handcrafted animation. Featuring a huge team of modelmakers, animators, compositors, riggers, and designers, the short is packed with detail and personality. Alan and his coworkers—among them the earnestly awkward Prea, the no-nonsense Susan, and the magnificently frazzled scientist played by Elliot Dear—move through an office space that feels simultaneously nostalgic and uncanny. Hand-built miniature sets, expressive puppet performances, and digital 2D facial animation combine to create a world that feels tactile and lived-in, even as it spirals into cosmic madness. The lighting, visual effects, and compositing work elevate the surreal sequences into something that borders on the hallucinatory without ever losing comedic timing or emotional clarity.

The sound and music further deepen the film’s atmosphere. Composed by Ben Please and Beth Porter of The Bookshop Band, with sound design contributions from Adam Janota Bzowski, the aural landscape glides effortlessly between office ambiance and unsettling supernatural undertones. The score’s intimate, whimsical textures contrast beautifully with the looming absurdity of Alan’s situation, grounding the story even as reality unravels around him.

But what may be most striking is how confidently the short lays the groundwork for a much larger story. The world of Lamin’8 is brimming with narrative potential—quirky characters, mysterious corporate hierarchies, and cosmic elements that suggest a mythology far deeper than the film’s brief runtime allows. Alan The Infinite doesn’t feel like a one-off experiment. It feels like a pilot. A beginning. The first chapter of a universe teetering between the mundane and the metaphysical.

And frankly, it deserves the chance to grow.

Parabella has proven time and again that their storytelling thrives when given space to expand, and this concept practically begs for it. The dynamics between Alan and his coworkers, the sprawling possibilities of the supernatural intrusion, and the comedic tension of navigating corporate life under cosmic threat all point to a world rich enough to support episodic storytelling or even a feature-length narrative. In an industry hungry for distinctive, handcrafted animation with personality and thematic weight, Alan The Infinite stands out as a project with enormous potential.

For now, what we have is a beautifully crafted short—a rediscovered proof-of-concept that showcases the best of what contemporary stop motion can achieve. But it also feels like an invitation. A glimpse into something that should continue, evolve, and unfold into the larger format it was clearly meant for. If the film’s revival sparks renewed momentum behind its development, audiences would be lucky to spend more time in the weird, darkly funny, and endlessly imaginative halls of Lamin’8.

Because if there’s one certainty in Alan’s world, it’s this:
His story is far from infinite—but it absolutely should be.