The Shrinking Islandby Ally CasaScreening at THE BRATTLE, Sept. 17, 2026
Routinely, a patch of sand known to visitors as the "Shrinking Island" is unveiled and covered by the tide. In this documentary, we see one 24-hour cycle of the process, focusing on the land’s only permanent residents - its hermit crabs - and their chance encounter with a man-made sand castle
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What first inspired you to make The Shrinking Island, and what did you hope audiences would take away from it?
With water levels rising worldwide, one day I began to reflect on a place my family used to go we called “the Shrinking Island.” It was a small patch of sand crawling with crabs in the Piscataqua River only available to us when revealed by the tide. I began to lament the potential loss of the spot as climate change progresses, but then realized that, to its aquatic hermit crabs I would always attempt to corral, it wouldn’t be a loss at all. I would’ve never come to this conclusion if not for my pet crayfish, Bisque, who made me fascinated with the world of crustaceans: often reduced to objects in the public eye but, in reality, existing in a constant state of reinvention. My biggest hope for this film was that audiences would realize a “shrinking” island could also be a “growing” island from a different perspective, considering lives and realities they never would’ve otherwise. Earth will still exist without us, so we better start looking at it and its inhabitants with more appreciation.
With water levels rising worldwide, one day I began to reflect on a place my family used to go we called “the Shrinking Island.” It was a small patch of sand crawling with crabs in the Piscataqua River only available to us when revealed by the tide. I began to lament the potential loss of the spot as climate change progresses, but then realized that, to its aquatic hermit crabs I would always attempt to corral, it wouldn’t be a loss at all. I would’ve never come to this conclusion if not for my pet crayfish, Bisque, who made me fascinated with the world of crustaceans: often reduced to objects in the public eye but, in reality, existing in a constant state of reinvention. My biggest hope for this film was that audiences would realize a “shrinking” island could also be a “growing” island from a different perspective, considering lives and realities they never would’ve otherwise. Earth will still exist without us, so we better start looking at it and its inhabitants with more appreciation.
How long did the stop-motion process take, and were there any particularly difficult sequences to animate?
The stop motion for this film took roughly 2-3 months to complete, though that may be inaccurate since I was working on every element of the film, including the live-action, at the same time. Somewhat related to that, I’ve never bought into the weird assumption people make that stop motion is somehow way harder and more labor-intensive than any other form of animation. To me, it’s the most forgiving medium, as it’s the only form of animation where you don’t have to “imply” a character, but instead define one - puppet, or any other kind of object - that already exists. It’s always super fun to learn alongside my creations instead of carefully calculating some model or 2D form to do my bidding.
The stop motion for this film took roughly 2-3 months to complete, though that may be inaccurate since I was working on every element of the film, including the live-action, at the same time. Somewhat related to that, I’ve never bought into the weird assumption people make that stop motion is somehow way harder and more labor-intensive than any other form of animation. To me, it’s the most forgiving medium, as it’s the only form of animation where you don’t have to “imply” a character, but instead define one - puppet, or any other kind of object - that already exists. It’s always super fun to learn alongside my creations instead of carefully calculating some model or 2D form to do my bidding.
Still, there are two sequences that stand out to me still as being difficult. The first is a simple scene depicting a fish (made of ice to emphasize fragility) washing up on shore and instantly dying, only because most of my fish melted on the way to the studio! The second scene, though, was hard for a different reason: at the end of the film, the crabs rebuild themselves after falling apart. It was challenging to hold back, because I really didn’t want it to seem like some grand, climactic moment - these are hardy, non-nonsense creatures who probably have to deal with something like that every day.
What materials did you use to make the puppets, sets, and textures and how did these materials shape the look of the film?
I always make it a point to emphasize upcycling and found materials in my art, and I feel like it’s especially crucial in filmmaking. I’d rather not pump a hundred pounds of brand-new silicone and latex into my projects, preferring things that have more defined identities on their own. I love messing with “trash” for designing purposes, and the first thing I made for the film were the dry land portions, composed primarily of paper towels, old plastic bottles, and cardboard. Not only does it look like the bumpy wasteland I was going for, but also a world that is, like our own, subtly but overwhelmingly informed by pollution. The people coming to this island are constantly leaving things behind, making it a space both natural and unnatural, and the hermit crabs (whose eyes are made of baby-proof cotton swabs) have accepted and embraced these junky materials, with the most obvious example being my favorite character, the yellow crab, using a broken feather duster as her shell. To contrast the surface world looking stiff, I wanted the crabitat to look lush and inviting, to convince viewers of the hidden liveliness of their world, so I used more comforting materials, such as old scarves, fabric scraps, and trims. As a result of all of this, humanity becomes an overwhelming force to consider in the film, despite no people actually appearing.
I always make it a point to emphasize upcycling and found materials in my art, and I feel like it’s especially crucial in filmmaking. I’d rather not pump a hundred pounds of brand-new silicone and latex into my projects, preferring things that have more defined identities on their own. I love messing with “trash” for designing purposes, and the first thing I made for the film were the dry land portions, composed primarily of paper towels, old plastic bottles, and cardboard. Not only does it look like the bumpy wasteland I was going for, but also a world that is, like our own, subtly but overwhelmingly informed by pollution. The people coming to this island are constantly leaving things behind, making it a space both natural and unnatural, and the hermit crabs (whose eyes are made of baby-proof cotton swabs) have accepted and embraced these junky materials, with the most obvious example being my favorite character, the yellow crab, using a broken feather duster as her shell. To contrast the surface world looking stiff, I wanted the crabitat to look lush and inviting, to convince viewers of the hidden liveliness of their world, so I used more comforting materials, such as old scarves, fabric scraps, and trims. As a result of all of this, humanity becomes an overwhelming force to consider in the film, despite no people actually appearing.
There is a big difference in scale between the human-sized costume puppet and the smaller crustacean puppets. What interested you about using these different scales?
Since the majority of the film is made from similarly “artificial” materials, it was important to distinguish the only “artificial” character from the forces of nature using some other quality. This costumed puppet is a sand castle left behind by the tourists who trample the island during the day; however, none of this is explicitly said, mostly because the narrator is too engrossed in his own sentimentality for the island to notice the crabs’ point of view. Still, you get a sense because of that difference in scale that it is the only directly-human-made force on the island, which is all you need to understand it’s a threat to the other lifeforms. It works both ways too, as, by existing as a human-sized costume, when interacting with the hermit crabs (stuffing them in its pail) it turns them back into objects, making them seem almost toylike. Since the film is rooted in these crabs’ perspectives - tiny in comparison - I wanted to play with the audience’s own biases favoring things that are seen as closer to their own appearance, especially when it comes to size.
Since the majority of the film is made from similarly “artificial” materials, it was important to distinguish the only “artificial” character from the forces of nature using some other quality. This costumed puppet is a sand castle left behind by the tourists who trample the island during the day; however, none of this is explicitly said, mostly because the narrator is too engrossed in his own sentimentality for the island to notice the crabs’ point of view. Still, you get a sense because of that difference in scale that it is the only directly-human-made force on the island, which is all you need to understand it’s a threat to the other lifeforms. It works both ways too, as, by existing as a human-sized costume, when interacting with the hermit crabs (stuffing them in its pail) it turns them back into objects, making them seem almost toylike. Since the film is rooted in these crabs’ perspectives - tiny in comparison - I wanted to play with the audience’s own biases favoring things that are seen as closer to their own appearance, especially when it comes to size.
How does The Shrinking Island fit into your other work, and what are you working on next?
In general, I like to focus on the nonhuman in my work. The term “inhuman” (and by extension, “nonhuman”) usually relates to “cruel,” but I disagree with that, as nature is not concerned with the hatred and limitations created by humanity. The Shrinking Island is meant to be both a tribute and apology to the non-humans that have helped define all our lives. Crustaceans are a testament to the transformative nature of the world around us, as animals who constantly have to rebuild themselves to stay true to who they are, and we need to stop seeing ourselves as so separate from them - after all, we are animals too, meaning we are capable of the same resilience and freedom in our own ways. Since this film, I’ve made another about humans and nonhumans that is a little more direct called Farm to Table, and I’m still interested in these themes - my next film might be about hamsters? I make plenty of non-film work as well - I’ll be competing in 3S Artspace’s “Project Upcycle” sustainable fashion competition in October. A great thing about stop motion is, once you make something, you can essentially film with it forever, so I’d love to make more animations with the hermit crabs, as they’re probably getting pretty restless sitting on my desk.
In general, I like to focus on the nonhuman in my work. The term “inhuman” (and by extension, “nonhuman”) usually relates to “cruel,” but I disagree with that, as nature is not concerned with the hatred and limitations created by humanity. The Shrinking Island is meant to be both a tribute and apology to the non-humans that have helped define all our lives. Crustaceans are a testament to the transformative nature of the world around us, as animals who constantly have to rebuild themselves to stay true to who they are, and we need to stop seeing ourselves as so separate from them - after all, we are animals too, meaning we are capable of the same resilience and freedom in our own ways. Since this film, I’ve made another about humans and nonhumans that is a little more direct called Farm to Table, and I’m still interested in these themes - my next film might be about hamsters? I make plenty of non-film work as well - I’ll be competing in 3S Artspace’s “Project Upcycle” sustainable fashion competition in October. A great thing about stop motion is, once you make something, you can essentially film with it forever, so I’d love to make more animations with the hermit crabs, as they’re probably getting pretty restless sitting on my desk.
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Ally Casa is a filmmaker and puppeteer from Portsmouth, New Hampshire, specializing in mixed media techniques combining 2D animation, stop motion, and live action puppetry. She enjoys experimenting with unconventional materials in collage and puppet fabrication, confusing notions of space and texture while prioritizing fun above all else. When home from the studio, she enjoys cooking, doing crossword puzzles, and watching videos of bugs. Both her personal work and short films can be viewed on her Instagram account, “minotaurmilk.”
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