An animated coming-of-age tale of a young African boy searching for his…
The Most Precious of Cargoes
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Once upon a time, a poor woodcutter and his wife lived in a great forest. Cold, hunger, poverty and a war raging all around them meant their lives were very hard. One day, the woodcutter’s wife rescues a baby. A baby girl thrown from one of the many trains that constantly pass through the forest. This baby, this “most precious of cargoes”, will transform the lives of the poor woodcutter’s wife and her husband, as well as those whose paths the child will cross – including the man who threw her from the train. And some will try to protect her, whatever the cost. Their story will reveal the worst and the best in the hearts of men.
Directed by Oscar-winning filmmaker Michel Hazanavicius (THE ARTIST), featuring music by Oscar-winning composer Alexandre Desplat (THE GRAND BUDAPEST HOTEL) and narration from French cinema legend Jean-Louis Trintignant in his final film role before his death in 2022.
“True to both the spirit and the letter of the text, the film does more than honor the original. It translates it into the world of animation with all the sobriety, sensitivity, and talent required.” —Le Monde
“Darkly beautiful and sad... truly mature, adult animation... a very welcome release.” —FulvueDrive-in
“This delicate fable is a little gem of animation.” —Télérama
“By adapting Jean-Claude Grumberg’s story, Hazanavicius achieves a powerful entry into animation. The film successfully translates the irresistible strength of the original into images.” —Premiere (France)
“Hope and resilience are at the heart of this beautiful, human story.” —Culture-Tops
“Combining the heavy lines of early-20th-century woodcuts with the soft hues of watercolor. Hazanavicius offers a poignant way to explore not only the horrors of the Holocaust, but also the kindness that countered it. It’s an indelible parable, destined to be watched and shared for generations.” —Variety
“A gentle, haunting animated adaptation… elegantly designed and emotionally direct. Hazanavicius crafts an elegant fable about the darkest of times, presenting a story of unexpected compassion in a world of cruelty.” —IndieWire
“The hand-drawn animation brings texture and emotional distance… allowing viewers to absorb the horror and hope alike.” —Eye for Film
“A postmodern fairytale… dreamy and visually arresting. The animation brings a softened lens to its subject while still confronting fascism with sincerity.” —The Guardian
“[Michel Hazanavicius’s] most personal and tender film to date.” —Colton Peregoy, Foremost Film
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Distributor subjects
France; French History; World War II; Western Europe; Animation; Jewish StudiesKeywords
; "The Most Precious of Cargoes"; Distrib Films; animation; humanism; history; shoah; Holocaust; France; French; World War II; ; "The Most Precious of Cargoes"; Distrib Films
THE MOST PRECIOUS OF CARGOES
Once upon a time, deep in a forest,
lived a poor woodcutter
and a poor woodcutter's wife.
Don't worry.
This isn't Little Thumbling.
Far from it.
In fact, like you,
I hate that ridiculous fairy tale.
Who ever heard
of parents abandoning their children
for lack of food?
Come now...
Poor Woodcutter
and Poor Woodcutter's Wife
had never left the forest.
And yet, cold, hunger and poverty
made their lives very difficult,
especially in these times
of raging World War.
Yes, the World War, that's right.
Fortunately,
every cloud has a silver lining.
Poor Woodcutter
and Poor Woodcutter's Wife,
for several years now,
had no more children to feed.
Left with no child to hold,
Poor Woodcutter's Wife
lamented it every day.
As for Poor Woodcutter,
the situation suited him just fine.
No child to hold, yes,
but no hungry mouth to feed either.
As the years passed,
Poor Woodcutter's Wife realized
that all powers
earthly, heavenly and magical
had conspired
with her woodcutter husband
to deny her a child.
She accepted her fate,
growing used to the cold,
the hunger, the poverty
and the loneliness.
And then, one day...
Gods of the train,
bless you as always
for coming again today
and not abandoning me,
for bringing me
the city's noise and life.
Bless you for being good to me.
Deliver me from hunger and poverty.
Give me something to eat, to wear,
anything from your excess cargo.
Just a little something from your cargo.
I implore your generosity.
You are my light, my only hope.
I beseech you, hear my prayer.
Amen.
- What the devil is that?
- A gift from the gods of the train.
- Gods of the train...
- Yes, it will be the child we lost.
Don't you know what it is?
If it came from the train,
don't you know its race?
- That of the Heartless!
- It's just a little cargo.
The gods of the train gave it to me.
Your cargo stinks! It stinks!
It stinks.
Bastard of an accursed race.
No, it's an angel. My angel.
An angel? Listen to it bawl.
Raving woman.
He'll grow up to be like them.
Not if we raise the child.
They killed God! They're thieves.
See his clothes!
How many years' work
to buy clothes like that?
Thieves, I tell you!
Thank God, we have nothing to steal.
And soon, if you agree,
the child can help me.
If they find him,
they'll have our heads.
- Who will know?
- The other woodcutters will report us.
No, I'll say your seed
finally left me with child.
The child cannot be ours.
He is marked.
- How so?
- Marked!
Their nature isn't like ours.
Look! See the mark!
What mark? I see no mark.
Can't you see he's not like me?
No...
but she's made like me.
Look how beautiful she is.
What are you doing?
Where are you going?
I'm taking her back to the tracks.
If the gods left her there,
they'll take her back.
Do that, Woodcutter,
and you'll have to throw me
under the cargo train, too.
And the gods, all the gods
of the heavens, the earth,
the sun and the train
will hunt you down wherever you go,
whatever you do!
You'll be cursed for good!
And forever!
Alright.
So be it.
May all the misfortunes to come
be your own.
She will be my joy and yours.
Keep your joy
for all the good it'll bring!
Know that I neither want to see
or hear her again.
Go put her in the wood shed.
And make her shut up.
It's milk she needs, woman.
She doesn't stand a chance.
The gods didn't entrust me
with her to let her die.
She'll live. Do you hear?
She will live.
Who goes there?
A poor woodcutter's wife!
What do you want,
Poor Woodcutter's Wife?
Milk for my child.
Why not give her your own?
Alas, I have none.
And if this child
doesn't get milk today, she'll die.
She'll die?
What of it? You'll have another.
I'm too old!
And this child
was entrusted to me
by the god of the cargo train
that passes through.
The god of the train
entrusted you with a little cargo?
Why didn't he give you any milk?
He forgot.
The gods can't think of everything.
There's so much to do.
And they do it so badly.
Tell me, Woodcutter's Wife,
where would I get milk?
- From your goat's teats.
- My goat?
What makes you think I have one?
I heard it bleating
while gathering wood near your land.
What would you give in exchange?
Everything I have!
Which is?
- Nothing.
- That's not much.
Every blessed day,
I'll exchange wood for two sips of milk.
You'd pay for my milk
with my wood?
- It's not your wood!
- Nor is it yours.
Just as your milk is your goat's.
The goat is mine.
You don’t get something for nothing.
Without milk, my daughter will die.
For nothing.
Help me.
If you do, she will survive.
The gods will be grateful
and protect you.
They've protected me enough as it is.
See for yourself.
See how your gods have protected me.
Do I frighten you?
No.
You pity me, then?
Not either.
The gods kept you alive
and your goat, too.
Alive, yes.
Here, take this shawl.
See how beautiful it is.
Woven by the gods themselves,
with threads of gold.
What a head for business!
Show me your little cargo.
Your heavenly creature is hungry,
like a common human.
- I'll give you a cup of goat's milk.
- Thank you!
Stand up!
- I said, stand up!
- You're a good man.
No. We've made a deal.
Come, I'll give you what's yours.
Who broke your face, good man?
- The war.
- This war?
No, another.
They're all the same.
Never kneel before me again,
or anyone else.
Never say I'm a good man again,
and don't tell anyone
I have a goat and that I give you milk.
Or I'll kill you!
Stay!
Stay!
Wife, hush that child of a hog!
I can't hear myself sleep!
Hush, you're the one scaring her.
Scaring her?
You're naive, woman!
That demon spawn fears no one!
She's one of the Heartless.
Understand?
No, the Heartless have a heart like us.
Shut your mouth, you know nothing!
The Heartless are mongrels
that toss their children from trains.
And we're the fools
who have to feed them!
Do you hear?
Do you hear there's nothing to hear?
Heartless, I tell you!
The Heartless have a heart.
No, the Heartless can't have a heart.
It's impossible.
Tomorrow, she goes.
Choose, wife,
between this God-slaying
dregs of the earth
and your honest
woodcutter of a husband!
She leaves tomorrow.
With or without you.
If you want to move back into the house,
you can.
And the child?
Wife!
Wife, come quick!
A toast!
To the end of this damned war.
May it come soon.
And death to the Heartless!
May that come soon, too.
Hear, hear!
They killed God, and wanted the war.
They deserve to die.
And their war will end
only when the world
is forever rid of them!
To their demise!
Well-poisoners!
Death to the Heartless!
- Let 'em die!
- Like dogs!
They must return
all they've stolen!
I saw some coming out of a train.
Swine!
So filthy, I tell you...
Swine, there’s no other word.
Death to swine!
Death to swine!
What is it? Not drinking?
I am.
The Heartless have a heart.
Say again?
- What’d he say?
- Are you mad?
The Heartless have a heart!
He’s gone batty.
He’s totally soused!
Go on!
You’ll feel better tomorrow,
when you’re sober.
The moron can’t hold his drink!
Yeah!
The Heartless have a heart...
The Heartless have a heart.
The Heartless
have a heart.
Good day to you.
Good day to you.
A baby, that's funny.
- Is it yours?
- Yes, our daughter.
- How old?
- About a year.
About?
That’s funny.
Your husband never told us.
That's funny, too.
He’s not a talker.
Sure, that explains it.
I must be off. I have work to do.
Goodbye.
Good day to you.
Guys, what brings you so early?
If she’s yours,
you should've registered her.
He can't write.
Yeah, all I know is cutting wood.
So paperwork...
How come no one knows about her?
Why'd ya never tell us?
You never asked.
We're all good woodcutters
and good patriots.
Harboring a Heartless means death.
Do as you like,
but we're upholding the law.
Now that we know,
we must hand over the girl.
The law is the law, comrade.
We won't betray our country
for some filthy gutter rat.
Am I being clear?
Now don’t make a fuss.
Give us the kid.
We’ll get rid of her.
Get the little one ready.
I’ll fetch her basket.
The comrade is right.
It was a mistake, a terrible mistake.
Take the girl!
Stop!
Run!
Run!
Run for it!
Run for it...
And may God strike down all these men
with no soul
and no faith.
Run.
Run!
And may
our
little cargo live.
Who goes there?
It’s me, Poor Woodcutter’s Wife.
What do you want?
Sanctuary.
For me and my little cargo.
I heard gunshots.
Were they aimed at you?
They wanted to take her.
So my husband, Poor Woodcutter,
with his ax,
he...
Say no more.
I know the darkness of men’s hearts.
Your husband and his ax did well.
And if I must, I will do the same.
Give me your little cargo.
Follow me.
Come.
Daughter of the gods,
this is your wet-nurse,
she who gave you milk.
Your third mother.
Why weep, Poor Woodcutter’s Wife?
You will have all the milk
your child needs
without having to come for it.
I'll have less wood,
but I'll gain a playmate
for my lonesome nanny goat.
All four of us stand to gain.
No one can gain anything in this world
without accepting a loss,
even the life of a dear one...
or one's own.
Day followed day,
season followed season,
the war was everywhere.
Hero followed hero,
grief followed grief,
and train followed train.
In the sealed cars, humanity lay dying.
No one heard the captives' cries,
mothers’ sobs
blending with old men’s death rattles,
with the prayers of the credulous,
with the whines and wails of children
wrested from their parents,
already gone to the paradise
reserved for the innocent.
And then...
the trains ceased to run.
Come on, let’s go.
He escaped.
Who goes there?
I said, who goes there?
I beseech you, whoever you are,
take care of this good man.
Let him find the joy and peace
denied him on earth,
and welcome him, wherever you are.
What’s the use?
I’ve prayed to you so many times,
asked for so much...
But if this child is here today,
it's no thanks to you.
It's thanks to the hand
that threw her from the train,
thanks to my poor woodcutter husband,
and thanks to this good man
and his goat.
No, it's no thanks to you.
May they be blessed.
Many years later
- almost a lifetime -
when peace had settled
nearly worldwide,
the man had become a pediatrician
of international renown.
After the war,
he'd returned to medical school
and devoted his survival
to taking care
of other people's children.
An author of noteworthy studies,
he was often invited
to explain his approach to childcare
in various colloquia the world over.
And thus we find him again,
on his way to a European capital
of a country that saw
more than its share of tragedies.
May I help you?
- Can you translate what it says?
- They name the girl in the photo.
It is Maria Chekolovska.
She’s 20 years old.
She’s been elected
worthiest young pioneer,
being the daughter
of a poor illiterate woman,
a woodcutter’s wife
who had become a cheesemonger.
I'll take it.
They say this story is a tall tale.
That none of this happened.
Neither the trains nor the camps,
nor the families that went up in smoke.
Neither the fire nor the ashes,
nor the tears.
Neither the war
nor the survivors,
nor the pain of the fathers and mothers
looking for their vanished children.
Yes, they say
that none of this happened,
that none of it is true.
But they say so many things.
The only true thing,
the truly true thing,
is that a little girl
who never existed
was thrown one day
from an imaginary cargo train,
and that a poor woodcutter's wife,
who did not exist either,
picked her up,
fed her,
cherished her
and loved her more than her own life.
That is the only thing
that is worth existing
in stories as in real life.
Love.
The love we give children,
our own and others'.
The love by which,
despite everything that exists
and everything that doesn't exist,
the love by which
life goes on.
The rest is silence.
