The Most Precious of Cargoes Review: An Animated journey through tragedy

Filmmaker Michel Hazanavicius is no stranger to creative expression that stimulates thought. Best known for his 2011 silent film The Artist, which found both fame and acclaim, Hazanavicius once again pushes boundaries with his latest animated feature—one uniquely poised to educate and move audiences.

The Most Precious of Cargoes tells the profound yet intimate story of a couple who rescue an infant amidst the terrors of World War II. By premiering this hand-drawn parable in competition at Cannes, Hazanavicius ensures its message of compassion reaches those who value the moving art of cinema.

With animation as his vehicle, the director presents viewers, both young and old, with the opportunity to understand humanity’s darkest chapters while also seeing how small kindnesses can outshine even the depths of depravity. Stylistically sublime and sophisticated in substance, The Most Precious of Cargoes may prove one of the festival’s most impactful and discussed presentations.

A Story of Survival

The film transports viewers to a bitterly cold forest in 1940s Poland, where a childless woodcutter and his wife eke out a meager existence. Though the years have worn their faces off, the love between them remains plain to see. Into their snow-covered world comes a mysterious object—a crying infant, wrapped in cloth and abandoned amidst the trees.

Discovering the blue-and-white shawl around the baby hints at a troubled past. Still, the woman’s maternal instincts take over as she brings the child home. But this act of compassion earns her husband’s scorn—in his eyes, the baby is one of “the heartless,” a people he’s been raised to distrust. His initial rage finds an unlikely object in the sweet face of the newborn, subdued by her innocent charms.

From here, the film transports back in time. We learn how the lost girl came to be traveling alone that fateful day. In a harrowing scene, hand-drawn scenes aboard a crowded train show her parents and siblings among those snatched without mercy toward an uncertain future. Faced with an impossible choice, the baby’s father acts with courage born of pure love, entrusting his daughter to the snow, where she may stand a chance.

As the woodcutter’s views evolve and he works to shield the child from growing threats, other threads emerge. Flashbacks follow the baby’s father as he endures unimaginable torment, clinging to hope he may one day be reunited with his saved daughter. The film movingly carries these interwoven stories to their confronting conclusions, upholding the dignity of all who suffered during humanity’s darkest hour through the simple power of compassion. Both chilling and uplifting, it honors history in the most poetic of ways.

Hand-Drawn Horrors

This film takes full advantage of its animated form, using visuals to immerse viewers in a bleak world. Muted shades of brown and gray blanket the landscapes, conveying the icy desolation. Characters are rendered with thick, weighty outlines that draw the eye without softening harsh reality.

A true star is the train, which rumbles across the snow in all its demonic force. Subtle shifts in its animation underscore the growing understanding of its deadly cargo. Initial vibrancy becomes something sinister, a looming symbol of mankind’s inhumanity. Yet even this machine pales compared to the faces on board, drawn in intricate detail that brings each individual terror to life.

Many have praised the film’s visuals for resembling vintage art rather than a typical cartoon. There’s truth in this: character designs boast a woodcut-like roughness. Scenes unfold like grim illustrations brought to motion. Even moments of warmth feel tinged with darkness, like a Blake poem of sorrow. This merges animation’s accessibility with a gritty authenticity for historical horror.

While some find fault in its story, few can deny Michel Hazanavicius’ mastery of the medium. He summons an entire world through line and brushstroke alone, paying tribute to history’s faceless victims with visuals as unforgettable as they are unflinching. In The Most Precious of Cargoes, animation becomes a vehicle for honesty, honoring the past through images powerful enough to linger with viewers long after the credits roll.

Every Life Has Value

This film has a lot to say about some very heavy topics. At its core, it shows the power of basic human kindness, even in the darkest of times. We see how this poor couple first struggles with taking in someone they’ve been taught to hate. Yet that little baby’s innocence slowly melts away their prejudices.

There’s definitely some biblical themes too. The story of the infant being cast out on the river and rescued by a stranger sure reminds me of the story of Moses. It gives a sense that even in the worst suffering, a greater force may be watching over the little guy. And like Moses went on to save his people, maybe saving this one child could make a difference too.

More than anything, though, the movie stresses that every single life is sacred. It doesn’t shy away from the ugly realities of the Holocaust, like the eerie animation of the train passengers’ faces. But it also won’t let us forget that the victims were real people with families, hopes, and dreams, just like us. Even one small act of mercy, like taking in that abandoned baby girl, could honor their memory in a small way.

At the end of the day, the film leaves you thinking about how easy it is for prejudices to blind us to our shared humanity. Maybe if more folks saw that humanity in people different than them, horrors like what really happened might have played out differently. It’s a gentle but powerful message to take to heart.

Growing Empathy

The woodcutter in this film goes through quite a journey. At first, he’s pretty set in his thinking—people like that lost baby are “heartless” and not to be trusted. But soon enough, something starts changing in him.

It’s not like the movie hits you over the head with cute baby antics to try winning him over, either. This little one barely makes a peep. The animators take a really stripped-back approach, noticing even the tiniest expressions. It’s almost like she’s right out of a graphic novel.

For me, one of the loveliest parts is when the woodcutter’s wife trades the baby’s prayer shawl for milk. You can see the neighbor lady’s face got busted up badly too, from another awful war. But even she shows a bit of kindness in that moment. Acts like that must’ve weighed on the Woodcutter, seeing people help a child, not their own.

Before long, there’s a look in his eyes like he’s peering at the baby with new eyes. All the giggling and smiling might not change him, but being confronted with another’s hardship just might. By the film’s end, it’s clear he’d do anything to protect her, regardless of where she came from. Funny how a little empathy can go a long way, eh? It gives you hope that even the most set-up people can learn to see each other with care.

Score & Storyteller

Man, the song choices in this film have got me scratching my head a bit. You’ve got Alexandre Desplat laying down what seems like a pretty traditional orchestral score—it really builds emotion in some of the heavier scenes. I’ll give him that.

But then they layer in all this folksy Klezmer stuff during the end credits? It’s like they want you dancing out of the theater after watching two hours of unspeakable tragedy. Really takes you out of the moment.

And the narration by Jean-Louis Trintignant at the start had me thinking this would be some lighthearted romp in the woods. Dude sets it up like a classic fairy tale: “Once upon a time…” and all that.

The next thing you know, we’re on a packed train ride straight to hell. Talk about subverting expectations! I guess they wanted to show it’s not all happily ever after with this one.

It is kind of cool how he works in the tone, looking back. Straightaway says, “This ain’t no sweet bedtime story.” It tells you that something darker is looming in these snowy forests.

When you really dig down, the clash of music and story is what makes it feel real. Just like in life, not everything lines up so neatly. Sometimes you feel like dancing when all you want to do is cry. The narrator hints that there’s heartache ahead, even if his honeyed voice says otherwise. Nuance like that is why this one sticks with you.

Timeless Tales

Man, this film really packs an emotional punch while telling a truly important story. The way it uses its animated format to engage viewers with this difficult subject is just masterful.

From the sparseness of the early scenes setting the scene to the haunting beauty of moments on that train, Hazanavicius crafts each image with such care and impact. He never feels like he’s shy away from the harsh realities either. He pulls back the curtain on man’s darkest deeds, but does so in a way that honors human resilience.

This is definitely one that will stick with you long after the end credits roll. Its message of solidarity in the face of hatred feels so relevant too. It really makes you think about the small kindnesses that can change everything.

There is no doubt that this one is destined to be shared with generations to come. Its handling of history makes it perfect for classrooms and families alike. Animation helps tell a story that could otherwise be too traumatic for young eyes.

If nothing else, this film proves animation is more than just cartoony fun. It’s a whole other language with the power to start important discussions. Works like this show why more animated films deserve consideration at top-tier festivals like Cannes. Its impact shows it was right at home among the competition.

I think we’ll still be talking about The Most Precious of Cargoes years down the line. A true testament to the timeless ability of great storytelling.

Also Read:

Director Hazanavicius on Animating the Unanimatable in ‘Precious Cargoes’ Animated Blockbusters: The 10 Highest-Grossing Animated Films Killers of the Flower Moon Review: Scorsese’s Somber Tale of Greed and Tragedy Terezín Review: Where Triumph and Tragedy Intersect