Review: The Little Prince

Animator Mark Osbourne crafts a beautiful adaptation championing love over logic.

Directed by Mark Osbourne Starring Jeff Bridges, Paul Rudd, Rachel McAdams

Anticipation: A beloved children’s story depicted in CGI? Sounds promising, but so did Peter Rabbit…

Enjoyment: A perfect synergy of gorgeous imagery and compelling storytelling.

In Retrospect: Osborne crafts a delightfully heart-warming adaptation for children and grown-ups alike.

It seems imagination is as much a substance as an idea; some people have it, others have lost it. We praise children for their imaginative play, encouraging them to create with wild abandon. As adults, few of us have this childlike wonder accompanying our mundane drudgery. Animator and director Mark Osbourne paints a doorway into our imaginations and the truths which lie within.

Le Petit Prince, a treasured novel translated into 253 languages, was a feat of imagination born from delusion. Much like The Aviator, author Antoine de Saint-Exupéry experienced a crash-landing in the Sahara desert, during a flight from Paris to Saigon in 1935. After a brush with death, Saint-Exupéry found himself with nothing but the wreckage of his plane and his thoughts to keep him company. Critically dehydrated, the author experienced vivid hallucinations, which directly inspired ‘Le Petit Prince’.

Mark Osbourne’s synergy of computer-generated images with Claymation represents these delusions with an entrancing clarity. Osbourne is best known for his work on Kung-Fu Panda (2008), a humorous family feature far from the sombre notes of Le Petit Prince. However, Osbourne’s adaptation spins a tale of beauty and wonder with a decidedly uplifting message.

Fans of the classic novel may be surprised at Osbourne’s introduction of a new meta-narrative. In my view, the integrity of the original is not lost, but rather expanded in this retelling. In Osbourne’s story we meet The Little Girl (Mackenzie Foy), a fiercely mature and obedient child living an adult lifestyle. Determined to win a place at an esteemed school and please her mother, The Little Girl studies constantly. After befriending The Aviator (Jeff Bridges), the child rediscovers her imagination through the world of The Little Prince.

Osborne’s tribute to Saint-Exupéry’s wondrous illustrations is just one example of the respect and care taken in this adaptation. The stories of The Little Prince are illuminated in gorgeous technicolour scenes of delicate Claymation. When The Little Girl first reads the story and the Claymation unfurls, the transformation from CGI is breath-taking. It is as if Osbourne has tipped a child’s craft kit onto the screen, allowing sheets of crumpled tissue paper and sequins to spill into his storytelling. Saint-Exupéry’s illustration style is instantly recognisable, and juxtaposes brilliantly with the dull palette of The Little Girl’s world.

Equally, the omission of fine details to communicate stifling mundanity is hugely effective. Office scenes reminiscent of Playtime (1967)and The Matrix (1999) depict a claustrophobic universe of grown-ups, far from the limitless whimsy of The Aviator’s stories. The Little Girl inhabits a ubiquitous flat-pack suburb not dissimilar to that of Burton’s Edward Scissorhands, but devout of colour or charm. With Scissorhands in mind, The Aviator’s house is just as startlingly uncouth as Edward’s Gothic mansion; his home is a hub of creation and play unfamiliar to The Little Girl. Alongside visuals, the sharp cuts and quick dialogue communicate the ruthless efficiency of the adult world and The Little Girl’s life. Accompanied by the chastising clack of typewriter keys blended with a searing score from Hans Zimmer, Osbourne skilfully conjures the cruel codification of the adult world.

As The Little Girl is coaxed into the life of The Aviator, she meets a host of characters, many of which feature in the original text. Le Petit Prince is often marked as allegorical, exploring complex themes through archetypal character representations.

I particularly enjoyed Osbourne’s depiction of The Conceited Man, voiced by Ricky Gervais. Gervais masters the simpering arrogance of the attention-junkie, brought to life in animation. Each hesitant, nervy mannerism is masterfully depicted, his ridiculous hat and crocodilian smile combining to bring the repulsive character to life. As an adult, I can appreciate the significance of The Conceited Man: a poster-boy for the emptiness of materialism. Furthermore, the character is so garish and repugnant that children will likely feel a sense of unease watching him. The Claymation depictions illicit an immediate dislike towards the villains, which I didn’t feel as potently whilst reading the novel.

I felt a particular revulsion towards The Businessman, a pernicious monolith of a man with ‘no time for idle dreaming’ (Le Petit Prince). The Businessman dedicates his life to controlling others, by collecting stars, of all things. I was enchanted by the symbolism of the stars, which seem to represent childhood dreams and spirit. In one particularly poignant scene, imagined by Osbourne, The Businessman (voiced by Albert Brooks) explains that he harvests the stars as they effectively ‘power’ his workers. In other words, The Businessman’s employees are motivated only by their childhood dreams, which their boss owns under lock and key. Like many Western leaders, The Businessman believes that any pursuit must be a quantifiable quest for more money. As a character, he is the fundamental antithesis of the ‘inner child’ which both Osbourne and Saint-Exupéry proclaim; he is cold, calculated and narrow-minded, with little time for fantasy or fun.

The crucial theme of both Le Petit Prince and Osbourne’s adaptation is the contrast between childhood and adult perspective. Aside from The Aviator, the majority of Osbourne’s adult characters seem either ludicrous, callous or a combination of the two. The Little Prince questions the nonsensical logic of adulthood. Grown-ups move like mindless drones, reminiscent of the masses in Michael Radford’s ‘Nineteen Eighty-Four’ (1984), or the children in Pink Floyd’s iconic ‘Another Brick in the Wall’ (1982). Combined with the dull, minimalist settings the adults inhabit, Osbourne makes adulthood seem just a tad bit depressing.

Conversely, The Aviator provides all the warmth, whimsy and delight that Osbourne hopes to instil, ensuring that the film remains optimistic. We marvel at The Aviator’s stubborn reversion to the analogue, watching as he tinkers with all manner of ancient-looking objects. His scenes are accompanied by the crooning of his record player, or jaunty avant-garde music by the brilliant Camille. The choice of Camille, a popular French artist, for the score is perfection; her beautiful lilting voice mixes wonderfully with the colourful visuals of The Aviator’s world.

At the heart of it all is The Little Prince himself (Steven Warner), a tiny figure of clay, paper and childish curiosity. In Osbourne’s adaptation, The Little Prince glues the themes of grief, acceptance and imagination together effortlessly. His character is so stubbornly open-minded that we cannot help but realise how cynical we become with age. It was a delight to hear the childish voice of the prince, which gave the character a depth impossible to achieve in the book alone.

I felt conflicted by Osbourne’s introduction of an older Little Prince (voiced by Paul Rudd). Initially, I felt the CGI depiction shattered the wholesome nature of the Claymation Little Prince. An adult version of the prince seemed an antithesis to the character, a child meant to represent childhood itself. As the climax progressed, I realised that the older prince was a charming representation of why we should listen to our inner child. This, combined with the delicate yet intrinsic themes of grief and loss, culminated into a profound exploration into mental health and identity.

Ultimately, The Little Prince is a children’s film for adults. As The Aviator says, ‘Growing old is not the problem; forgetting is.’ Osbourne gives us a taste of the technicolour world of imagination, tempting all adults to explore. Interestingly, children are also given a dark and stormy depiction of adulthood to come, but this is only a warning. Despite the decadent animation and design, what cannot be seen is all that counts.

The Little Prince reminded me of the fierce confusion of being a child. Childhood is both liberating and highly constrictive, physically and mentally. We were all The Little Girl once: imaginations stretching into the horizon, but with so much to be scared of. As children we have countless obstacles to climb, we come to terms with expectations, limits and grief. But we also have the gift of an open heart and mind.

The crucial takeaway from this feature is that life is complex, difficult, and utterly beautiful. We must remember to live our lives freely. In childhood, we marvel at the little things, just as The Little Prince tends to his rose. We pour our energy into pointless fantasies which give our lives meaning. Is this any different to adulthood? Perhaps not. But we live each day with all the love, excitement and enjoyment we can muster.

I’m not saying adulthood’s a piece of cake. I don’t expect anyone to plaster on a smile when filling out tax returns or sitting in heavy traffic. But if I’ve learnt anything from The Little Prince, it’s this: we should all take time to remember. Between those moments of drudgery, think of how far you’ve come. Like the Prince and his rose, remember why the things around you are special. In the words of The Aviator: “It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important.”

The Little Prince is now available to watch on Netflix.