Xilam's 'Lucy Lost' represents artistic ambition at its finest — a French studio taking on Michael Morpurgo with the emotional sophistication of Miyazaki while mastering American storytelling efficiency. Director Olivier Clert's 1,800-shot solo storyboard proves this is a labor of love built to move families.
Sources say the adaptation was 'stuck for years' before Clert came aboard with his structural fix — braiding two parallel narratives into one cohesive emotional journey. One insider notes the project went through multiple transformations, and not everyone at Xilam was convinced a WWI-set tearjerker could compete in today's comedy-driven family market.
Clert storyboarded all 1,800 shots himself as storyboard artist before becoming director. Animation represents 27% of global box office — one out of every four cinema tickets worldwide — yet du Pontavice admits Europeans struggle to claim their share against American and Japanese studios.
'Lucy Lost' premieres in Cannes with Annecy competition slot on the horizon, proving Xilam isn't playing it safe. Whether audiences want emotionally devastating family animation remains the million-dollar question — but at least someone's finally asking it.
When Marc du Pontavice first acquired the rights to Michael Morpurgo's children's novel "Listen to the Moon," he envisioned something special. Years later, after countless development roadblocks and one dramatic creative pivot, that vision has emerged as "Lucy Lost" — premiering at Cannes before heading into competition at Annecy, animation's most prestigious stage. The novel follows a young girl who washes ashore on the Isles of Scilly during World War I, her memories completely erased.
Du Pontavice spent considerable time developing it as a series but hit an insurmountable wall: the book's bifurcated structure, split across two parallel narrative threads, made adaptation feel impossible. "I was stuck for years," one source close to the project admitted. The breakthrough arrived when du Pontavice handed the manuscript to Olivier Clert — a former head of story at Netflix and veteran of Sergio Pablos' "Klaus." Clert's solution was deceptively simple: braid those two narrative strands together instead of keeping them separate.
"That made the characters more active and created a strong bond of friendship, allowing revelations to unfold progressively while building a powerful emotional relationship," du Pontavice explained. "It also gave more room for imagination." Clert initially came aboard as storyboard artist, but Xilam ultimately reshaped the entire project around his vision — transforming him from collaborator to director. What followed was nothing short of extraordinary: Clert storyboarded all 1,800 shots in the film.
Alone. No AI assistance, no team of artists splitting duties — just one person drawing and staging every single frame over an extended production period. "Beyond the technical feat, it shows someone who knew exactly how to tell this story," du Pontavice said with obvious admiration.
Clert himself recalled being drawn to "something very classical about it, something timeless" while embracing "the challenge of working in a more realistic register." The Miyazaki comparison surfaces almost immediately when watching the footage — and neither du Pontavice nor Clert shies away from it. "We were trying to stand at the crossroads between the efficiency of American storytelling and the visual poetry and boldness of Japanese animation," Clert admitted.
Du Pontavice was more direct: "That is where we connect with Miyazaki." To achieve that delicate balance, the studio pushed technical boundaries — animating wind ("extremely difficult"), building 3D oceans rendered in 2D style, layering fire and atmospheric FX to support emotional beats rather than just decorate scenes. Nature and environment became narrative tools, not background filler. But perhaps the most revealing moment came when du Pontavice shared a personal anecdote: one Xilam employee brought their seven-year-old daughter to an early screening.
"She cried a lot afterward and kept talking about the film for weeks," he recalled with quiet satisfaction. The implication is clear — children don't just want silly comedies. They crave emotional depth.
"We all grew up with stories about resilience, stories that dealt with difficult emotions. I still see kids today watching those kinds of films from the '70s and '80s." Whether European audiences are ready for a tearjerker animated film set against World War I remains to be seen — but Xilam is betting everything on finding out.
