“I don’t know if I ever want to grow up.”

“Growing up? Growing up is fine. The problem is forgetting.”

When Antoine de Saint-Exupéry first published his most famous work, The Little Prince, in 1943, he probably had no idea that over time it would rank among the literary works with the greatest number of adaptations of all.

In 2015, director Mark Osborne succeeded in effectively updating The Little Prince for the contemporary viewer without decisively intervening in the structure of the original story.

Faithful Adaptation

Canadian literary theorist Linda Hutcheon defines adaptation as, “deliberate, announced, and extended revisitations of prior works” (2013, p. 13). She further divides adaptation itself into two components — process (creation) and product (the resulting work).

In the case of the animated treatment of The Little Prince, the creative process that is reflected in the result also changes the way the viewer is engaged — from telling (the book) we move to showing (the film). (Hutcheon, 2013).

How does this adaptive change unfold in Osborne’s film? In what way does it work with timeless themes? Why does this film, simply because of the adaptive approach it chooses, already possess enormous potential to “save” The Little Prince from aging?

“Certainly. When you find a diamond that belongs to nobody, it is yours. When you discover an island that belongs to nobody, it is yours. When you get an idea before any one else, you take out a patent on it: it is yours. So with me: I own the stars, because nobody else before me ever thought of owning them.” (Exupéry, 1943)

In a (successful) adaptation, certain elements must remain unchanged between the given treatments (media). Let us see how M. Osborne handled this in his The Little Prince (2015).

Cardinal Functions

Australian film historian Brian McFarlane calls this transfer (1996). To designate the specific key elements, he uses the term cardinal functions, that is, a kind of narrative “hinges” without which it would already be an entirely different story (1996). The adaptation itself would then fall apart.

We call cardinal functions all the events or characters that cannot be omitted (McFarlane, 1996) if the story is to remain a faithful reworking of the original according to Hutcheon’s definition cited above.

Typical examples from the book source of The Little Prince include, for instance, the meeting of the pilot — the narrator of the story — with the Little Prince in the desert as the initial confrontation of the adult world with the child’s.

Next comes the drawing of the sheep — a deeper visual penetration into the child’s mind. One cannot omit the relationship with the rose, which teaches the reader a life lesson about fidelity. One must also include the relationship with the fox — the expression of the gradual cultivation of a friendly bond, mutual taming, and responsibility.

Let us also mention the snake, the representation of death and rebirth, the passage from the bodily to the spiritual world (eNotes, n.d.) as a key moment at the end of the story.

Osborne sensitively preserved all of this in the film.

These, then, are examples of the cardinal functions of the story, without which no adaptation would be faithful or authentic and would not even reflect the full, pure message of the original story, even though, of course, already in a new guise.

From Textual Treatment to Film

Without these elements it “wouldn’t be the real thing,” and that is why the analysis of the narrative transfer is an important criterion when evaluating the “success” of an adaptation. All the more so when one is working with abstract concepts. But how does this original book text and its ideas change into moving pictures?

“No one is ever satisfied where he is,” said the switchman. (Exupéry, 1943)

McFarlane calls this enunciation — the manner of expression (1996).

The little girl moves with her mother into a row-house neighborhood. She becomes acquainted with her new neighbor — an old man with a child’s soul, the aviator. He begins to read the little girl a book about a certain Little Prince…

And thus we penetrate into the memories of the narrator of Exupéry’s story. A conversation arises between the present and the original text. An entirely new story world is born — a heterocosm (Hutcheon, 2013).

The adaptation suddenly places two opposing value worlds in confrontation: the adult one, focused on maximum performance, and the child’s one, full of imagination, wonder, and sincere relationships.

Work with Animation Techniques

To differentiate them, two animation techniques are employed. For the modern world of the little girl, classical 3D CGI is used.

We are thus shown an image of faded colors — we see the sterility of the row-house development, the pressure to perform, the routine of the school system, or the constant parental control.

When the aviator tells the little girl the story of The Little Prince, the animation changes from CGI to stop-motion, paper animation. Paper is a delicate material, and equally delicate is the sensitivity of the innocent human soul. The handmade production of the image from fragile materials also recalls Exupéry’s watercolors with which he illustrated his book.

Precisely this paper rendering grows out of the concepts of the author’s illustrations.

We see, therefore, that the animation style itself becomes a carrier of meaning.

A book requires the reader’s imagination, since it only tells. Film takes over that imaginative process and presents the viewer with an already finished depiction of the (book) story (Hutcheon, 2013).

Yet Osborne’s adaptation shifts the story into an intertextual plane, and thus displays its ideas also in a way other than mere animation of Exupéry’s drawings. In the film, one can find some of the most iconic ones, but there are only a few of them, and they serve as a kind of artistic support for the original work.

The film nevertheless richly materializes the abstract values expressed in the original book.

It depicts the child’s wonder and spiritual purity through contrasting colors in the aviator’s yard and sets them in clear opposition to the chill of adult unfreedom.

It works with changes in color palettes, contrast of space (the sterile neighborhood vs. the cozy and colorful aviator’s little house), and even movement (boring, monotonous car rides vs. adventurous flights in an old airplane).

This entire clash of worlds — whether directly inside the original story of the Little Prince or in the adaptive superstructure — leads to the key question.

What has greater value: performance or relationships? What matters more?

The film is by no means merely an animation of Exupéry’s illustrations. That is realized in it only partially, namely in the paper stop-motion animation and the real depiction of pages from the book. This component, however, represents only part of the entire expressive means.

The Invisible Remains Invisible. Even in the Film

That invisible which, despite Exupéry’s depictions in illustrations, can remain invisible to modern man is suddenly made visible by the animation.

At the end of the film, we experience the victory of the child’s spirit over adult vanity and performance. The little girl meets the adult Little Prince, who has, however, forgotten who he is and has fallen into the darkness of depressive monotony.

Paradoxically, it is precisely a person from the modern world — the little girl, who had to learn the values of the book — who is the one who returns to the Little Prince the memories of his childhood past. The scenic moment at sunset definitively testifies to the defeat of the performance-oriented world by the exploratory child’s spirit.

“One only understands the things that one tames,” said the fox. “Men have no more time to understand anything. They buy things already made at the shops. But there is no shop anywhere where one can buy friendship, and so men have no friends any more. If you want a friend, tame me…” (Exupéry, 1943)

A philosophical fairy tale that appears childish, yet by its contemplative nature seems truly intended for adults. The challenge for today is how to grasp it so that its message remains relevant for the modern viewer.

It is gratifying that precisely Osborne’s work can boast of having become, as a sensitive and thoughtfully considered updating, an act of salvaging this story for the present (Hutcheon, 2013).

This adaptation is truly a repetition of the previous work, yet without replication (Hutcheon, 2013).

Exupéry’s best-known thesis — “what is essential is invisible to the eye” (1943) — remains valid even despite a certain making visible, for example through the little girl’s emotions. We see how the story of the Little Prince moves her. And also that she perceives how the answers from the inhabitants of the individual little planets resonated in the Little Prince.

At the same time, the prince’s trial of fidelity toward the rose and the commitment of friendship with the fox remind her of the importance of the precious companionship that has arisen between her and her new neighbor.

But along with that also comes the vulnerability that every deep relationship brings with it, especially with the realization that one day she will have to say goodbye to this old man forever.

What is essential, then, we do not see, yet what we are able to see is how these supernatural values, what is essential, move the human soul. And that is what Osborne’s The Little Prince depicted perfectly.

List of Bibliographic Sources

• DE SAINT-EXUPÉRY, Antoine, 1943. The Little Prince. Translated by Katherine Woods. Reynal & Hitchcock.
• eNotes. n.d. What snake does the Little Prince story represent? Available at: eNotes [accessed 14 May 2026].
• HUTCHEON, Linda; O’Flynn, Siobhan, 2013. A Theory of Adaptation. 2nd ed. Routledge. 273 pp.
• McFARLANE, Brian, 1996. Novel to Film: An Introduction to the Theory of Adaptation. Clarendon Press, Oxford. 284 pp.

► Images used under fair use for critical commentary from: https://alphacoders.com/the-little-prince

Note on AI: In the essay, I used language models of artificial intelligence (ChatGPT, NotebookLM, DeepL) as auxiliary tools in structuring the content, orienting myself in the literature, and translating from a foreign language. The text itself, however, is the result of my own work and is based on the professional sources listed.

Note on the essay: The work is an English translation of an essay I wrote for the Guidelines for Writing a Thesis class in my film school Advanced Vocational Program — majoring in film and media production.

The Remarkable 2015 Version of ‘The Little Prince’ was originally published in Culture Club on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

My summer in Kenya — new skills, perspectives and curiosity

I’ve been spending time this week volunteering for a cause that means a lot to me: evaluating scholarship applications for the Fund for Education Abroad (FEA).

FEA provides funding and support to college students with financial need to study abroad, and when I learned of their mission, I immediately looked for a way to get involved.

This is my second time volunteering as a scholarship application reviewer, and each experience has been fulfilling. There is something remarkably poignant about reading the earnest words of a starry-eyed twenty-year-old on the cusp of what they hope will be a life-changing experience. It transports me back to when I was their age, on the cusp of my own life-changing experience…

The summer after my sophomore year of college, I spent two months in Muhuru Bay, a rural Kenyan village on the shores of Lake Victoria. Fifteen years later, I still remember the moment the bus pulled up in the middle of the night to the boarding school where my peers and I would stay.

As I stepped off the bus, wonder and excitement surging within me, I felt like I had entered a different world. And in may ways, I had. I had never been anywhere like Muhuru Bay, so there was something new to discover every hour. The food was different, customs were different, and a lack of indoor plumbing made even the most mundane daily tasks different. The memories of using an outhouse, showering outdoors with a bucket, and washing my clothes by hand will stay with me forever.

That summer in Muhuru Bay wound up shaping the trajectory of my life. It left me with an insatiable thirst to explore other cultures, which I spent much of my twenties attempting to quench. After college, I spent a year teaching English in Beijing, China, followed by a two-year stint in Madrid, Spain.

My time abroad wasn’t perfect, because nothing ever is. But those three years were truly the most magical of my life.

Why are culturally-immersive experiences so transformative?

It’s a question I’ve considered many times. For a while, I struggled to articulate an answer. I knew I had been changed by my time abroad; there was no question about that. But encapsulating the breadth and depth of my experience proved difficult, and I often resorted to simply saying “amazing!” when people asked how my travels had been.

Indeed, most of the students whose applications I’m reading also resort to vague language when asked for their thoughts on the value of study abroad. Phrases like “personal growth” and “get out of my comfort zone” make frequent appearances; rare is the student who can elaborate further.

I am always delighted, then, when I find data that concretizes what I and these students instinctively know: study abroad does indeed change lives. But not just in a wispy or abstract sort of way.

The impact of international education can be demonstrated. According to this report by the Institute of International Education (IIE) and AIFS Foundation, created from the results of surveying 44 present-day leaders who studied abroad in their younger years, studying abroad improves confidence, self-awareness, and identity development; increases capacity to deal with ambiguity and navigate complexity; broadens participants’ perspectives; and helps them challenge assumptions.

Certainly, this resonates with me. I can attest that my confidence skyrocketed after my summer in Kenya, as I felt that, after eight weeks living in such rustic conditions, I could handle anything.

While perhaps a bit misguided (and certainly very naive), that mindset served me well. It allowed me to boldly pursue my dreams after college, unafraid of and undaunted by the world that awaited me. Without that summer in Muhuru Bay, I would have never had the courage to move abroad by myself, even if I had wanted to. And given that my post-grad abroad years have opened both personal and professional opportunities for me, I’m so glad that I did.

My time overseas also influenced my identity development. Ironically, the first time I ever thought critically about being American was when I left the USA. Until that point, I had only ever been around other Americans, so there wasn’t much need to reflect on our shared national identity. (In fact, I didn’t even consider it as a distinct characteristic; it was just “the norm”.)

Immersing myself in other cultures forced me to reflect on the ways in which I was and wasn’t the “typical American.” I considered how my values and belief systems intertwined with my cultural and national identity in a way that I never had before. They’re lessons I carry with me to this day.

The IIE and AIFS report also discusses how studying overseas helps sharpen leadership capabilities. On this topic, I found the survey respondents’ personal testimonials most compelling.

A policy leader at Google, for instance, explained that she leverages her experience navigating foreign environments to craft global policy that is effective in diverse markets. A lawyer cited his firsthand knowledge of other countries as a key asset in connecting with his multicultural base of clients. And a third respondent chose to pursue a Master’s degree in International Relations as a result of his time abroad.

Broadened perspective. Empathy. Cross-cultural communication skills. Intellectual curiosity. All skills that make great leaders. And all skills that going abroad can help develop.

Again, these findings resonate. I’m reminded of a time during my first year back in the USA, when I was called into a meeting to translate for a Spanish-speaking parent at the school where I was working. The version of myself that existed before I went abroad probably would have been very abrupt in that situation. I likely would’ve gone in, done the translation, and left, approaching it all as nothing more than another item on my to-do list.

But because of my travels, I knew what it was like to struggle with a language barrier in a high-stakes situation. I was well acquainted with the frustration of knowing exactly what you want to say, and maybe of even being capable of saying some or all of it in a foreign tongue, only to flounder in the moment of truth. And so I approached the parent with a level of warmth and compassion I would’ve have been unable to otherwise access.

I can’t close without mentioning a key point from the IIE and AIFS report: given all of the benefits that come with study abroad, it is a travesty that the experience remains inaccessible to so many. I could not agree more. Volunteering as scholarship application reviewer is one way I support expanding access to international education opportunities; another way I do so is through the books I’m writing.

I am fortunate enough to have been transformed for the better by my time studying, living, working, and traveling abroad. For now, those days are over, and it’s time to pay it forward.

I’m so excited for the future recipients of FEA’s study abroad scholarship, and for every other young person on the cusp of an international experience.

Take it from me, you’re in for the adventure of a lifetime!

Going Abroad Changed My Life — Not in the Way Most Would Expect was originally published in Culture Club on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.