The Storyteller (1987–1989): Season 1, Episode 4 - The Luck Child - full transcript
When a cruel, cold hearted king hears about the birth of a luck child prophesied to one day rule in his stead, he seeks out the child and tries to get rid of him. But luck is with the baby and against the king and the 17 years later when the ruler tries once more to sentence the boy to certain death, he ends up becoming his son in law and heir to the throne instead. Now the king has just one more card to play: in order for 'Lucky' to earn the hand of the princess in marriage, he must bring back the golden feather from the Griffin's back and venture to the creature's island - a place from where no one has yet returned.
[Cawing]
[Storyteller]
When people told themselves
their past with stories,
explained their present
with stories,
foretold the future
with stories,
the best place by the fire
was kept for...
[Clinks]
The storyteller.
[Laughing softly]
Sometimes people
are born lucky.
You imagine
if they opened their hands,
there'd be
a little piece of sunshine...
A personal piece.
It lights them up.
Everyone loves these people,
they're lit up!
Cats sit on their laps.
What?
[Storyteller]
It's luck,
it's a gift, it's a blessing,
and therefore
can't be undone.
This is also true
of prophecies.
So when, one night,
a boy is born,
blessed with luck,
and it is foretold
he will one day be king...
Well, no matter
how poor the child,
no matter how wicked
the king in power,
no matter how monstrous
the monster...
[Clatter]
[Groaning]
Here we go.
Ah, not so long ago,
in the deep north,
where it is so cold,
that just very cold
is considered quite warm,
2 cold hearts ruled the land.
The one beat cold
in a cruel king,
the other in a terrible beast,
the Griffin.
And it happened
in a week with 2 Fridays,
that the cruel king heard
of a prophecy.
A child had been born,
reported his spies,
a luck child.
Poor as penance, rich as snow,
the 7th son of a 7th son,
wise men prophesied
this child
would one day be king.
"Superstition, majesty.
Folk-lore,"
said his evil chancellor.
"Old wives' tales, rubbish.
"How could a peasant's child,
not worth a spit,
"how can a brat
become king?"
But the cruel king
choked on the news,
felt it sharpen
and Pierce his heart.
[Dull slamming]
So, he set out
with his evil chancellor
to find this luck child
and do him in.
[Father]
Let the night protect us
and the lord
watch over us. Amen.
[Loud knocking]
[Baby crying]
[Door opening]
[King]
We come in search
of the luck child. Is he here?
[Chancellor]
Well? Yes or no?
Have we come to the wrong hut?
[Mother]
He is called
the luck child, sir,
but what luck can he have,
born with nothing?
Oh, oh dear me!
My friend here,
a holy man,
brings 7 pieces like this.
He seeks a child
to patron and to care for.
As if he were
my own son.
Oh yes,
a luck child indeed!
It's a bargain,
I take it?
Yes or no?
Why, he's my little boy, sir.
You have 6 others,
mother,
and now they'll be plump
as pigs.
He's my little lover.
Well, of course,
you need more gold
to comfort yourself.
'Tis not more gold
my missus wants.
You can't put gold
to your breast.
You can't
hear its heart beat.
Please yourself,
you've had your chance.
I'll send in
men on the morrow,
we'll turn the snow bloody.
Oh!
We'll hand over
our little boy
to your safekeeping.
What else can we do?
[Baby gurgling]Good.
Take care of him.Yes.
Because he's
a little precious, you see.
He's the 7th son
of the 7th son.
He's a luck child.
Oh yes,
terribly lucky.
[Wind howling]
[Storyteller]
And that was it.
They couldn't speak.
They couldn't believe it.
Their baby was gone.
[Waves crashing]
[Wind howling]
Right.
[Baby chuckling]It's a nice smile.
Hah! I'd smile,
given your kingdom,
given your gold,
given all that is
rightfully yours.
That's right!
Would you?
Well, I wouldn't, sir.
I mean, he would.
I speak of him.
Hmm.
A dreadful drop,
as luck would have it!
The fall will finish him,
or the icy waves.
The shock will do him in.
I can't look.
How far down is it?
Oh, about...
[Screaming]
That's it!
You go too, sir!
Goodnight!
No one shall wear my crown!
[Dog]
Terrible.
That's a terrible story.
What?
The baby died!
What do you mean, "what"?
Who said the baby died?
I didn't.
This is a luck child.
Oh.
No, no, the baby fell,
plummeting down,
dropping into the blackness,
the rocks beckoning.
Oh, yes, plunged downwards,
but the binding
catches on a jutting branch
and winds round,
pulling the baby up short,
before letting him down
gently on to
the shore with a plop.
Sand.
Soft.
Safe.
[Baby gurgling]
The evil chancellor
fared less well.
The sea had him.
Then the next morning,
the Griffin had a feast.
[Growling]
As for the cold king,
from time to time,
he felt a little bad,
a fleeting bad.
But soon he quite forgot
what he'd done
out of fear of a prophecy.
Besides, it's not long
and he's got
a baby of his own,
a little girl.
She seeks out
the one soft part
in his heart and touches it.
How he loves
his little darling.
And years go by,
10, 12, 15, 16...
The daughter
turns out a lovely.
A Princess talked of,
longed for.
And the offers! Hundreds!
But the king
doesn't want her married.
Oh dear me,
no, he's not going
to lose her in a hurry.
"Hands off,"
is what the king thinks,
"hands off all my lovelies!"
[Miller]
4!
[All chattering]
That's 4
for Nicholas.
Aye.
4 for you then, Nick.
Aye.
[Trumpet blowing]
All kneel
for his majesty, the king.
Your majesty.
I am in your region
inspecting harvests.
How goes it?
Fair, sire, good.
And the records?
Show his majesty
the book, son.
All entered, sir.
Your people sweat
for each ear of wheat
and each cob of corn.
And your majesty also needs
his tithes, of course.
Of course.
Otherwise we'd all be lords
and no king,
and then what?
Exactly.
Then what, indeed?
How come the boy is fair,
when you 2 are dark?
Ah, well.
I'm a foundling, sire.
He was a gift from god, sire.
We had no child of our own.
Found when?
Found where?
By the black cliffs, sire,
17 years since.
Washed up without a scrap
on his little body.
I see.
You're a lucky one, then.
That's what we call him,
sire: Lucky.
[King]
Lucky?
A boy like you
would do well at court.
Well, i-I'm needed here, sire.
Then you'll be missed.
Paper and pen!
I'll take the boy.
See, I'll write
him a royal warrant.
You take this to the queen.
She will welcome you
into our royal care.
This boy will want
for nothing
from this day forth.
[Birds chirping]
Hurrah for the king!
[Together]
Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!
[Storyteller]
Oh, a happy day, indeed!
The king can hardly breathe
for his thumping heart.
For this bright spark
must be the boy
born to claim his throne.
The luck child!
"Kill him," thumps his heart.
"Kill him! Kill him!
Kill him! Kill him!"
[Whimpering]
Now, between the mill
and the palace is a forest.
A man on foot
cannot fathom it.
Folk go in, few come out.
Foul things live there.
And lucky has no map,
he's lost.
He's been lost for hours,
and it's dark
and he can't see a thing.
Not even the hole
he's walking towards.
Oh!
[Screaming]
Where am I?
Oh dear, oh dear.
You've fallen in
among thieves, I'm afraid.
This is a robber's cave.
A terrible place.
Oh, then I must get out.
[Panting]
I'm on royal business.
See, uh, I have
a letter from the king.
I see. Oh dear.
Well, the problem is
when my sisters get back.
They're wild,
very violent. Oh dear.
Now, are you hungry?
Can I climb out?
Dear me, no.
You'd better eat something
while I think
of what to do with you.
I'm a cook.
[Laughs]
Well, the cook.
That's my, uh...
Well, it's goulash.
Oh, thank you.
Oh, dear me, no.
You can't leave now.
[Laughs]
I'm supposed to be lucky.
That's my name, lucky.
Oh!
This is very good.
Thank you.
Marvelous!
[Clatter]
Ha ha. That's it.
I'm the cook,
also the poisoner,
also the nastiest.
Now let's see
what's in your pockets,
lucky boy.
[Grunting]
Not a sausage.
A letter from the king, eh?
Well, this will
never reach the palace.
Oh no, your luck's
run out. Oh dear me, yes.
[Storyteller]
But listen, the little man
can't believe his eyes.
Terrible!
What a terrible letter!
This is terrible.
"Wife," it says,
"when you read this letter,
"order the bearer of it,
a youth named lucky,
"to be chopped
into 1,000 pieces.
"Do this without delay.
King."
That is disgusting!
Poor little fellow.
We'll soon see about this!
[Storyteller]
Now, he's also a forger,
this little man.
And full of fair play,
sits down
to write a new letter
before his sisters,
wild women,
get home
and slit the throat
of their sleeping guest.
[Birds chirping]
And so it was,
the next morning,
the luck child wakes
refreshed and restored,
with the castle
straight ahead of him.
"Very odd," he thinks.
But off he sets
without more ado.
"I have a letter
from his majesty,"
he cries at the drawbridge.
"A letter from his majesty,"
at the entrance to the court.
In he goes,
to find the queen
sitting with her daughter.
And a thing
happens straight off--boom!
The Princess looks at lucky,
and lucky looks
at the Princess,
and-- boom!--
That's it, love.
The queen, meanwhile,
astonished,
reads and rereads the letter.
Well, gracious me!
Hmph!
A boo to the king.
Boo!
And a hiss.
Hiss!
Picture him
on his journey home.
He gloats,
a sneer thins his lips.
He's savoring his cruel deed.
The luck child
in 1,000 pieces,
his letter ordered.
By now it would be done.
He's cheated fate.
He's cheated the prophecy.
A mile from the palace
he hears bells,
and more bells.
And then, looking up
to the battlements,
the wicked king
sees something.
He can't believe it.
How? How? How?
He howled, but no one
could hear him.
[Crowd cheering]
How?
You ordered it.
"Marriage,"
your letter said,
"on pain of death."
I ordered him to be chopped
into 1,000 pieces.
I have the letter.
1,000 pieces, it said.
I have savored them
the long journey home.
Look!
He seems a lovely boy.
Look, they're so happy.
I thought you'd been
to a fortuneteller.
[Storyteller]
The luck child
will one day be king.
Father!
We're so happy! Thank you.
[Lucky]
Your majesty,
forgive me.
I'd thought you
a cruel tyrant,
a blight on the poor,
but now you make me,
the humble peasant,
your son and heir,
and the happiest husband
there ever was.
And the golden feather?
Beg pardon?
The golden feather
from the Griffin,
do you have it?
No, sire.
Then you must fetch it.
Was it not understood
that my daughter
could not marry without it?
Father, that's impossible!
Why?
Because the Griffin
is a monster.
It eats people.
Yes, it won't be easy.
But then not every man
is fit to marry my daughter.
Very well!No!
Don't worry,
I'll come back.
No, no one
has ever come back.
She's right,
I'm afraid.
[Weeping]
We'll see.
[Storyteller]
And so he sets off,
the luck child.
"To the Griffin,"
he tells himself,
"to the Griffin."
It becomes a direction
when he has none.
A distance
when he knows none.
He strides on.
With each mile
the land gets poorer.
Green gives way to dust,
the black deserts
of the Griffin.
On and on he trudges until
one day he comes to a lake
in which no fish swim.
Hey, ferryman!
Will you take me across?
I go across,
forward and back,
ceaselessly,
with you or without you.
Then I'll join you.
[Oar creaking]
As you like.
I seek the Griffin.
Yes.
Am I near?
Over there.
What are those lights
on the shore?
Jewels. Riches.
No one brings them back.
I shall.
I shall come back.
Ah.
If you do perhaps you may
discover why I must continue
this weary way,
back and forth,
without ending.
For I'm weary and
sick to the soul.
I'll remember.
[Storyteller]
Each one who came,
the same tale.
"The Griffin please."
For love, for justice,
for fame, for fortune,
but always in the end
for the Griffin's supper...
Always in the end
terrible cries,
splintering bones,
the suck, suck, suck
of juices.
[Clattering]
Ah! Dear, oh dear.
What are you doing here?
What about your sisters?
Oh, they're here, too.
Yeah? Where?
Well...
Hard to be absolutely certain.
What happened?
The Griffin flew by the cave.
He was hungry.
Well, luckily
my cooking saved me.
But listen,
you must hide, dear boy.
He'll be here soon.
I need a feather
from his back--
the golden one.
His gold feather?
Thank god if you walk out
in a single portion.
Forget the gold feather.
Well, I made a solemn promise
to me wife.
You did?
Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear...
And I must also find out when
the ferryman can cease
his ceaseless crossing.
Hide under the table
and I'll do what I can.
Dear friend...
Well...
Quick! Quick!
[Loud rumbling]
[Wind howling]
[Crashing]
[Screeching]
[Sniffing]
My sniff, snuff, snaff,
manwhiff.
Of course you can smell
a man-- that's me.
No, snufflesnort other sort.
There's no one else here.
Now, are you hungry?
Mmm, my could eat a house.
[Laughs]
Of course you could.
Aar! Stop yap-yap!
Stink, stench,
stunk of manbits.
My not like.
[Groans]
Ok, food now.
[Clattering]
[Storyteller]
From underneath
the Griffin's table
the boy listens,
trying to smell
of nothing but bone,
of things rotted.
Oh dear,
oh dear, oh dear.
[Groans]
Oh!
[Exclaiming]
[Burping]
Oh!
Finished.
Good, good,
and now a little scratch?
Ah! Scritch-itch-scratch.
Ah!
[Giggling]
Ah!
[Groans]
[Screaming]
That was which-wouch!
I know.
Clumsy, I'm clumsy.
I scratched too hard.
I should stop.
No. Itch scritch-scratch.
All right.
Mmm! Wow!
[Both laugh]
Ohhh.
[Griffin screaming]
[Little man]
I-I'm sorry.
Oh dear, dear, dear,
dear, dear.
I'll be more careful.
I'll be, you know,
really careful.
[Roars]
My not like things pulled.
No, that's right,
y--you're a sensitive monster.
Uh! My not monster.
I mean a nice,
misunderstood
and brilliant
beastie.
[Screaming]
My bird!
My misunderstood bird.
My not beastie!
Of course you are. A bird.
A very nice bird.
Well, I should go,
back to where I came from.
To that dark, horrid cave.
Serves me right.
No!
Don't try and stop me.
I--I'll tell that old ferryman
to row me across.
Yes, he's outside now,
I expect, waiting
for a passenger.
Poor, old fellow
I wonder,
why he's always there.
Why can't he leave?
His curse de worst
and stay de same,
less someone take pole,
then someone
cursed de same way as him.
Simple.
So if someone took his pole,
they'd have to row
and he'd be free?
[Laughs]
So simple!
I should go and tell
the poor fellow.
I should take over.
Really, I should go now
and take over.
[Yawning]
No.
My like goulash
and itch scritch-
scratch-scratch.
[Laughs]
Oh, then you go to sleep, now.
Busy day ahead.
Eating people
and wreaking havoc.
[Laughing]
Snoozie woozie, now.
That's it. Snoozie woozie.
[Laughs]
[Storyteller]
And off
the luck child scurries,
clutching the golden feather,
scooping up jewels.
Straight home he wants to go.
Straight home to happiness.
I dare not think it possible
you found the answer.
But then you did come back.
No one has ever come back.
Well, I've come back,
and I have the answer.
The next passenger you have,
give him your oar,
and your luck will be his,
his freedom yours.
So simple.
So simple.
[Storyteller]
And for the first time
in years, centuries,
hope fires the ferryman.
A smile is forming
in his mind.
A tiny smile growing,
getting ready to be born.
[Oar creaking]
[Bells ringing]
[Man]
Hello!
He's back.
And he's got
the golden feather!
I've come back.
And I've got
the golden feather.
[Storyteller]
"I have done as you bid,"
he says.
And the king can do
nothing but agree
and give his blessing.
Then you have my blessing.
Though it cost him
in his bitter heart.
Then out comes the treasure,
out pop the king's eyes.
"Gold! Jewels!
"Oh, where are they from?"
And the boy answered him.
I took a ferry across the lake
to where the Griffin lives,
and on the other shore gold
lies where pebbles should,
emeralds where sand,
and where the sea breaks,
diamonds fall.
Is that so? So lucky.
[Storyteller]
And saying this,
the poison swilling his eyes,
souring his mouth,
the king vowed to go himself.
And that very night
he slipped away alone.
And set off in search of this
magic shore across the lake.
Come on, come on, come on,
can't we go any faster?
Oh yes, sir, there is a way.
[Storyteller]
"Take it," he says.
"Take it, take it."
So if you come,
one day, to a lake,
and there's an island,
and a ferry goes
back and forth,
rowed by an old, sad man,
turn around.
Griffins live there.
You may never
get off the boat.
For the ferryman
was once a wicked king
who ignored a prophecy,
whose heart was cruel.
And nature, my dears,
is a wise woman.
Who pays us back.
Tit for tat.
Hey!
Hmm?
The boy and the girl, did they
live happily ever after?
Oh yes, yes. Wonderful.
Very, very happy.
The boy, you see,
was a luck child!
[Fire crackling]
[Storyteller]
When people told themselves
their past with stories,
explained their present
with stories,
foretold the future
with stories,
the best place by the fire
was kept for...
[Clinks]
The storyteller.
[Laughing softly]
Sometimes people
are born lucky.
You imagine
if they opened their hands,
there'd be
a little piece of sunshine...
A personal piece.
It lights them up.
Everyone loves these people,
they're lit up!
Cats sit on their laps.
What?
[Storyteller]
It's luck,
it's a gift, it's a blessing,
and therefore
can't be undone.
This is also true
of prophecies.
So when, one night,
a boy is born,
blessed with luck,
and it is foretold
he will one day be king...
Well, no matter
how poor the child,
no matter how wicked
the king in power,
no matter how monstrous
the monster...
[Clatter]
[Groaning]
Here we go.
Ah, not so long ago,
in the deep north,
where it is so cold,
that just very cold
is considered quite warm,
2 cold hearts ruled the land.
The one beat cold
in a cruel king,
the other in a terrible beast,
the Griffin.
And it happened
in a week with 2 Fridays,
that the cruel king heard
of a prophecy.
A child had been born,
reported his spies,
a luck child.
Poor as penance, rich as snow,
the 7th son of a 7th son,
wise men prophesied
this child
would one day be king.
"Superstition, majesty.
Folk-lore,"
said his evil chancellor.
"Old wives' tales, rubbish.
"How could a peasant's child,
not worth a spit,
"how can a brat
become king?"
But the cruel king
choked on the news,
felt it sharpen
and Pierce his heart.
[Dull slamming]
So, he set out
with his evil chancellor
to find this luck child
and do him in.
[Father]
Let the night protect us
and the lord
watch over us. Amen.
[Loud knocking]
[Baby crying]
[Door opening]
[King]
We come in search
of the luck child. Is he here?
[Chancellor]
Well? Yes or no?
Have we come to the wrong hut?
[Mother]
He is called
the luck child, sir,
but what luck can he have,
born with nothing?
Oh, oh dear me!
My friend here,
a holy man,
brings 7 pieces like this.
He seeks a child
to patron and to care for.
As if he were
my own son.
Oh yes,
a luck child indeed!
It's a bargain,
I take it?
Yes or no?
Why, he's my little boy, sir.
You have 6 others,
mother,
and now they'll be plump
as pigs.
He's my little lover.
Well, of course,
you need more gold
to comfort yourself.
'Tis not more gold
my missus wants.
You can't put gold
to your breast.
You can't
hear its heart beat.
Please yourself,
you've had your chance.
I'll send in
men on the morrow,
we'll turn the snow bloody.
Oh!
We'll hand over
our little boy
to your safekeeping.
What else can we do?
[Baby gurgling]Good.
Take care of him.Yes.
Because he's
a little precious, you see.
He's the 7th son
of the 7th son.
He's a luck child.
Oh yes,
terribly lucky.
[Wind howling]
[Storyteller]
And that was it.
They couldn't speak.
They couldn't believe it.
Their baby was gone.
[Waves crashing]
[Wind howling]
Right.
[Baby chuckling]It's a nice smile.
Hah! I'd smile,
given your kingdom,
given your gold,
given all that is
rightfully yours.
That's right!
Would you?
Well, I wouldn't, sir.
I mean, he would.
I speak of him.
Hmm.
A dreadful drop,
as luck would have it!
The fall will finish him,
or the icy waves.
The shock will do him in.
I can't look.
How far down is it?
Oh, about...
[Screaming]
That's it!
You go too, sir!
Goodnight!
No one shall wear my crown!
[Dog]
Terrible.
That's a terrible story.
What?
The baby died!
What do you mean, "what"?
Who said the baby died?
I didn't.
This is a luck child.
Oh.
No, no, the baby fell,
plummeting down,
dropping into the blackness,
the rocks beckoning.
Oh, yes, plunged downwards,
but the binding
catches on a jutting branch
and winds round,
pulling the baby up short,
before letting him down
gently on to
the shore with a plop.
Sand.
Soft.
Safe.
[Baby gurgling]
The evil chancellor
fared less well.
The sea had him.
Then the next morning,
the Griffin had a feast.
[Growling]
As for the cold king,
from time to time,
he felt a little bad,
a fleeting bad.
But soon he quite forgot
what he'd done
out of fear of a prophecy.
Besides, it's not long
and he's got
a baby of his own,
a little girl.
She seeks out
the one soft part
in his heart and touches it.
How he loves
his little darling.
And years go by,
10, 12, 15, 16...
The daughter
turns out a lovely.
A Princess talked of,
longed for.
And the offers! Hundreds!
But the king
doesn't want her married.
Oh dear me,
no, he's not going
to lose her in a hurry.
"Hands off,"
is what the king thinks,
"hands off all my lovelies!"
[Miller]
4!
[All chattering]
That's 4
for Nicholas.
Aye.
4 for you then, Nick.
Aye.
[Trumpet blowing]
All kneel
for his majesty, the king.
Your majesty.
I am in your region
inspecting harvests.
How goes it?
Fair, sire, good.
And the records?
Show his majesty
the book, son.
All entered, sir.
Your people sweat
for each ear of wheat
and each cob of corn.
And your majesty also needs
his tithes, of course.
Of course.
Otherwise we'd all be lords
and no king,
and then what?
Exactly.
Then what, indeed?
How come the boy is fair,
when you 2 are dark?
Ah, well.
I'm a foundling, sire.
He was a gift from god, sire.
We had no child of our own.
Found when?
Found where?
By the black cliffs, sire,
17 years since.
Washed up without a scrap
on his little body.
I see.
You're a lucky one, then.
That's what we call him,
sire: Lucky.
[King]
Lucky?
A boy like you
would do well at court.
Well, i-I'm needed here, sire.
Then you'll be missed.
Paper and pen!
I'll take the boy.
See, I'll write
him a royal warrant.
You take this to the queen.
She will welcome you
into our royal care.
This boy will want
for nothing
from this day forth.
[Birds chirping]
Hurrah for the king!
[Together]
Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!
[Storyteller]
Oh, a happy day, indeed!
The king can hardly breathe
for his thumping heart.
For this bright spark
must be the boy
born to claim his throne.
The luck child!
"Kill him," thumps his heart.
"Kill him! Kill him!
Kill him! Kill him!"
[Whimpering]
Now, between the mill
and the palace is a forest.
A man on foot
cannot fathom it.
Folk go in, few come out.
Foul things live there.
And lucky has no map,
he's lost.
He's been lost for hours,
and it's dark
and he can't see a thing.
Not even the hole
he's walking towards.
Oh!
[Screaming]
Where am I?
Oh dear, oh dear.
You've fallen in
among thieves, I'm afraid.
This is a robber's cave.
A terrible place.
Oh, then I must get out.
[Panting]
I'm on royal business.
See, uh, I have
a letter from the king.
I see. Oh dear.
Well, the problem is
when my sisters get back.
They're wild,
very violent. Oh dear.
Now, are you hungry?
Can I climb out?
Dear me, no.
You'd better eat something
while I think
of what to do with you.
I'm a cook.
[Laughs]
Well, the cook.
That's my, uh...
Well, it's goulash.
Oh, thank you.
Oh, dear me, no.
You can't leave now.
[Laughs]
I'm supposed to be lucky.
That's my name, lucky.
Oh!
This is very good.
Thank you.
Marvelous!
[Clatter]
Ha ha. That's it.
I'm the cook,
also the poisoner,
also the nastiest.
Now let's see
what's in your pockets,
lucky boy.
[Grunting]
Not a sausage.
A letter from the king, eh?
Well, this will
never reach the palace.
Oh no, your luck's
run out. Oh dear me, yes.
[Storyteller]
But listen, the little man
can't believe his eyes.
Terrible!
What a terrible letter!
This is terrible.
"Wife," it says,
"when you read this letter,
"order the bearer of it,
a youth named lucky,
"to be chopped
into 1,000 pieces.
"Do this without delay.
King."
That is disgusting!
Poor little fellow.
We'll soon see about this!
[Storyteller]
Now, he's also a forger,
this little man.
And full of fair play,
sits down
to write a new letter
before his sisters,
wild women,
get home
and slit the throat
of their sleeping guest.
[Birds chirping]
And so it was,
the next morning,
the luck child wakes
refreshed and restored,
with the castle
straight ahead of him.
"Very odd," he thinks.
But off he sets
without more ado.
"I have a letter
from his majesty,"
he cries at the drawbridge.
"A letter from his majesty,"
at the entrance to the court.
In he goes,
to find the queen
sitting with her daughter.
And a thing
happens straight off--boom!
The Princess looks at lucky,
and lucky looks
at the Princess,
and-- boom!--
That's it, love.
The queen, meanwhile,
astonished,
reads and rereads the letter.
Well, gracious me!
Hmph!
A boo to the king.
Boo!
And a hiss.
Hiss!
Picture him
on his journey home.
He gloats,
a sneer thins his lips.
He's savoring his cruel deed.
The luck child
in 1,000 pieces,
his letter ordered.
By now it would be done.
He's cheated fate.
He's cheated the prophecy.
A mile from the palace
he hears bells,
and more bells.
And then, looking up
to the battlements,
the wicked king
sees something.
He can't believe it.
How? How? How?
He howled, but no one
could hear him.
[Crowd cheering]
How?
You ordered it.
"Marriage,"
your letter said,
"on pain of death."
I ordered him to be chopped
into 1,000 pieces.
I have the letter.
1,000 pieces, it said.
I have savored them
the long journey home.
Look!
He seems a lovely boy.
Look, they're so happy.
I thought you'd been
to a fortuneteller.
[Storyteller]
The luck child
will one day be king.
Father!
We're so happy! Thank you.
[Lucky]
Your majesty,
forgive me.
I'd thought you
a cruel tyrant,
a blight on the poor,
but now you make me,
the humble peasant,
your son and heir,
and the happiest husband
there ever was.
And the golden feather?
Beg pardon?
The golden feather
from the Griffin,
do you have it?
No, sire.
Then you must fetch it.
Was it not understood
that my daughter
could not marry without it?
Father, that's impossible!
Why?
Because the Griffin
is a monster.
It eats people.
Yes, it won't be easy.
But then not every man
is fit to marry my daughter.
Very well!No!
Don't worry,
I'll come back.
No, no one
has ever come back.
She's right,
I'm afraid.
[Weeping]
We'll see.
[Storyteller]
And so he sets off,
the luck child.
"To the Griffin,"
he tells himself,
"to the Griffin."
It becomes a direction
when he has none.
A distance
when he knows none.
He strides on.
With each mile
the land gets poorer.
Green gives way to dust,
the black deserts
of the Griffin.
On and on he trudges until
one day he comes to a lake
in which no fish swim.
Hey, ferryman!
Will you take me across?
I go across,
forward and back,
ceaselessly,
with you or without you.
Then I'll join you.
[Oar creaking]
As you like.
I seek the Griffin.
Yes.
Am I near?
Over there.
What are those lights
on the shore?
Jewels. Riches.
No one brings them back.
I shall.
I shall come back.
Ah.
If you do perhaps you may
discover why I must continue
this weary way,
back and forth,
without ending.
For I'm weary and
sick to the soul.
I'll remember.
[Storyteller]
Each one who came,
the same tale.
"The Griffin please."
For love, for justice,
for fame, for fortune,
but always in the end
for the Griffin's supper...
Always in the end
terrible cries,
splintering bones,
the suck, suck, suck
of juices.
[Clattering]
Ah! Dear, oh dear.
What are you doing here?
What about your sisters?
Oh, they're here, too.
Yeah? Where?
Well...
Hard to be absolutely certain.
What happened?
The Griffin flew by the cave.
He was hungry.
Well, luckily
my cooking saved me.
But listen,
you must hide, dear boy.
He'll be here soon.
I need a feather
from his back--
the golden one.
His gold feather?
Thank god if you walk out
in a single portion.
Forget the gold feather.
Well, I made a solemn promise
to me wife.
You did?
Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear...
And I must also find out when
the ferryman can cease
his ceaseless crossing.
Hide under the table
and I'll do what I can.
Dear friend...
Well...
Quick! Quick!
[Loud rumbling]
[Wind howling]
[Crashing]
[Screeching]
[Sniffing]
My sniff, snuff, snaff,
manwhiff.
Of course you can smell
a man-- that's me.
No, snufflesnort other sort.
There's no one else here.
Now, are you hungry?
Mmm, my could eat a house.
[Laughs]
Of course you could.
Aar! Stop yap-yap!
Stink, stench,
stunk of manbits.
My not like.
[Groans]
Ok, food now.
[Clattering]
[Storyteller]
From underneath
the Griffin's table
the boy listens,
trying to smell
of nothing but bone,
of things rotted.
Oh dear,
oh dear, oh dear.
[Groans]
Oh!
[Exclaiming]
[Burping]
Oh!
Finished.
Good, good,
and now a little scratch?
Ah! Scritch-itch-scratch.
Ah!
[Giggling]
Ah!
[Groans]
[Screaming]
That was which-wouch!
I know.
Clumsy, I'm clumsy.
I scratched too hard.
I should stop.
No. Itch scritch-scratch.
All right.
Mmm! Wow!
[Both laugh]
Ohhh.
[Griffin screaming]
[Little man]
I-I'm sorry.
Oh dear, dear, dear,
dear, dear.
I'll be more careful.
I'll be, you know,
really careful.
[Roars]
My not like things pulled.
No, that's right,
y--you're a sensitive monster.
Uh! My not monster.
I mean a nice,
misunderstood
and brilliant
beastie.
[Screaming]
My bird!
My misunderstood bird.
My not beastie!
Of course you are. A bird.
A very nice bird.
Well, I should go,
back to where I came from.
To that dark, horrid cave.
Serves me right.
No!
Don't try and stop me.
I--I'll tell that old ferryman
to row me across.
Yes, he's outside now,
I expect, waiting
for a passenger.
Poor, old fellow
I wonder,
why he's always there.
Why can't he leave?
His curse de worst
and stay de same,
less someone take pole,
then someone
cursed de same way as him.
Simple.
So if someone took his pole,
they'd have to row
and he'd be free?
[Laughs]
So simple!
I should go and tell
the poor fellow.
I should take over.
Really, I should go now
and take over.
[Yawning]
No.
My like goulash
and itch scritch-
scratch-scratch.
[Laughs]
Oh, then you go to sleep, now.
Busy day ahead.
Eating people
and wreaking havoc.
[Laughing]
Snoozie woozie, now.
That's it. Snoozie woozie.
[Laughs]
[Storyteller]
And off
the luck child scurries,
clutching the golden feather,
scooping up jewels.
Straight home he wants to go.
Straight home to happiness.
I dare not think it possible
you found the answer.
But then you did come back.
No one has ever come back.
Well, I've come back,
and I have the answer.
The next passenger you have,
give him your oar,
and your luck will be his,
his freedom yours.
So simple.
So simple.
[Storyteller]
And for the first time
in years, centuries,
hope fires the ferryman.
A smile is forming
in his mind.
A tiny smile growing,
getting ready to be born.
[Oar creaking]
[Bells ringing]
[Man]
Hello!
He's back.
And he's got
the golden feather!
I've come back.
And I've got
the golden feather.
[Storyteller]
"I have done as you bid,"
he says.
And the king can do
nothing but agree
and give his blessing.
Then you have my blessing.
Though it cost him
in his bitter heart.
Then out comes the treasure,
out pop the king's eyes.
"Gold! Jewels!
"Oh, where are they from?"
And the boy answered him.
I took a ferry across the lake
to where the Griffin lives,
and on the other shore gold
lies where pebbles should,
emeralds where sand,
and where the sea breaks,
diamonds fall.
Is that so? So lucky.
[Storyteller]
And saying this,
the poison swilling his eyes,
souring his mouth,
the king vowed to go himself.
And that very night
he slipped away alone.
And set off in search of this
magic shore across the lake.
Come on, come on, come on,
can't we go any faster?
Oh yes, sir, there is a way.
[Storyteller]
"Take it," he says.
"Take it, take it."
So if you come,
one day, to a lake,
and there's an island,
and a ferry goes
back and forth,
rowed by an old, sad man,
turn around.
Griffins live there.
You may never
get off the boat.
For the ferryman
was once a wicked king
who ignored a prophecy,
whose heart was cruel.
And nature, my dears,
is a wise woman.
Who pays us back.
Tit for tat.
Hey!
Hmm?
The boy and the girl, did they
live happily ever after?
Oh yes, yes. Wonderful.
Very, very happy.
The boy, you see,
was a luck child!
[Fire crackling]