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"In spite of himself, the native must be helped."

They say we don't know what we are capable of until our limits are tested. No film has illustrated this more aptly than Phillip Noyce's incredible Rabbit-Proof Fence, a heart-shattering true story of two aboriginal girls who trek more than 1500 miles after being kidnapped by the Australian government. I pause here, attempting put into words the level at which the movie affected me. Both the plot and Noyce's approach are simplicity itself, but the whole of the film is more than simple, it's primal, tapping into our own instinct for survival, and our innate sympathetic reaction towards those unjustly threatened.

The opening title cards provide some needed historical context for what is really an archetypical story. In the 1930s, Australia was dealing with the "problem" of what to do with its natives, its judgments clouded by fierce racism and a terminal superiority complex. The Office of the Protector of Aborigines was created, making its inhabitant the legal guardian of all aboriginal children, in particular the "half-castes," the ones with native mothers and white fathers. Law dictates that these children be taken from their families and be forcibly introduced into the "civilized world" at a facility that trains them to become mannered servants and farmhands.

Three of these half-castes are sisters Molly (Everlyn Sampi) and Daisy (Tianna Sansbury), and their cousin Gracie (Laura Monaghan). In a scene that reminded me, in its bone-chilling cruelty, of a similar one in A.I. Artificial Intelligence, they are separated from their mother and grandmother, thrown in the back seat of a car and driven off to the Moore River Native Settlement, to be integrated into "society" by nuns and schoolmarms.

They escape, run off at the sight of an impending thunderstorm that, the older Molly hopes, will cover their tracks. They begin their journey along the rabbit-proof fence, eluding Moore River's expert tracker, scrounging food from their surroundings or from the occasional kindly farmer. (The fence, by the way, is the longest man-made structure in the world, erected to keep rabbits from ravaging the farms.) Meanwhile, the Protector, played by a sneering Kenneth Branagh, resolves to spare no expense in recapturing the girls, what with the reputation of his office at stake.

At 94 minutes, Rabbit-Proof Fence is trim and spare, which makes it all the more effective. This is exactly the kind of movie I can imagine Terrence Malick stretching to three hours, with flora and fauna galore; Noyce, who comes to us from mainstream blockbusters like Patriot Games and The Bone Collector, resists the temptation to stuff the screen with fabricated existential "significance." The storytelling's disarming purity has significance of its own.

I cannot easily recall another time when I rooted so fervently for a character, or for a group of characters. I wished with every fiber of my being that Molly, Daisy, Gracie would escape, spite their pursuers, return home and perhaps deliver a swift kick to Kenneth Branagh's groin. There is little moral ambiguity here; the movie is working on an entirely different level, one of raw emotion.

The final scenes wield a staggering power, reducing me and some of my compatriots to tears. There are no shocking revelations, nor startling images of horror, just an astonishingly moving statement of human resilience, and human foolishness. Rabbit-Proof Fence is not interested in messages or platitudes, and the racism in its story isn't presented as an obstacle but as a fact of life. No one makes any inspirational speeches a la Denzel Washington, and we get the feeling that they wouldn't do any good anyway.

The film is anchored by three tremendous performances from the three girls, who are the culmination of a long and strenuous search for aborigines who could convincingly play the parts. Everlyn Sampi is particularly good, her character heartbreakingly stoic in the face of danger and desperation.

Phillip Noyce's masterpiece deals brilliantly with emotional paradox, portraying hope within bleakness, courage out of cowardliness, stark simplicity in the midst of turbulent politics. And so I cried from pride and shame, from hope and terrible sadness. Rabbit-Proof Fence is a rare and complete triumph, one of the year's best films.