Guillermo Del Toro’s ‘Pinocchio’ Carves a Beautiful Display of Grief and Acceptance

When 19th-century Italian author Carlo Collodi first penned his folk tale The Adventures of Pinocchio, he probably didn’t think it would be adapted more than 60 times. Some lean into the source material, and some stray far to embed their distinct stamp on the story. Here, in Guillermo del Toro’s Pinocchio, we get a closer look into the puppeteer and how craft played a vital role in overcoming grief.

The film opens with narration from Sebastian J. Cricket (Ewan McGregor), who we would consider the Jimminy Cricket of the story. We’re then introduced to Geppetto’s life pre-puppet. It’s 1916 during The Great War. A montage of Geppetto (David Bradley) and his son Carlo (Gregory Mann, who also voices Pinocchio) dances across the screen, and we gain deep insight into their father-and-son relationship. We follow their daily routine in their small Italian village. They are more than content; they’re happy. They have everything they need and, most importantly, each other. One day, Geppetto takes Carlo with him to work on the crucifix statue for the church. When a bomb falls from a plane flying overhead and strikes the church, Geppetto’s son Carlo is killed.

In Disney’s animated adaption of Pinocchio — one of the most notable to date — we don’t get much background into Geppetto’s life story. He’s a pretty happy puppeteer who wants a son. Expanding Geppetto’s story in this stop-motion adaptation moves the story past a child’s film and into a story that adults can connect to, exploring the depths of loss.

Geppetto becomes overcome with grief. His work slows. He stops eating. He’s come undone. And his spiral continues until one drunken night, he takes an axe to the pine tree he grew in honor of his son, Carlo. Filled with rage and sadness, Geppetto takes a heap of that tree and begins carving. He hammers and drinks. He chops and yells. He’s upset yet still artistically sane. He completes most of the puppet but leaves some unfinished and barely makes it to the stairs before the liquor takes him out.

From there, the story continues down a similar route. A Wood Sprite (Tilda Swinton) brings Pinocchio to life to fill Geppetto’s last days with joy and company so he’ll never be alone. And tasks Sebastian with steering Pinocchio in the right direction or at least giving it his best shot.

However, when Geppetto wakes and discovers that this wooden puppet is alive, he isn’t overcome with joy as we’ve seen before.

Before we go further, let’s pause to discuss the film’s craftsmanship. Stop-motion is the OG of animation. Each element of the film has to be manipulated frame by frame. The bond between the animator and the characters resembles the bond between Geppetto and Pinocchio in the movie itself.

The decision to create this film using stop-motion added a rugged realism that wouldn’t have been possible with other forms of animation. It’s textured, gritty, and flawed to perfection. The process is more time-consuming, yet the result is a beauty that viewers will be delighted to witness.

The film embodies Guillermo del Toro’s style as well. Quickly you sink into the vibe of his movies, and he even embedded throwbacks to his other films into the production. The semi-circular window in Geppetto’s workshop mirrors Elisa’s apartment window in Shape of Water. The stained-glass windows in the church are likened to the Fawn and the Pale Man from Pan’s Labyrinth. If you look closely, you’ll find other tiny treats from Nightmare Alley, Hellboy, Cronos, and the Devil’s Backbone.

The construction of Pinocchio is also striking. He’s unfinished, with one ear carved and the other not. He’s pure pine, and that wooden aesthetic carries throughout the film. He doesn’t wear clothes because he’s not a real boy. You can see Frankenstein’s influence on his appearance and behavior after he comes to life.

Initially, Geppetto is resistant to Pinocchio. He has experienced an insurmountable loss with the passing of his son Carlo. On that drunken night, he poured his rage, bitterness, and grief into that carving. He put those feelings into this puppet. And from it, a new beginning was born — a hope that could move him forward.

Instead, Geppetto is annoyed by Pinocchio, probably because Pinocchio keeps calling him Papa. From the moment he comes alive, we’re taken on a ride through the world from Pinocchio’s eyes. He’s discovering the world and learning what things are and how to use them.

Geppetto’s cold shoulder toward Pinocchio makes sense. He didn’t want to replace Carlo. And, if he loved Pinocchio, would that mean he was leaving Carlo behind? And yet, he’s so busy crying about his loss that he fails to realize how special it is that he has Pinocchio until it’s too late and Pinocchio is gone.

I won’t go into the rest of the story because the changes and additions should be experienced firsthand. But, the ending may surprise some expecting a grand “real” finale. The film takes a different turn to make the point that it isn’t about changing to adapt to the world around you but staying true to yourself and letting the world know and love you as you are. There is so much that could be said about this film, from the decision to only use wooden instruments in the soundtrack headed by Alexandre Desplat to the underworld’s violet hues. Not to mention Cate Blanchett voicing Spazzatura, the monkey.

But in the end, Guillermo del Toro’s Pinocchio is a masterful exploration of how art can move one from despair to hope. No, you can’t replace what you’ve lost. But, you can gain something you never thought you’d experience again — joy.

Rating: 4.5 out of 5 stars

Guillermo del Toro’s Pinocchio is now streaming on Netflix.