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Press releases can’t help but warrant skepticism: Hyperbole independent of actual experience with the object or event under discussion should always be viewed with a jaundiced eye. Yet the public relations materials that preceded “Pinocchio,” the new film co-directed by Guillermo del Toro and Mark Gustafson, are notably different and, I think, indicative of the distinctive flair that marks any project Mr. del Toro puts his hand to.
While there’s the usual stuff, such as a listing of cast and crew members, the plot synopsis, statements from the filmmakers, there’s also “The Eight Commandments of the Animation Bible.” Come again?
Messrs. del Toro and Gustafson and the 40-some animators assembled for the film set down their own set of proscriptions before getting to work. The first commandment? “Animate Silence.” Down the list we learn that “animation is spatially symphonic” and that “throwaway physical truths” such as cleaning one’s nails — should be incorporated as a means of “seeking life.”
Life is, of course, what we should expect of any work of art, and Messrs. del Toro and Gustafson and their crew have done an admirable job in generating it. Make that more than admirable: “Pinocchio” is something apart, an achievement of rare depth and splendor, an effusion of creative initiative that combines craft and spirit in a way that is indelibly cinematic and just as indelibly rooted in human experience. It helps immeasurably that the film, done in stop-motion with hand-carved puppets, is blessedly absent the slick contingencies of CGI.
Not everyone will like it. Walt Disney’s 1940 version of Carlo Collodi’s children’s book looms hard in our collective pop consciousness. (The same can’t be said for the studio’s recent live-action version.) Remakes and adaptations of beloved or revered sources are an inherently uphill task. Precedent can be as much of an obstacle as an inspiration. Just ask Mr. del Toro, who had the chutzpah to remake “Nightmare Alley,” a seamy near-classic noir that all but capsized Tyrone Power’s career. But, then, Mr. del Toro did right by “Nightmare Alley,” and he does the same here. Maybe better.
Be advised: This isn’t your parents’ “Pinocchio.” True enough, the Disney version has its share of disturbing moments, not least the ultimate fate of “stupid little boys” on Pleasure Island. Yet Mr. del Toro’s metier, it should be remembered, is the horror film, and there are scenes in his picture that are genuinely unsettling. Among them is the moment in which our wooden hero skitters to life, not to mention the scene in which Pinocchio is crucified.
The legerdemain of fairy tales, particularly their overriding sense of moral comeuppance, has always figured heavily into Mr. del Toro’s aesthetic. The story of a marionette that comes to life through supernatural means can’t help but carry a lesson about the limits, as well as the potentialities, of an individual’s behavior. “In this world, you get what you give” is a nostrum that plays out with a sobriety that Uncle Walt would never have let out of the writers’ room.
Mr. del Toro, who adapted “Pinocchio” with veteran screenwriter Mathew Robbins, changes the story’s venue to early 20th century Italy. The Great War is a pivotal plot point, as is the rise of fascism. Benito Mussolini, transformed here into a diminutive buffoon, is a significant player. Catastrophic world events have long fascinated Mr. del Toro — “The Devil’s Backbone” took place during the Spanish Civil War, “Pan’s Labyrinth” during World War II — and he doesn’t employ them lightly. “Pinocchio” may be a children’s film, but it isn’t childish.
A question that will arise is whether “Pinocchio” is, in fact, a children’s film. Like, say, “Babe: Pig in the City” or “Isle of Dogs,” Messrs. del Toro and Gustafson have made a film that doesn’t just stray outside the conventions of children’s films, but makes a concerted point of doing so. My hunch is that parents will fret over its appropriateness while their kids will relish, and even thrill to, its extremities.
In that regard, the filmmakers have a leg up when it comes to understanding children. Their “Pinocchio” is a treat whose menacing byways shouldn’t obscure an inherent and abiding gentleness.
(c) Mario Naves
This review was originally published in the December 11, 2022 edition of The New York Sun.
Too Much Art 