Guillermo del Toro’s Pinocchio is a compelling and invigorating adaptation of the old tale, combining magical fantasy with a healthy dose of history. Familiar with creating his style in both the fantasy and horror genres, Del Toro applies that same imagination to this stop-motion animated motion picture with co-director Mark Gustafson. Gustafson may not be as familiar, but his contribution is equally crucial—his effort is what makes Del Toro’s vision a reality in a rich and heavily thought-out way.
Set in fascist Italy during World War II, this version takes a very different path from the well-known Disney adaptation. Instead of softening the edges, it leans into the darker themes found in Carlo Collodi’s original novel. The story begins with Geppetto, a heartbroken woodcarver mourning the loss of his son Carlo after an aerial bombing. In his sorrow, he fells a tree that began as a pine cone planted on Carlo’s grave and makes a puppet out of it. That puppet—Pinocchio—is brought to life by an enchanted forest spirit, and what ensues is an adventure replete with magic, suffering, and surprising lessons.
This Pinocchio is not about much more than the back-from-the-dead transformation of a puppet into a real boy. Deep inside, though, it’s a strong story about love, loss, and learning to love people for who they are. One of the best characters in this movie is Sebastian J. Cricket, played by Ewan McGregor, who acts as Pinocchio’s conscience and voice of the tale. Pinocchio’s odd talent for immortality puts an extra spin on the proceedings, as he keeps finding himself in the presence of Death—played with otherworldly serenity by Tilda Swinton—between escapades with a grasping circus operator named Count Volpe and government officials who view his bizarre powers as a means to win the war.
Virtually, the animation is like nothing else. Instead of striving for shiny or hyper-realistic artwork, the film possesses a homemade, rough-around-the-edges aesthetic that is intimate and breathing. Pinocchio’s splintered wooden arms and legs and his expressive, slightly clumsy movements add to the character’s realism and appeal. Del Toro’s live-action experience is clear here—he brings emotional depth to the animation that makes the characters feel present, although they’re made of wood and string.
The voice talent is excellent. Gregory Mann brings wonder and naivety to Pinocchio, and David Bradley brings heartbreak and tenderness to Geppetto. Alexandre Desplat’s score ties everything together with gentle themes and innovative songs that add warmth and lightness to counteract the film’s more somber moments.
Del Toro’s Pinocchio stands out in what it’s willing to challenge about conventionally held lessons and institutions of authority. This isn’t a tale about conforming or pursuing an ideal. Rather, Pinocchio is taught that the powerful aren’t necessarily correct and that he isn’t required to become someone else to deserve love. That’s a powerful message, one that, when delivered amidst the unique visual style of the film and an emotionally charged narrative, results in Guillermo del Toro’s Pinocchio being a memorable experience, both dark and lovely, and completely unforgettable.
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