Review: Pinocchio (Guillermo del Toro, 2022)

Fig. 1 - Mastermind Guillermo del Toro drastically reimagines the 1883 fairy tale.

“Try your best, because that’s the best anyone can do,” says Sebastian J. Cricket, one of Pinocchio’s mentors in the film. This quote aptly encapsulates the moral of Guillermo del Toro’s Pinocchio (2022) (Fig. 1).  An adaptation of the 1883 tale, Pinocchio transports the story to 1930s fascist Italy, firmly under the thumb of dictator Benito Mussolini. The film tackles his fascist dictatorship, by examining both the physically violent effects of war and also the monocultural dictée that presupposes a fascist society – of which encompasses physiological death as well as the death of creative freedom and ingenuity.

This movie is one of three Pinocchio adaptions released in 2022. The first release this year (which went viral for its awkward voiceover) is a fully-animated Russian-American co-production starring Pauly Shore. The second is a CGI makeover of the 1940 Disney classic, a live-action-animation hybrid starring Tom Hanks as Gepetto. Del Toro’s feature takes the story to new heights and inspired contexts. It works as both a ferociously anti-fascist and anti-capitalist declaration and also a reflection on del Toro’s widely publicized career, setbacks and all.

Pinocchio marks del Toro’s first significant foray into stop-motion animation supported by co-director Mark Gustafson (The Fantastic Mr. Fox, 2009) and animation studios The Jim Henson Company and Shadow Machine. Not only does del Toro make his mark by utilizing stop-motion -- unlike the other 2022 adaptions that largely use CGI -- but he does so with an incredible amount of warmth. Del Toro’s puppets feel truly alive, much like the character of Pinocchio himself. The stop-motion models are crafted with an eye for detail, down to the spots on Gepetto’s elderly hands (Fig. 2). The animation itself is extremely fluid as well. This only emphasizes the uneasiness when something unnatural happens, like the Angel of Death’s unblinking eyes and immobile mouth, or Pinocchio’s head swiveling a full 360 degrees. The crowning stop-motion achievement, of course, must be given to Pinocchio himself. While other adaptions animate the puppet as a boy just like any other, del Toro revels in the truly bizarre aspects of the character: Pinocchio is a spindly, spider-y unpainted puppet, limbs constantly contorting into inhuman shapes. The film celebrates this strangeness and elevates it beyond just a shock factor.

Fig. 2 - The stop-motion animation models prove to be ornate pieces of artwork in and of themselves.

The usual supporting cast of characters appear in Pinocchio, albeit in substantially re-imagined variations. Gepetto (David Bradley) initially appears as a mean drunk, entirely displeased by Pinocchio’s existence. This marks a stark departure from the portly, kind-hearted father-figure he was in the 1940 Disney version. Sebastian J. Cricket  (Ewan McGregor) is also not so much a vessel for Pinocchio’s inner conscience, but rather a well-intentioned, but ultimately misguided, adult who needs to learn as much from Pinocchio as Pinocchio from him (Fig. 3).  Sebastian has few wise words, no musical numbers until the end credits, and leads Pinocchio astray. Tilda Swinton provides a suitably uncanny performance as both an angelic Wood Sprite and the Angel of Death. Ron Perlman and Christoph Waltz voice the main villains of the piece, the fascist soldier Podestà and the circus owner Volpe, respectively.

Fig. 3 - Ewan McGregor voices Sebastian J. Cricket.

Gregory Mann and David Bradley shine as standout voice talents. While the stop-motion puppets and animation veer somewhat towards caricature – just wait until you see how Pinocchio depicts Mussolini! – Mann and Bradley ground the film, providing texture to the sonic landscape, a grit against the otherwise beautiful animation. Composer Alexandre Desplat (Isle of Dogs, 2018 and The Shape of Water, 2017) brings a charming and gentle score, even in moments of intensity and darkness. It’s as if he imagines that each note might be the last one you may ever hear, so it might as well be a friendly hand into the afterlife.

Death is a recurring fixation in this movie, a stark contrast to the reward of human life that is consistently present in other adaptions like Disney’s.  In these adaptions, the reward only comes after Pinocchio proves himself to be decent and truthful. But as we sit through del Toro’s version, it becomes clear that his Pinocchio is not particularly lovable. Besides Pinocchio’s Lovecraftian physicality, he is a wild child, overridden with an almost innate sense of rebellion. With the film living in the long shadow of the 1940 Disney classic, I struggled to imagine how this version of Pinocchio could eventually become a ‘real boy.’ How might he learn the virtues of truth, hard-work, and discipline?

The movie itself becomes defiant on its own when it makes it very clear that these Disney virtues have no place in the del Toro version of Pinocchio. Rather, the virtue that the film encourages is resistance itself. Del Toro understands resistance not as an arbitrary contrariness, but rather as a vessel to question what is otherwise the given, the supposed ‘natural’ default. Pinocchio is commanded to attend school by the fascist Podestà, and Pinocchio is taught that work is necessary to earn money by Gepetto. These things that help organize our society – like school and work – stifle individuality, our creativity, our natural impulses that make us who we are, according to Pinocchio (both the film and the character).

One can assume that Pinocchio is just as much a deeply personal film to del Toro as it is a contemporary twist on a fairy tale. Del Toro’s filmography shows that the director has found the bright innocence that always exists, regardless of the darkness of the times. In this way, Pinocchio has much more in common with his other work like The Devil’s Backbone (2001)  and Pan’s Labyrinth (2006) than any of the other Pinocchio adaptations released in 2022.

A Google search on Guillermo del Toro reveals the undeniable successes of his career – arguably, peaking with the Academy Award for Best Picture for 2017’s The Shape of Water – and then, more tantalizingly, the many public disappointments and outright losses. Tens of scripts and features never got properly produced. Perhaps this phenomenon is not entirely uncommon for name-brand directors, but del Toro’s “failures” seem to capture the imagination more captivatingly than most. Take for example, his much talked about, yet never produced, adaption of Lovecraft’s In the Mouths of Madness; the never-to-be-seen Hellboy III; or the years-long preproduction on The Hobbit (which was only to be scrapped, with director Peter Jackson taking over reigns at the last minute). In some ways, it seems these unseen features capture the imagination of viewers in more potent ways than the films that del Toro does eventually distribute. They are a testament to the idea that del Toro could be seen as innovative, but simply cannot finish a script.  

Fig. 4 - Count Volpe presents Pinocchio with his performing contract.

Pinocchio allows del Toro himself to make a decisive statement. He reorients the public perception of these projects not as “failures” or “unproduced projects”, but rather as victories in-and-of themselves. Each work-in-progress represents the merits of forging on in the face of capitalist demands: to face the four-quadrant market, to ensure bold profit margins, to do something predictable and easily marketable. Pinocchio refuses all these demands, just as del Toro’s career has consistently resisted them. The titular little wooden puppet eschews these institutional beliefs in favor of something more organic, more naïve, more hopeful. It’s not hard to imagine that Volpe – a circus ring owner who exploits Pinocchio for money and only allows him to perform what he wants – could stand in for any number of studio head executives asking del Toro to deliver something bankable (Fig. 4).

The film takes ‘try your best’ to its maximal application: try your best to push the medium and craft, try your best to tell this story everyone already knows. Try your best to be kind, try your best to imagine something new. And oh boy, does del Toro truly do the best anyone could have done.

Guillermo del Toro’s Pinocchio is destined to become a holiday classic. Its strange alchemy of frightening scenarios, heartwarming messaging, and just plain gorgeous animation finds company alongside other cult winter films, such as The Muppet Christmas Carol (1992) or The Nightmare Before Christmas (1993). While perhaps some moments of Pinocchio veer into territory a little too dark for extremely young children, the film will capture the imagination of young and mature viewers alike. It inspires all to celebrate who they are, not who society expects them to be.

Guillermo del Toro’s Pinocchio premieres on Netflix on 9 December 2022.

**Article published: December 9, 2022**

Biography

Jackson Wright has an M.A. in Media Studies from University of Texas-Austin, where his graduate thesis report focused on representations of diasporic masculinities in the films of John Cho and Steven Yeun. Currently, he is based in the San Francisco Bay Area, working as a publishing professional and a live musician.