Guillermo del Toro’s Pinocchio review: a stunning reinterpretation of a classic

This review was originally published in connection with the premiere of Pinocchio by Guillermo del Toro at the BFI London Film Festival 2022. It was updated and re-released for the film’s Netflix debut.

From the opening images of Pinocchio by Guillermo del Toro, it’s obvious this is a del Toro movie — and not just because of the possessive title. He’s a filmmaker with a visual signature as strong as Tim Burton or Wes Anderson, albeit one who isn’t as formally hardened, yet has the ability to adapt and surprise. With PinocchioLike both directors, del Toro turns to stop-motion animation, which allows him to maintain the texture of his live-action work while controlling the look of each individual element in the frame.

But the film’s success is about more than looks. What’s surprising about that Pinocchio is how personal it feels for del Toro, despite sharing direction with Mark Gustafson, even though his shooting overlaps with that of nightmare alley, although the work of its creation is carried out by teams of artisans spread over three continents. This Netflix animated film could be it most del toro movie since Pan’s Labyrinth; it is certainly one of the best since, and as distinctive as any of his English-language works.

what it is not is something like the timeless 1940 Walt Disney film, or its recent lifeless remake, or one of the two Italian live-action takes starring Roberto Benigni, or one of the dozens of other attempts to adapt Carlo Collodi’s 1883 book. Extraordinarily, it is the first in stop motion and thus the first in which Pinocchio, the wooden puppet boy who has come to life, is played by a real puppet. Additionally, del Toro (who co-wrote the screenplay as well as the lyrics for a handful of songs) takes some key passages and themes from Collodi, discarding even more than Disney, and shifting the story to the mid-20th century. He expands them with many of his own key motifs, particularly from the horror tales The Devil’s Backbone and Pan’s Labyrinth: Europe between the wars, the specter of fascism, the horrors of childhood, the land of the dead and the meeting point of the monstrous, the human and the sublime.

In this tale, Geppetto the humble woodcarver (David Bradley) has a beloved human son, Carlo, who dies in a World War I bombing. Years later he creates Pinocchio (Gregory Mann), not on a whim, but in a rather wild and frightening fit of drunken grief with more than a touch of Frankenstein to. Pinocchio is carved from a pine tree that grew from a cone that Carlo collected and was home to Sebastian J. Cricket (Ewan McGregor), a pompous insect narrator. Cricket witnesses a stern, angelic forest sprite (played by Tilda Swinton, who else) brings Pinocchio to life. But he still crawls back to his home in the wooden boy’s heart to live.

This Pinocchio is questioning, reckless and impulsive – a far cry from the dutiful Carlo. Hours after coming to life, he whirls through Geppetto’s workshop in a mad whirl, his scrawny limbs twitching and twisting, smashing everything he touches. It’s adorable and also slightly menacing. Pinocchio is raw and unfinished, with nails and twigs still sticking out of him, clumsy movements, and chaotic demeanor. But unlike most of the narrators of this story, del Toro has no interest in fixing these imperfections.

Pinocchio challenges every symbol and situation that del Toro throws at him. “Why don’t people love him and me?” he asks, gazing at a wooden Christ in the local church. Count Volpe (Christoph Waltz), a greedy ringmaster, and the Podestà (Ron Perlman), a fascist official, both try to get the gullible puppet to serve their interests. But where the wooden boy goes, anarchy usually follows: into the presence of Il Duce himself, Mussolini, or into the belly of a huge, monstrous dogfish, or into an afterlife tomb where bare-chested rabbits play cards.

There’s a lot going on here. It’s a chaotic, episodic scheme for a movie, and the filmmakers don’t hit every target they aim for. This isn’t a children’s film, although it does have the mannerisms of one at times (and adventurous kids can get as much out of it as everyone else, if not more). In the later stages, elements of satire, parable, creature feature, dark fairy tale and sweet sentimentality rub against each other, not always harmoniously. But many of its threads are pure amusement, like the rivalry between Pinocchio and Count Volpe’s monkey puppeteer, Sprezzatura. There’s more to this cunning, grotesque beast than meets the eye (and that’s before you realize its wordless screeches and yelps are the work of none other than Cate Blanchett).

Pinocchio is also a feast for the senses, even by del Toro’s gluttonous standards. There is a rich, melodic, romantic score by Alexandre Desplat (The shape of the water). There is exquisite vocal work, especially from Bradley (the veteran). game of Thrones and Harry Potter character actor) as the irascible Geppetto, and McGregor, who nails all the biggest laugh lines and whose voiceover does so much to acidify and hold this sometimes awkward film together.

And there’s the animation, which is being produced by ShadowMachine at studios in the US, UK and Mexico. It’s an incredible spectacle of a kind that CG and even hand-drawn animation can’t match: rich, tactile, somehow intimate even in its greatest moments. The puppets as you can expect from the creator Pan’s Labyrinth‘s Pale Man, are variously sinister, eerie, grotesque, delightful and sad creations and always unforgettable. The screen is always saturated with light, color and detail, and the animators stage amazing coups of action and size. But what remains are the gentlest of gestures: the way Geppetto runs his long, worn fingers across a blanket, or how Pinocchio’s expression changes in the wood grain around his eyes.

There is no doubt that technically and artistically this is one of the greatest works of stop motion, a rare and otherworldly art form. In his stubbornly practical world of rubber and clay, paper and paint, joints and wires and levers, this is an undertaking as ambitious as avatar. But del Toro’s greatest achievement is that all the artistry doesn’t overwhelm the artistry. It’s a stubborn, wild and tender film that gets lost at times but finds a very moving state of grace in the end.

Pinocchio by Guillermo del Toro now streaming on Netflix.