REVIEW: Guillermo Del Toro's "PINOCCHIO." Definitely not Disney... in a good way.

I'm not a huge fan of animation. Except for a few cherished childhood memories involving a singing cricket named Jiminy and a poor young cleaning lady turned princess (Cinderella), I left most cartoon images behind with "A Charlie Brown Christmas" save, perhaps, a few notable exceptions during the 1990s that mostly filled in for the then-absent Broadway film musical: Beauty and the Beast, Aladdin, The Hunchback of Notre Dame.

So it was of considerable interest when I read that one of my favorite directors, Guillermo Del Toro, was making a new version of Pinocchio using stop-action animation. Disney's 1940 version of the puppet who longed to be a real boy was the first movie I ever saw in the theater, so the first image I saw on the big screen was Jiminy Cricket singing "When You Wish Upon a Star." I still get a bit teary when I hear that cartoon cricket warbling his anthem of inclusivity and hope.

Del Toro's latest iteration of the puppet-turned-real-life-boy story isn't anything like Uncle Walt's 1940 version or even Robert Zemeckis' recent live-action update (also a Disney production starring Tom Hanks, no less), though all three have their fare share of darkness and despair, adventure and hope. Earlier versions, though, are directly tied to Carlo Collodi's The Adventures of Pinocchio, first published in 1881 in serial form in Italy's Giornale dei Bambini (Children's Magazine) and, two years later, as a book. Pinocchio is said to be the second-most translated book in the world, behind the Bible.

The original story, which focuses on themes involving the importance or truth and the consequences of dishonesty is powerful, if age-appropriately cheerful. The touching story of a puppet-turned-boy and the joy he brings to a humble, childless woodcarver named Geppetto, is gently told by Collodi and later, filmed with similar benign intentions by Disney and Zemeckis.

Del Toro's iteration evokes something completely different: a depth of sadness, an exploration of life and death, the futility of war and the evitability of loss are all folded into this retelling of the tale of a misshapen misfit that forces the audience to think, even ponder, about how flawed we all are. The familiar characters are all here, including Geppetto (though in this version we see him drinking to forget the loss of his 10-year-old son Carlo), the Cricket (here known as Sebastian - perhaps a nod to the Christian martyr who escaped death from the Diocletianic persecution multiple times), "Monstro" the whale (in the form of a vicious giant Dogfish), and the Fairy who appears as a kindly Wood Sprite and also as her more realistic sister (Tilda Swinton voices both characters).

It's what Del Toro does with the familiar that makes this Pinocchio more than worth your time to see. For example, we see the motivation behind Geppetto's desire to have a child: his 10 year-old son Carlo was killed by an errant aerial bomb accidentally dropped on their village near the end of World War I. Geppetto mourns his son for over 20 years and one night, in his grief, a drunken Geppetto creates an almost grotesque puppet who is named "Pinocchio" by the Wood Sprite when she brings him to life. Pinocchio is Italian for "pinolo," which means "pine nut" and here is a reference to the perfect pine cone Carlo finds and is bringing to Geppetto when the bombs strike, killing the young lad.

When he discovers a living breathing puppet, Geppetto is over the moon. Having young actor Gregory Mann provide the voice for both Carlo and Pinocchio makes the audio and emotional connection between the boy and the puppet even more heartbreaking and poignant. When a now overjoyed Geppetto sends his new son off to school, the naïve Pinocchio is deceived by a carny named Count Volpe and a monkey named "Spazzatura" (menacingly voiced by Christoph Waltz and Cate Blanchett, respectively). "Volpe" means fox in Italian and "spazzatura" means garbage or trash, appropriate names for both. When Geppetto finds out his new son canoodling w/lowlifes, he angrily pulls Pinocchio from Volpe's clutches. The struggle results in Pinocchio tumbling into the path of an oncoming car, killing him.

Pinocchio enters the "afterlife" and meets the Wood Sprite's sister who gives him a sobering lesson in morality: "The one thing that makes human life precious and meaningful, you see, is how brief it is." Pinocchio begs for immorality, but the Sprite warns him that he will only live to see everyone he loves die. Anxious to console a despondent Geppetto, Pinocchio makes a deal with the Sprite and returns to life, but there are consequences. He'd lost his legs in the automobile accident and a compassionate Geppetto lovingly repairs them. But the repaired wooden legs need bandages to stay in place, and they are visible, as every future injury to the boy will be. Every time Pinocchio "dies" he bears the wounds of his death for all to see.

When Pinocchio's indestructibility comes to the attention of one of Mussolini's podestas, Pinocchio is recruited to the Royal Italian Army. Desperate to save Geppetto of further grief, Pinocchio runs away to join the circus where his parody of Mussolini's politics (Del Toro is none too subtle here) leads to his second death but also begins the journey to his ultimate redemption.

I'll save the remaining plot twists and turns for those who are intrigued enough to invest two hours in this magnificent re-interpretation of a beloved childhood tale. If you follow Del Toro's movies, you know that he has a deep and abiding affection for "misfits," identifying himself as such and often recalling his own childhood where a chubby young man with thick glasses was content to sit in his room and read while his friends were outdoors playing.

I've often commented on the striking physical similarities between some of Del Toro's characters and the director himself. In The Shape of Water, the Creature who serves as a centerpiece for the film's plot (including its unconventional love story), might be Del Toro with its large, expressive eyes almost, but not quite, hidden behind thick goggles. In Pinocchio, Sebastian's large eyes are brightly lit, as are those of the Wood Sprite and her sister. Serving as Pinocchio's and the film's conscience, Sebastian (a cricket) functions in a dual role as both moral compass and symbol of life and death. By film's end, Pinocchio chooses to honor his tiny friend in a way befitting the gentle guidance Sebastian has provided. No matter where Pinocchio goes, Sebastian will be with him. This "wooden boy with the borrowed soul" carries the hope of everlasting life and the realities of a harsh and cruel world with him, along with the love he has found through Geppetto and trusted friends.

A review of this film would be remiss without mention of the breathtaking world Del Toro has created through stop-action animation. Using hundreds of animators and thousands of models, Del Toro and his team painstakingly created a world of surreal beauty, a kind of magical realism expressed through innovative anime. This film evokes more feeling, more heart than many live action films without manipulating the audience to feel something. It is visually stunning, a masterpiece of cinematic optics.

Told simply with its intentions clearly articulated, Del Toro's Pinocchio has depth and complexity that lift it out of the "children's movie" category. His strategic use of Catholic imagery, from the wooden crucifix Geppetto is carving for the church to the ethereal background of the afterlife and the heavenly glow of the world that surrounds Pinocchio, adds another dimension to the themes of eternal life and Pinocchio's initial belief that immortality is desirable.

I will be disappointed if Pinocchio isn't on the short list for Best Picture this year. In addition to the exquisite animation (a companion piece on the making of the film is available on Netflix for those who really want to get into the details in Del Toro's head), there is Oscar-winning composer Alexandre Desplat's haunting score and original songs, with lyrics by Del Toro. If "Ciao Papa" or "Better Tomorrows" (sung by Ewan McGregor, who also provides the voice of Sebastian), aren't nominated for Best Original Song, something's wrong with the Academy.

By film's end, a wiser Pinocchio comes to understand that "you never know how much time you have with someone until they're gone." This story of resilience, of coming to terms with life and how we live it, is one for the ages. "In this world, you get what you give," Sebastian tells Pinocchio, "Be exactly who you are." Words to live by.

If Del Toro's message seems overwrought or trite at times, it isn't. The director's genuine affection for misfits (many characters, like Spazzatura, are physically disabled), together with his understanding of how we are all flawed, gives him a powerful and truthful voice from which to examine life, death, and everything in between. There's a lot going on here, layers of ideas large and small, with enough symbolism and imagery to merit multiple viewings.

And so it is that we live our lives. Del Toro's childhood memory of Pinocchio (like me, Disney's film was an early cinematic experience for the director), left him with the dream of bringing his version of the story to film. In many ways, it seems that Del Toro is (again) telling us something about himself, another glimpse of the world through his eyes.

My memory of Pinocchio is forever connected to my aunt Helen, a gentle soul who only wanted love and happiness for her only niece. Del Toro's film is dedicated to his parents, whom he has said understood his passion for film and his connection to the misfit puppet who longs to be a real boy. There is no doubt that Del Toro's interpretation of Collodi's story is intertwined with his own life and world view. That topic may be the focus of a subsequent blog post.

Shortly before Pinocchio premiered, Del Toro's mother died, though she did see rough cuts of the movie. Was he saddened? No, the director has said. She knew what he was doing was a long-desired cinematic project come to life.

After all, "what happens happens. And then we are gone."