Guillermo del Toro's Pinocchio

Guillermo del Toro created skilled special effects makeup for Mexican films for decades before his name became instantly associated with spooky wonder. Even though he has a highly regarded body of work as a director, his monstrous creations still stand out from those solely conceived as digital confections by virtue of their tangible handiwork.

In "Pan's Labyrinth" and "The Shape of Water," Del Toro's creatures appear as separate entities in Doug Jones's body. They occupy space, respond to light, have intricate textures, and interact with human actors in roles. However, despite how sophisticated their arrangement may appear, they adhere to cinema's longstanding tradition of creating imaginative worlds in front of the camera through practical ingenuity.

Del Toro's decision to choose stop-motion for his first animated film was obvious and perfectly appropriate given his lifelong dedication to bringing his fantasies to life. His "Pinocchio" is a beautiful example of how story and technique come together to form a coherent philosophical unit. This technique takes advantage, frame by frame, of the irreplaceable quality of human touch in a story about imperfect fathers and sons.

This version of Carlo Collodi's 19th-century fable, written by del Toro and co-screenwriter Patrick McHale (creator of the miniseries "Over the Garden Wall") transports the characters initially just a few years into the future to the early 1900s, as the Great War ravages Europe. However, it is no less moving or disarming than previous animated versions. Chipper woodworker Geppetto (David Bradley), a "model Italian citizen" to the townspeople, and his 10-year-old son Carlo (Gregory Mann), an obedient boy who meets all of his father's expectations, reside in the tranquil countryside.

But a bomb, similar to the one that fell on the orphanage in "The Devil's Backbone" and took Carlo from Geppetto, destroying his once idyllic outlook, is cruel stunt from heaven. Ewan McGregor plays Sebastian J. Cricket, the pompous insect who narrates the tragedy and is initially only interested in recounting his accomplishments. Geppetto carves a puppet from a pine tree near Carlo's tombstone in a drunken stupor, which plays out with the uncanniness of a "Frankenstein" movie, still grieving years later, with Mussolini in power.

The Wood Sprite, played by the always-attractive Tilda Swinton, is a new take on the Blue Fairy that resembles an angel from the Old Testament, similar to the Angel of Death in "Hellboy II: The "Glad Army" Del Toro's interest in the otherworldly forces that influence mortals' paths on Earth, as well as a singular vision of the afterlife that is distinct from modern Christianity, are exemplified by this winged figure and the enticing chimera that represents Death later in the story, which is also played by Swinton.

Sebastian is given Pinocchio's moral guidance in exchange for a wish, and the fantastical do-gooder tells him, "In this world, you get what you give." "I try my best, and that's the best anyone can do," the cricket responds. In order to avoid repeating fairytale platitudes based on impossible rectitude, Del Toro and McHale feature a number of witty refrains similar to these. Instead, they advocate for the wisdom of forgiving oneself for past mistakes because our lives are written between successes and failures. Cinematic puppetry meticulously executed precisely how the illusion of stop-motion animation occurs in between the frames that remind us of what we are witnessing.

Del Toro and co-director Mark Gustafson, who honed his skills with Claymation master Will Vinton, used figures with mechanical visages that require delicate manipulation from the animators for a slightly less immaculate result in movement, but one that makes the hand of the artists known. This is in contrast to the face replacement technology that some studios like Laika use to achieve nuance in the performances of the stop-motion puppets.

Every aspect of the characters who live in this gloomy yet whimsical world is exquisitely crafted, and one cannot help but be impressed. Geppetto's individual, minuscule strokes of genius can be seen in every hair strand on his head, the wrinkles in his weathered artisan hands, and the fabric of his clothes. The design of Pinocchio gives the impression that he is just an element, with the organic blemishes made of real wood, the fact that he is not dressed, and that he has a face that is so cute it makes you want to laugh and a wild hairstyle. This may be the character's most realistic portrayal to date. The film finds its soul in the breathtaking dedication of those in charge of the production design, costumes, and construction of both large and small sets.

However, despite Pinocchio's innocence—he sings about every object he comes across as an amazing discovery at the beginning—he has an abrasive side to his personality that is in line with the unfavorable aspects of children's behavior. Given that Catholic churchgoers believe it to be sorcery, Geppetto not only is not immediately accepting of his new child, but he also hopes to mold him into Carlo.

Pinocchio, on the other hand, is born without the human condition, so he only follows the rules to get his father's approval. Del Toro is a gentle advocate for the marginalized, especially those whose appearance, culture, or worldview separate them from the majority. In this wooden boy, he discovers a living and talking symbol for the indomitable power of nature, chance, and the unpredictability of the things that can make our days better even if we didn't expect them to.

Personal relationships are used to examine fascism, a perilous ideology that mocks uniqueness while demanding submission. All of the fathers in "Pinocchio" participate in the absurd control dynamic by refusing to accept their sons for who they are instead of who they want them to be: Podesta, played by Ron Perlman, is a government official who is responsible for disciplining his child, Candlewick, played by Finn Wolfhard; the evil puppeteer Count Volpe (Christoph Waltz) and the way he treats Spazzatura, his baboon sidekick, and even Tom Kenny, portraying Mussolini as a father figure for an entire nation, cleverly ridiculed him.

Similar servitude is the goal of organized religion, which uses our mistakes as a reminder of our unworthiness and the need to follow its ancient teachings. The godly figure of a wooden Jesus on the cross looks down on its sinful flock.

Despite its criticism of Catholicism, "Pinocchio" by del Toro and Gustafson is still a striking spiritual experience. Its emphasis on the tangible, on what we can see and feel right now, in the here and now—all flaws—represents the idea that the precious glimpses of the divine we create from the wreckage of personal and collective disasters are more important than flawless accomplishments in measuring our brief time on this planet. We regain our will to continue, despite the sorrow that comes with our physical constraints.

Pinocchio, who is unable to die for a while, receives a lesson from the masterfully planned narrative about how mortality is both a blessing and a curse. Both Carlo and Pinocchio are narrated by Mann, and Swinton gives life to Death and the Wood Sprite. This hints at a distinct duality between what was but is no longer and what was but is now. Two sides of the same coin remind us that loving is a burden that is worth carrying, that life is a struggle that is worth dying for, and that we can find happiness with others like us in the cracks of everything we think makes us a misfit.

Sebastian casts a loving, life-affirming spell with the screenplay's unassumingly poetic final line, noting that even the artists behind this production will one day also pass away; this phrase is applicable to the entirety of the piece. Only their tales will live on.

"Pinocchio," a wondrously moving film, becomes del Toro's masterpiece, channeling his interests and beliefs that have been in his work for a long time but given a new, luminous gravitas. Even though calling "Pinocchio" by Guillermo del Toro an impeccable masterpiece is a fair description, knowing that this is one of the greatest incantations of the art of filmmaking is contrary to its ethos.