Review: “Pinocchio” is Too Wooden for a Soul
★★
Pinocchio is not a bad film, but I struggle to find anything good to say about it. As a remake, it is fairly loyal to the original film and best serves to remind you of the Walt Disney masterpiece you already love. Since the film is a beat-for-beat rehash of the original 1940 film, I will spare you the tedious plot summary as I’m pretty sure if you are reading this review, you know what happens in Pinocchio. But I will say it is a mediocre revival of the classic character rendered both lifeless and dull as he is corralled through underwhelming reprisals of his Greatest Hits. Halfway through, I considered backing out and watching the original Pinocchio instead. I trudged on through anyway. In the end, it felt like I was going through the motions, which I imagine is what it was like to make the film.
It would be easy to type up a review that makes light of Pinocchio’s wooden form in some sort of tongue n’ cheek attempt to juxtapose it with the wooden caliber of the film itself. But mind you, such a zinger would not be too far off the mark. Pinocchio, as a film, is as wooden as the pine the titular character is said to be carved of, and while it tries to recapture the magical charm of the original film, there is little magic (or charm) to be found here.
In other words, Pinocchio lacks a soul, in more ways than one. Whether of pine or flesh, Pinocchio never feels real, not in appearance nor as a living breathing character. Rather, Pinoke, as Jiminy Cricket sometimes refers to him as, looks more like plastic or rubber than wood, and seeing him walk and talk in “the real world” (which is mostly built by CGI) is no more convincing than seeing the character walk around Disneyland. In part, this is due to the decision to faithfully recreate the original 1940 character design with 3D animation. The resulting design — which is a little too faithful, a little too perfect in my opinion — lacks blemishes, any sense of texture or physical attributes to suggest that he is carved from wood. Rather, Pinoke looks more like a life-sized action figure than a wooden puppet that can move without strings.
But what Pinocchio lacks the most cannot be achieved in the design nor solely in the animation, but rather something deeper. A sense of motivation, a sense of true ambition, a sense that Pinoke pulls his own strings. Not only does he not look real, he doesn’t feel real inside. Pinocchio literally lacks a soul. But the problem goes even deeper than the performance of the character, but the conceptualization and ambition of the film itself, which is solely to remind you of, and thus capitalize on a film you already know by heart.
Of course, the film is not a shot for shot remake. But nothing meaningful is added to aspects of the film that needed expanding — namely Pinocchio’s relationships with his “father” Geppetto (Tom Hanks) and his “conscience” Jiminy Cricket (Joseph Gordon-Levitt, doing his best Cliff Edwards), both of which are vital to the story. Don’t get me wrong, it is a joy to see Luke Evans sing as the villainous Coachman, but I’d much rather have more scenes between Pinocchio and Geppetto to reinforce their father-son dynamic before Pinoke inadvertently sets out on his adventure, and that is what this remake is sorely lacking. It didn’t need extra songs, it needed more story, more heart. It shouldn’t matter if Pinocchio becomes a real boy in the end, he should feel like a real son to Geppetto regardless. But instead, he feels like a soulless puppet loosely connected to the woodcarver who made him. A soulless puppet, a soulless retread.
Pinocchio is directed by Robert Zemeckis, the masterful artisan behind the curtain of Back to the Future and Forrest Gump. I tend to mention to directors earlier in my reviews, but this is something of a contradiction. Pinocchio doesn’t feel like a Robert Zemeckis movie. It lacks his craftsmanship and personal touch. Rather a clue to who truly puppeteered, or should I say, imagineered the film can be found in Stromboli’s puppet show as his backdrop includes the Disney castle, fitting as the studio seems to be the true Stromboli here.
One such instance that seems imagineered by Disney happens in Geppetto’s workshop. The scene in question showcases the woodcarver’s assortment of cuckoo clocks which, as if Geppetto ordered from a Time Life collection in the ’90s, are individually themed to various Disney characters, including Donald Duck, Snow White, Simba, Woody from Toy Story and Zemeckis’ very own Roger Rabbit. The scene, of course, feels like a celebration of all things Disney, but its blatant, reference-heavy nature shatters the illusion of Zemeckis’ (or Disney’s) make-believe world.
Furthermore, I struggle to come up with a single moment in any other of Zemeckis’ films that is so heavy handed and caught up by references. Who Framed Roger Rabbit perhaps, but it is an intertextual meta-comedy and such things are organic to the universe and therefore, service the film. Whereas the cuckoo clock scene is random, inorganic to the world presented and doesn’t service the story. Rather, it seems inspired by brand synergy and algorithm-driven listicles and YouTube videos, and is so up in your face, it stops the film to say, “Hey! Look at me!” A director with Zemeckis’ experience would know the risk that such a cavalcade of cameos poses, which is to take the audience out of the film, and it is worth noting that such scenes are at home with the Mouse House in the age of Marvel, Star Wars and Disney Plus Days. So I am quick to believe the moment was the whimsey of some Disney producer or exec and not carved by Zemeckis’ hands. But this is pure conjecture. Alternatively, the scene could simply be a director having a good ole time, fun and fancy free, who knows? Either way, it breaks the fourth wall, and the film too, I suppose.
But the Roger Rabbit comparison is worth exploring further. Both films feature live actors navigating a mostly-animated universe comprised mostly of animated characters and a handful of random flesh and blood humans who don’t question the existence of talking foxes and walking puppets. One was made by a youthful Zemeckis during an era of box office successes; the other by a much older Zemeckis after a slew of box office disappointments. However, both films are intertextual, to a degree. Roger Rabbit uses your knowledge of animated characters and the flexible mechanics of cartoon universes to craft an inspired, satirical mystery, like Chinatown with Bugs Bunny. Pinocchio, on the other hand, relies on your knowledge of a beloved Disney classic to give you — the same exact film all over again but slightly different, with new tools and less dramatic flare. You could argue Roger Rabbit uses references in a natural way that enriches its overall experience, and you could argue the viewing experience of Pinocchio is like watching one big, two-hour reference to a film you’d might as well be watching anyway. One is a timeless gem in the filmmaker’s resume that has been remembered for 30 years; the other will already be forgotten by next Tuesday.
