Few filmmakers have had their entire careers defined by the quality of possessing seemingly infinite imagination than Guillermo del Toro, who has made a name for himself as one of the true contemporary speculative auteurs, spending decades carefully developing a series of films that draw on his admiration for fantasy and science fiction, which fuel nearly every one of his productions, even those that don’t quite fit into the confines of either genre, but yet are still inspired by their major tenets. He is the rare kind of filmmaker whose next project we can never predict, but once it is revealed what he is working on, it makes perfect sense almost immediately. When it was announced that he would be directing his own adaptation of Pinocchio, the anticipation almost immediately reached a fever pitch, since this is the precise kind of story that has been so foundational in his development as an artist, both narrative and aesthetically. He works alongside co-director Mark Gustafson in adapting the classic novel, remaining as close to Carlo Collodi’s original vision as possible, rather than surrendering to the more sanitized, child-friendly version that has become the default in representations of this century-old masterpiece of literature, and in the process produces one of his most astonishing works, a daring and beautifully complex fantasy that touches on many of the themes that previous adaptations intentionally elided, and gradually draws our attention to the hidden meaning that was entirely overlooked in other versions of this story, which adds depth and nuance to a work of literature we all thought we knew, but clearly didn’t realize could be subjected to such a masterful subversion of both form and content, which is a credit both to del Toro’s endless imagination, and the spirit of pure artistry that inspired the creation of this film, which is by far the best version of this story committed to film to date, which may seem hyperbolic, but is something that I think will only be ratified over time.

Something that must be acknowledged is a simple fact that Pinocchio is a story that has been adapted far too many times – this year alone, we have seen two other adaptations of the novel, both of which were lacklustre at best, absolute disasters at worst. The film industry seems incapable of going a decade without revisiting the story in some way, whether through direct adaptations or works inspired by them. Considering that this is a novel that has been subjected to so many varying interpretations to the point where the field is quite saturated, we have to appreciate the fact that del Toro had quite a challenge ahead of him. It wasn’t a case of determining whether he was up to the task of telling this story (few narratives are more tailor-made to his sensibilities than this one), but rather seeing how he was going to make it different, which was part of the anticipation – even for his most obvious works, del Toro infuses them with an element of surprise, where we can’t predict many of the ideas that will eventually form the foundation of his works. The most important decision he and the rest of his team made was to completely abandon the conventions set by the previous adaptations (which all seem to be paying homage to the original 1940 Disney version, which was the gold standard for this story until del Toro’s version, which somehow manages to improve on that masterpiece), and instead go in their own direction, signalling a radical change of pace – the bones of the story are still there, and it follows the same general structure, but there are additions that enrich the narrative, and elisions that make sense, especially since del Toro and Gustafson were trying to focus on the darker aspects of the story, keeping more with Collodi’s original vision, while not entirely leaving the sense of childlike wonder that has always been a very important element of the story behind, instead finding ways to factor it into the film. It’s an ambitious and very effective approach that allows this to stand as its own work, rather than inviting needless comparisons to other versions, which seems to be the overall intention.

Two elements have always fueled del Toro’s career as a filmmaker – imagination and pushing artistic boundaries. He is not someone who actively seeks out ways to reinvent cinema (and no one seems to hold as much reverence for the past masters as him), but rather his approach has always been to experiment in ways that challenge conventions without being too experimental. He operates within well-defined genres and art forms, and depends on the previous works that inspired him to guide his construction of these imaginative, powerful stories that draw on his own fondness for the more abstract stories that influenced him in his younger years. Pinocchio is the perfect convergence of all of these ideas, functioning as a work that sees him take on a story that is essentially the epitome of childlike fantasy, and constructing it in an artistically resonant way. We’ve spoken on a few occasions about the brilliance of stop-motion animation, and how these are notoriously difficult film to take, since they are time-consuming and require a meticulous attention to detail, which is often seen as unnecessary in an industry driven by instant gratification, and where technology has overtaken the need to spend so much time on the laborious process of stop-motion animation. However, it’s difficult to imagine this film as being anything else than what del Toro intended it to be, which is a labour of love, a lengthy process in which the directors and their team of animators tell this story, literally frame by frame, handcrafting this extraordinary tale of a wooden puppet who aspires to be a real boy, and the world in which he exists. It also helps that there have been very few stop-motion films that are simply as stunningly gorgeous as this – how del Toro and his team managed to create such a beautiful world from real-world elements is absolutely staggering, and while it would be foolish to dismiss the incredible work done by the likes of Henry Selick and Travis Knight, this has to be the most gorgeous stop-motion film ever produced, in terms of both character design and the landscapes. The level of detail is just staggering, and every frame could be a painting on its own, which is an astonishing achievement for an artistic process that is often overlooked, or seen as a trivial curiosity more than a medium that has produced some of the greatest artworks of the past few decades, of which Pinocchio is undeniably going to be a peak.

Pinocchio is a film that is positively brimming with life, and a lot of that comes through in the very empathetic, detailed approach to developing the characters, which are far more than just the paltry fairytale archetypes many tend to expect from such stories. Credit must be given to everyone involved in bringing this film to life in terms of creating these characters, since the process of finding the right approach to portray these iconic figures cannot be easy. However, when you have the stature in the industry that del Toro possesses, it’s unlikely that any actors would baulk at the opportunity to appear in such a film, with the director using his reputation to draw a terrific cast to the film – and most importantly, choosing actors who would not only portray the characters through voicing them, but give genuine performances, filled with genuine emotion and complexity, which adds depth to an already complex and compelling film. The cast is exceptional – David Bradley, Tilda Swinton, Cate Blanchett, Ewan McGregor, Christoph Waltz and John Turturro are all highlights of the ensemble, bringing to life these iconic characters and making them their own. Bradley in particular stands out, since his incredibly compassionate and emotional performance as Geppetto is truly extraordinary – the entire first act of the film is focused on him as he mourns the loss of his real son (which is the event that serves as the catalyst for the core of the story), sinking in a deep depression that ultimately manifests in the creation of Pinocchio, who is in turn brought to life (no pun intended) by Gregory Mann, who is truly impressive for a young actor, infusing the titular character with vivacity and an energetic joie de vivre that is often missing from many versions of this character. The warmth brought to these characters by the actors cannot ever be understated, since the gorgeous design of the film may capture our attention, but it’s the delicate, complex performances that maintain our interest, keeping us invested in the journey of the main characters and the wide range of supporting players that populate this sprawling fantastical epic.

Where this film diverges most significantly from previous versions of the story comes in the deeper meaning that lingers beneath nearly every scene, which adds a sobering level of seriousness to a story that is normally positioned as a bittersweet comedy, rather than a very sad account of the past. Collodi didn’t write it in a way that restricted it to a specific time, but it seems to be almost universally agreed that the story takes place sometime in the 19th century, which makes sense in the context of previous versions. The approach del Toro is taking here situates Pinocchio at a very crucial time in Italian history, the period directly surrounding the Second World War. This isn’t only to give it a real-world referent in terms of design and milieu, but also to add a level of complexity to the narrative, which reflects some dominant themes at the time and shows the country that is rapidly being changed. Precisely why it was decided to set the film here isn’t clear at first, especially since this is far from being one of those attempts to filter cherished stories through a darker lens (which is a legitimate method of storytelling, but not one that is particularly daring enough to warrant an entire film being set around it), but rather becomes more obvious as we see the titular character begin to navigate his surroundings, learning about the world into which he was born, and discovering the secrets that lurk just outside his home. The director has always been someone who bases his stories on reality, and even when dealing with a fairytale, he can’t resist adding some intriguing historical references, many of which are actively used, whether to progress the plot or simply to find a way to ground it in a recognizable version of the past, which eventually factors into the narrative in truly interesting ways. This all contributes to the deeper meaning that simmers beneath the surface, giving an abundance of gravitas to a story that is often viewed as nothing more than the product of flights of fancy, del Toro proving that even the most far-fetched stories can have their roots firmly planted in reality.

This version of Pinocchio is an astonishing work, and del Toro’s first foray into animation is an incredible achievement, a simple but evocative fantasy film that represents everything that we have come to appreciate and adore about the director. However, it is a difficult film to discuss – not because it is challenging in a way that is unpleasant or impenetrable, but rather due to the fact that this is a work of endless imagination, a magical voyage into the past quite literally handcrafted by a filmmaker who has devoted his life to the pursuit of uncovering the reasons behind our fascination with the fantastical and absurd, which has resulted in so many extraordinary works that showcase del Toro’s truly impeccable, boundless imagination. His approach to this film in particular is clear – animation is not a genre, but an artform (which is a distinction that he has made several times), and one that has been overly commodified and defined by trends more than it is anything artistically resonant. He set out to challenge this with Pinocchio, which centres itself on a very quiet, complex version of the world, as well as a thorough and meaningful depiction of the people that exist within it. Their stories are told throughout this film, and del Toro once again demonstrates his extraordinary compassion, defining each one of these characters (even those aligned towards being villains) as complex, nuanced individuals with varied layers that make them figures of immense dimension and artistic sophistication. In no uncertain terms, Pinocchio is a masterpiece, a delicate and meaningful journey into a familiar story, which is rendered here in an entirely new form, crafted by a director whose adoration for this material and admiration for the medium led him to take the risk of stepping behind the camera in a way that he had never done before – and while his live-action works are always going to be impressive, his first foray into animation shows that his passion for storytelling and boundary-pushing filmmaking has not abated, and that his imagination is yet to show even the slightest sign of fading. Imaginative, stunningly gorgeous and simply enrapturing from start to finish, Pinocchio is a marvel of technical and emotional storytelling, and a masterwork that proves that there is still the possibility for an old, well-worn story to completely take us by surprise when placed in the hands of a true master.