Pinocchio

“They love me! They accept me!” - exclaims Benicio del Toro's Pinocchio on Netflix.

Pinocchio walks away from his father, Geppetto, over and over again, until their happily ever after ending.

Clarissa Pinkola Estés speaks briefly about Pinocchio in a rare article. Pinocchio represents man's search for love using his own tools, but she explains it better.

But Benicio del Toro's Pinocchio on Netflix is packed with those emotional cues that screenwriters, filmmakers, and artists seemingly seem to master.

Pinocchio searches for acceptance on stage - “they accept me” - right after Geppetto still compares Pinocchio to Carlo, his flesh-and-blood son lost to the war.

“I'm going to be like Carlo!” - Pinocchio exclaims bravely and excitedly when he sees this chance to receive love from his father.

But if to be loved one must be someone else - perhaps the best swimmer, the tireless student, the most something, or never enough of that -, Pinocchio readily yields to the manager who wants to deliver fame to Pinocchio by being his manager. Pinocchio can be loved for who he is.

Just not at home, by his father. And/or by his mother. Or an aunt. Someone close.

No: the circus! Hollywood! Olympics! Views.

Resemblance to reality is the goal of cinema.

To help the seemingly fair relationship between the manager, who takes the risk, and the managed artist who wants to be accepted (for what he “is”: a marionette?), the manager even offers endless popcorn, hot chocolate, ice cream.

The same hot chocolate that the manager and the circus offer in infinite quantities to Pinocchio is the cup of hot chocolate that Geppetto DOES NOT offer Pinocchio in one of his earliest displays of inability to love his son.

It is no coincidence that hot chocolate appears here and there. As I just wrote in The Best Coffee, “hot chocolate” is NOT a warm sweetened liquid sliding down the throat. Not at all. It is pure love.

When Pinocchio is at the circus, he can't stand any more popcorn, ice cream, or hot chocolate. He can't stand “the warm sweet creamy liquid” anymore, because it wasn't popcorn, ice cream, and hot chocolate that he really wanted, it was pure love.

And the curtain opens and he receives, then, applause.

What now? Now he is accepted for who he is - an artist? -, so is he loved?

The manager, before opening the curtains, gives one more emotional cue: “those idiots watching.”

What now? Did Hollywood (or rather, Netflix) get it right or wrong?

These screenwriters are phenomenal. Do they work with intuition or are they super-psychologists? Or is this part of the ancient story that also draws on our rich culture of ancient tales, as Clarissa Pinkola Estés teaches us?

Whatever the sources of wisdom, is the audience “idiotic”?

We know that Pinocchio does not receive the love he wants until he gets it from Geppetto his father, after long mistakes followed by improvements.

The audience's love was not enough for Pinocchio.

Why?

Why should I stop paragraphs with this why?

Because the fame of likes can bring Pinocchio's manager within reach of each of us.

Are we loved? By idiotic audiences? Or by our father? (Since I'm talking about Pinocchio, I'm skipping the mother, but Love applies in any case).

Let us return, then, to find out if the audiences are idiotic and if their love is low or nonexistent.

Here enters the important issue of those little soccer players who are pushed into fame - playing on TV screens - with less and less fun and more “am I going to get cut?” by a coach/manager who is also pressured for victories and good choices. Initially, fun is offered. “Hot chocolate.” Playing without major demands. Until - for some very early on, for others shortly after - you turn into a machine that cannot make mistakes. Go to a U-20 or U-17 game and you will see the fun practically gone or gone from the field. They are flesh-and-blood robots watched over by a coach worried about his job. Are the audiences idiotic? That's the question Pinocchio answers with “yes!”

The low-income family that “needs,” “needs,” “needs” their little boy to become a millionaire can now be replaced by the high-income family whose son “needs,” “needs,” “needs” to maintain the level, the performance, the tireless dedication of the father. (Since this is about Pinocchio, focus on the father). Here we return: in the beginning (a little bit of) fun, followed by many, many, many studies and, finally, being the CEO of CEOs. An athlete! A marionette? Searching for love? Love from idiotic audiences?

Did Hollywood/Netflix nail it or are they crazy guessers?