Pinocchio

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

Pinocchio repeatedly distances himself from his father, Geppetto, until his happy ever after ending.

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

But Benício del Toro's Pinocchio on Netflix comes filled with those emotional cues that screenwriters, filmmakers, and artists apparently seem to master.

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

“I will be like Carlo!” - exclaims Pinocchio bravely, 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 of that, or never enough of this - Pinocchio promptly gives in to the impresario who wants to deliver fame to Pinocchio, by being his impresario. Pinocchio can be loved for who he is.

But 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 aid the seemingly fair relationship between the impresario, who takes the risk, and the managed artist, who wants to be accepted (for what he “is”: a puppet?), the impresario still offers endless popcorn, hot chocolate, ice cream.

The same hot chocolate that the impresario and circus offers in infinite quantities to Pinocchio is the cup of hot chocolate that Geppetto DOES NOT offer to Pinocchio in one of his first demonstrations of inability to love his son.

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

When Pinocchio is at the circus, he can no longer stand popcorn, ice cream, or hot chocolate. He can no longer stand “the warm sweet creamy liquid,” because it wasn't popcorn, ice cream, and hot chocolate that he truly wanted, it was pure love.

And the curtain opens, and he then receives applause.

And now? Now he is accepted for what he is - an artist? -, so is he loved?

The impresario, before opening the curtains, gives another emotional hint: “those idiots watching.”

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

These screenwriters are phenomenal. Do they act on intuition or are they super-psychologists? Or is this part of the ancient story that is also based on our rich culture of ancient stories, 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 receives it from Geppetto, his father, after long errors followed by improvements.

The audience's love was not enough for Pinocchio.

Why?

Why should I end paragraphs with this why?

Because the fame of likes can bring Pinocchio's impresario 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's return, then, to find out if audiences are idiotic and if their love is low or non-existent.

Here enters the important question of those tiny football players who are pushed to fame - playing on TV screens - with less and less fun and more “will I be cut?” by a coach/impresario who is also charged with victories and good choices. Initially, fun is offered. “Hot chocolate.” Playing without major demands. Until - for some very early, for others soon after - you become a machine that cannot make mistakes. Go to an Under-20 or Under-17 game and you will see the fun practically gone or disappeared from the field. They are flesh-and-blood robots observed by a coach worried about his job. Are audiences idiotic? This is the question Pinocchio answers “yes!”

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

Do Hollywood/Netflix hit the nail on the head or are they crazy guessers?