‘Pinocchio Unstrung’ Has Stunning Puppetry, DOA Carnage [Review]

Last summer, I decided to buy tickets to Bambi: The Reckoning. I’d been curious about the Twisted Childhood Universe since Winnie-The-Pooh: Blood and Honey 2, widely considered a turning point in the extended IP series, and the marketing material I’d seen for Bambi looked promising enough. I left my screening confident the film was the best of the bunch, even if that was a remarkably low bar to clear, and having just finished Pinocchio Unstrung, I stand by that. This universe is moving laterally, improving in some areas while regressing in others. Which is to say, if you’re a fan, you might love Pinocchio Unstrung and not risk your nose growing three sizes. If you’re not, you might reckon you’re witnessing the death of horror right in front of you. Rhys Frake-Waterfield certainly has the chops. Sure, I didn’t feel either Winnie-The-Pooh film was sweet as honey, but I did unironically enjoy The Killing Tree. At his best, Frake-Waterfield can tap into a very specific, posh meets Hammer Horror sensibility that augments his highest of high concepts (turning beloved childhood icons into homicidal maniacs). Comparatively, Pinocchio Unstrung boasts the best practical puppetry and gore of the entire cinematic canon, but it’s also marred by the franchise’s worst screenplay, one that’s dull at best, offensive at worst. Opting for the same storybook animation intro as most of the series, Pinocchio Unstrung reimagines the puppet’s origin as the crazed invention of Geppetto (Richard Brake, deliriously unhinged) ostensibly intended for his grandson, James (Cameron Bell) after the death of his friend. Pinocchio (voiced by Jack Art Grey), wonderfully rendered with practical puppetry of the Child’s Play variety, is a naïve little goob, unaware of how the world works beyond a binary understanding of friend or foe. That naiveté is soon exploited, principally by Devil on the shoulder, Cricket (Robert Englund), and Pinocchio sets off to “make dead” anyone who poses a threat to James and his happiness. Rhys Frake-Waterfield and his crew successfully manage to deliver on the R-rating. Gym mishaps, dental gore porn, and more punctuate the puppet’s positively savage murder spree as he knocks off one poor Brit after another in the name of friendship (and organ harvesting to become a real boy). The violence is extreme and gross, though rarely all that affecting in the “I need to look away” sense. It’s gooey and tactile, though not exactly painful, opting more for the exploitative carnage variety than violence that hurts. Yet, while it’s Pinocchio Unstrung’s greatest strength, it also highlights the film’s greatest weakness. Regularly, Pinocchio Unstrung reads as deliberately misogynistic, and not in the hippy-dippy way some critics (falsely) presume all horror to innately be. The worst of the violence is reserved for women, and incredulously and without reason, Pinocchio is voiced like an incel-wannabe, hurling out insults like “slut” and “whore” as he scalps women and bashes their brains in. Why does he cuss? Why does the Cricket also harbor some deep-seated hatred for women? It’s never explained, figuring into the plot as shock factor and nothing else. Sure, Brad Dourif’s Chucky was vulgar in his own right, but there was an artistry to his crudeness that Pinocchio doesn’t have (especially because he’s voiced as a child new to the world). It’s disgusting, bordering on cruel as the violence accelerates, and it adds a garish overlay to a movie better served without it. Still, there’s an innate craftsmanship on display, and in some ways, yes, this universe is getting better. But “better” isn’t being used in comprehensive terms. If you’ve been a fan before, Pinocchio Unstrung is a bloody, lovingly crafted homage to a childhood classic. If you’re like me, you’ll be left wondering how much more these filmmakers can cull before the dust settles and we realize it’s all been one big joke.