4.5 stars. Rated PG, for no particular reason
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 11.22.17
This one’s deceptive.
At first blush, Pixar’s Coco feels like the saga of a little boy
who desperately wants to embrace melody and song, but is thwarted by parents
and relatives with a deeply rooted aversion to music.
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| As his faithful dog Dante watches attentively, Miguel prepares to receive a blessing from his long-deceased Mamá Imelda: a necessary ritual, lest the boy be forced to remain forever in the Land of the Dead. Alas, the blessing will come with strings attached... |
That’s accurate enough, but
merely the entry point to this wildly imaginative, gloriously colorful and
unexpectedly poignant saga of family bonds. Co-directors Lee Unkrich and Adrian
Molina — who also co-scripted the story, alongside Jason Katz and Matthew
Aldrich — have ingeniously employed Mexico’s annual Día de los Muertos (Day of the Dead) celebration to illustrate the
importance of honoring — and remembering
— past generations.
The narrative takes place during
a single fast-paced day and night, and is laden with gentle messages that range
from To Thine Own Self Be True, to There’s No Place Like Home.
In the tradition of Pixar’s best
films, the tone veers between droll comedy and heartbreaking pathos, and from
larkish excitement to edge-of-the-seat suspense. At the same time, we’re
dazzled by the animated equivalent of phenomenal production design, and charmed
by some cleverly integrated songs, including an endearing ballad written by
Kristen Anderson-Lopez and Robert Lopez, the Academy Award-winning team behind
the power anthem “Let It Go,” from Frozen.
The rather complex narrative
defies an elevator pitch, and opens with a prologue that cleverly establishes
back-story via Día de los Muertos
paper-cut flags. We then meet 12-year-old Miguel (voiced with earnest sincerity
by young Anthony Gonzalez), who chafes at the limitations imposed by a jovial
clan of shoemakers.
This family business has become
the pride of Santa Cecilia: a calling that began with Miguel’s
great-great-grandmother Mamá Imelda, as a means of survival when her husband
abandoned the family — including toddler daughter Coco — in order to follow his
dream of becoming a famous musician. Mamá Imelda’s subsequent ban on music has
been enforced strictly by subsequent generations, much to Miguel’s dismay.
He dreams of growing up to be a
celebrated musician like his idol, Ernesto de la Cruz, who became the most
famous musician in Mexican history: conquering pop charts, movies and concert
stages.
But thanks to the disciplinarian
edicts of his grandmother Abuelita (Renée Victor), the frustrated Miguel
believes that he’s backed into an either/or corner: He must choose between his
passion for music, and his love for his family. Efforts at persuasion merely
harden Abuelita’s position, and so Miguel — having accidentally stumbled upon a
family secret — yields to an ill-advised impulse, as night falls on Día de los Muertos.
