Seven Films with More Soul Than Pixar's Soul
Life is full of disappointments. Pixar's Soul acknowledges this, reflecting on the various ways we try to plug our lives' many holes. We play piano. Cut hair. Tailor suits and tell stories. We do all these things to provide meaning in a life so often devoid of it. We do all these things when all we really need to do is stop, see the trees, and breathe.
Soul's message is a beautiful one, vital even. It's also delivered haphazardly, lazily, and muddily. After all, life is full of disappointments, and Pixar's Soul is most certainly one of them.
I should mention that Soul is absolutely gorgeous. It is easily the most visually impressive film Pixar has released, with a unique art style that combines 3D and 2D animation, and gives way to greater variation amongst its characters and settings. New York City is detailed and vibrant, while The Great Before is imaginative and colorful.
Unfortunately, Soul fails in just about every other area.
Of course, I say this as a 23-year-old viewer. I own that! Soul is a family film, but that doesn't excuse its shortcomings, particularly as Pixar has increasingly prided itself on its ability to welcome viewers of all ages and stripes. The company has flaunted its knack for discussing complex concepts with children, while keeping parents engaged. And yet, Soul is a film without an audience.
It's certainly not for children; it's too convoluted and unfunny.
Indeed, Soul is one of the least funny Pixar movies I've seen. It's too busy explaining the mechanics of its messy concept to indulge in the sense of humor that director Pete Docter so cleverly implemented in films like Monsters, Inc. and Up. In place of comedy, Docter offers wordy dialogue in a vain attempt to thoroughly explain Soul's core conceit. Docter is so obsessed with his premise in Soul, he completely forgets about all the other things that make a film great. The logistics surrounding the film's conception of preexistence and the afterlife make little sense, constantly folding in on one another. New rules are constantly introduced so as to explain new events, rendering previous moments obsolete. As far as the film is concerned, this is all OK. Things only happen in Soul so as to further illuminate different aspects of the universe, character and plot be damned. I thought we knew by now that great themes come from great stories, not the other way around. Docter clearly didn't get the memo.
Again, Soul's message is an important one. But theme and form should always go hand in hand. For a film all about the need to stop and take in the world around you, Soul lumbers along at dizzying speed. The first hour in particular suffers from awkward pacing, each moment zooming by with reckless abandon. There are no consequences, no moments of introspection or surprise. Any substance one detects in Soul is only a result of the script's heavy-handed delivery of such ideas. Of course, heavy-handedness can be acceptable in an animated children's film, but Soul gets so heavily bogged down by its unflinching desire to impart what it believes to be an unprecedented lesson upon its young viewers, it never actually says anything at all, failing to progress beyond its initial suggestion that life is more than your career. I know we live in a late-capitalist society where our lives are so often oriented towards our work, but is this really that groundbreaking?
I've seen several films - seven, at least - that deal with similar ideas in much more profound and thought-provoking ways. And the best part is, these films actually have something Pixar's latest does not: a soul. Not all of these films are meant for children, although I would be willing to argue that a young viewer would find each of these more exciting and less overwhelming than the sloppily constructed mess that is Pixar's Soul. These films find ways to discuss some really heady yet essential concepts not by literalizing them, but by baking them into emotionally rich stories.
It's A Wonderful Life (1946)
Perhaps the definitive American Christmas film, It's A Wonderful Life is also a worthwhile exploration of all the things that define us. As Jimmy Stewart's George Bailey explores what life would be like without him in Bedford Falls, he slowly comes to terms with the various roles that have defined him over the years, and realigns his priorities accordingly. By the end of the film, George learns that "no man is a failure who has friends." Frank Capra's film was poorly received when it first released, but remains engrained within the American lexicon for its cheery (perhaps even too cheery) outlook and heartwarming message, not to mention its status as perhaps the greatest Christmas film of all time. Unlike Soul, It's A Wonderful Life features several well-defined characters, and is actually willing to explore the wide breadth of the human experience in hopes of finding that which truly defines us: kinship. Certainly, the film and its message feel a tad bit corny nearly 75 years later, but there is no denying the film's staying power.
A Matter of Life and Death (1946)
In truth, Frank Capra's It's A Wonderful Life isn't even the best imagining of the afterlife to come out in 1946. Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger's A Matter of Life and Death is a marked improvement upon Capra's formula, resisting any overly saccharine temptations and instead delivering a layered meditation on life and romance. Indeed, A Matter of Life and Death is one of the most romantic movies I have ever seen. It is brimming with color, until all such color is sapped away in the scenes taking place in the "Other World." It seems safe to say that Soul derived a great deal of influence from A Matter of Life and Death, not only because the animated film similarly transitions between vibrant and muted color palettes, but because the film's rendering of the afterlife as a long, haunting escalator leading to an empty and ominous void is a direct copy of Powell and Pressburger's depiction. To a certain extent, I am willing to forgive Soul here as I do think the film is acknowledging its influences by so overtly mimicking A Matter of Life and Death, and my primary gripe with the recent release is not that it is derivative (although it certainly is) but that it masquerades as introspective while offering very little in the way of character or plot. In A Matter of Life and Death, a compelling romance is made more compelling by the film's unique plot device. In Soul, no such intrigue exists, with the core plot device simply forcing things along in order to justify its existence in the first place.
World of Tomorrow (2015)
Like I said, Soul is derivative. And if it wants to steal from cinematic classics like It's A Wonderful Life and A Matter of Life and Death, that's fine. But one of the most unsettling aspects of Soul's lack of originality is how much it steals from an independent filmmaker who is very much still active today. If you haven't seen any works by animator Don Hertzfeldt, I highly recommend you stop reading this and track some down. Hertzfeldt's style is unabashedly his own. You know a Hertzfeldt film when you see one. His propensity for simplistic character design and complex layering of animation styles gives way to some of the most profound pieces of animation ever created. I mention World of Tomorrow here as it was my first introduction to Hertzfeldt, and likely still my favorite. Still, one could easily characterize Soul as a shameless derivation of just about any of Hertzfeldt's works. It is clear that, with Soul, Pixar wanted to take on the same kind of big ideas that Hertzfeldt has been tackling throughout his career. But the company's execution missed so much of what makes a film like World of Tomorrow great. The short film, whose audio heavily features the actual babbling of Hertzfeldt's four-year-old niece, introduces a fantastical sci-fi universe, but never feels the need to stop and explain its rules to the viewer. One could watch World of Tomorrow and never fully grasp what is going on, while still submitting to the film's ethereal line of questioning. Soul puts zero trust in its audience, adults and children alike, to navigate its complex universe. I've been told that I should stop criticizing Soul and actually consider how young viewers have received the film. But here's the thing: it doesn't matter. Sure, plenty of children likely enjoyed and even understood Soul. Of course they did! What's not to get? The film is terrified of losing its young viewers for even a second, overwhelming all of us with tangled tangents on what life is and is not. Soul believes itself to be saying so very much, but ends up saying so very little.
Inside Llewyn Davis (2013)
What's so great about cinema is that any film can say anything. That may sound rather obvious, but it must be news to the people at Pixar. Discussing the very nature of our existence, redefining our notions of passion and purpose, do not require a grand sci-fi premise, just a good story. Of course, the sci-fi genre is perfectly suited for a wide range of existential and metaphysical inquiries, but so is literally any other genre when done right. The Coen Bros. delivered on cinema's extensive promise with 2013's Inside Llewyn Davis, a black comedy that continues to stand as one of the most loving, sorrowful, and sympathetic tributes to art and artists ever created. The titular Llewyn is not unlike Soul's Joe Gardner, hopelessly in love with his music, yet uncertain if it will ever support him the way he envisions. Inside Llewyn Davis also features a career-defining performance from Oscar Isaac. Isaac's acting is excellent, but his musicianship is particularly notable. The Coen Bros. capture Isaac's musical performances in intimate close-ups that evoke the kind of hopeless passion felt by so many artists. To its credit, Soul does something similar at times. Joe's performances are channeling the real-life fingers of Jazz pianist Jon Baptiste, and they undoubtedly capture the energy and unpredictability so inherent to the genre. I just wish we got more of these moments. Joe plays piano only sparingly throughout the film, likely because Joe is barely even himself for most of the film. Soul leans into the overdone trope of BIPOC being rendered nonhuman in animated films by turning Joe first into his "soul" form and then into a cat. I don't believe there was any malintent on the part of Soul's creators, but I do think the film suffers as a result of this creative decision. With Joe separated from his body, the film works overtime to justify the decision, needlessly explaining new and conflicting concepts over and over and over again. Did I mention Soul likes to explain things?
Sound of Metal (2020)
Soul isn't even the best movie of its kind to release in 2020. That honor belongs to Darius Marder's directorial debut, Sound Of Metal, which is easily the greatest film to release in 2020 and just might be one of my favorite films of the last four or five years. Riz Ahmed stars as Ruben Stone, a metal drummer who must adapt to his new life as his hearing begins to fade. Ahmed is predictably fantastic, and deserves serious recognition come Awards season. Sound of Metal also features mind-blowing sound design, constantly moving viewers closer to and further away from Ruben. The film doubles as one of the most romantic yet most terrifying cinematic experiences of the year. Out of the seven films on this list, Sound of Metal is my favorite foil for Pixar's Soul in how it matches theme and form. Like Soul, Marder's film wrestles with the labels that we give ourselves, and how we respond when those labels are stripped away. Also like Soul, Sound of Metal stresses the importance of observing the world around you, of simply being present. Unlike Soul, the film follows its own advice, sitting with certain shots and slowly taking in their beauty. Both films feature similar sequences in which the main character looks up and observes a tree. Hilariously, Soul sees Joe respond to his newfound observation by running off and finding another character, god forbid the plot does anything but steamroll ahead. Sound of Metal, on the other hand, allows Ruben to sit. And sit. And sit. Ruben takes in his surroundings, a soft smile stretched across his face, and breathes. He has learned the very lesson that Sound of Metal hopes to impart upon the viewer. I'm not so sure Soul's Joe can say the same.
Inside Out (2015)
Allow me to set one thing straight: I like Pixar. I like Pixar a lot! Monsters, Inc., Toy Story, Finding Nemo, and A Bug's Life all defined my childhood in numerous ways. The studio has perfected a formula for bringing childhood wonders to life, which is yet another reason why Soul let me down so much. Inside Out, an incredibly similar film to Soul in both concept and story, does one thing that Pixar's latest project does not. It actually focuses on childhood! An exclusive focus on children is not an absolute must for a Pixar film, but the absence of youth undoubtedly lingers over Soul throughout its 107-minute runtime. Even Inside Out, which was also directed by Docter, isn't a perfect film; I still struggle with its insistence upon personifying its every concept. Still, the decision to break down each of Riley's emotions into separate characters makes infinitely more sense considering Riley is just a little girl. This depiction of Riley's mind feels appropriate and earned because the film is exploring childhood, which often necessitates the simplifying of ideas. Subjecting Joe to an onslaught of explanations and abstractions feels cheap and ridiculous in Soul, and only serves to advance the film's core concept, while failing its protagonist.
Coco (2017)
In truth, I could have slotted just about any Pixar film on this list. They are all, to some extent, about finding purpose. Toy Story 4 beautifully dealt with this idea by bringing Woody's story to a complex and thought-provoking close. The film explores what makes a toy a toy, and by extension, what makes a person a person. It is a film about labels, and manages to be so by telling a story, not explaining a concept. Pixar has done similar work with films like Ratatouille and WALL-E, but nowhere is this intention more explicit than with 2017's Coco. Coco is certainly among Pixar's best films, packed with rich animation and vivid characters. Interestingly (or perhaps pathetically,) Soul's story is nearly identical to Coco's. A misunderstood musician travels to an alternate dimension of sorts, forms a friendship with an outcast who soon wants to swap places with the protagonist, prompting the protagonist to make a difficult decision and eventually return to their reality with a newfound sense of purpose. Coco is very much interested in how we define ourselves, and how we establish priorities in our lives. The only difference between Coco and Soul is that the latter wants to bash your skull in with its ideas, whereas Coco trusts you to suss these ideas out from its broader, more intricate story.
Look, I know I'm in the minority on Soul, and I'm OK with that. But I am incredibly passionate about the very idea that Docter and co-writers Mike Jones and Kemp Powers are dealing with here, and I refuse to accept their poor execution as cinema's definitive statement on life's purpose. There seems to be a sense that, once Disney has said it, an idea gains legitimacy. We should all be troubled by that. The individual creators behind Soul may be good people with wonderful visions for humanity before, during, and after our existence. But as long as Disney acts as the final decider of what is good, acceptable, or true, we should all be very, very troubled. One scene in Soul sees a hedge-fund manager quit his job once he, as a "lost soul," rediscovers his purpose. It is technically one of the better moments in the movie, and it is a rather progressive rebuke of American careerism. But you mean to tell me the largest media conglomerate in the world actually believes that crap? Soul is far from the first Disney film to repackage progressive ideas for profit (2018's Ralph Breaks The Internet might be the most egregious example of that, and I discussed similar concerns with The Incredibles 2 in the past) but it does feel like a turning point in that it is the first Disney film to masquerade as a trailblazer, pretending to introduce into our shared discourse an idea that has been around for centuries, and is actually quite prominent in many other cultures. Of course, The Walt Disney Company got its start hacking away at German fairytales and East Asian proverbs, rebranding those popular, sometimes sacred, texts as commercial fare.
Perhaps, then, Soul is nothing new after all.
Originality is not a necessity for a film to be great, or even plain old good, but Disney has been in the business of feigning originality for far too long. With Soul, I am officially sick of it.