Pinocchio

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Isn't that a catchy little tune? Well, how do?

Cricket's the name. Jiminy Cricket, to be precise.

And I'm here to tell you one humdinger of a tale.

It's a story that begins a long time ago.

Actually, it's a story that begins once upon a time, a long time ago.

That's right. Much better. Much more precise.

Never understood that expression. How can it be "once upon a time"?

Hey, who's telling this story? Me or you?

Well, who are you?

I'm you. Only older and wiser.

Really? How do you figure?

Because I'm the narrator telling this story post facto.

I know exactly what's gonna happen to you on this adventure.

Really? Well, let me ask you this. Am I ever gonna be warm again?

Just keep walking. You'll find out.

Some storyteller you are.

Shall I continue?

Go for it. Narrate to your heart's content.

Thank you.

Once upon a time, a long time ago,

my travels took me to a quaint little village.

"Mastro Geppetto. Wood-carver, fabricator of clocks, toys, oddments."

Oddments, huh? Sounds like my kind of place.

Hmm.

Huh?

"Maybe something here

"A touch behind the ear

"Not a boy. Just a toy for a puppeteer"

Huh?

"Thinking way back when I'm missing him again"

"Heart so young, songs unsung

"Oh, what might have been"

"I see him in my dreams So perfectly, it seems

"If I could only make These dreams come true

"I may never find

"This vision in my mind

"Memory may hold the key

"To feeling how I felt when he was here with me"

Yeah.

Hmm. Not too shabby.

Whoa!

Excuse me, ma'am.

Well...

Ha. Ah...

Figaro, all finished. What do you think, huh?

Oh, really?

Well, I think he looks very much like him.

Very much.

No, Figaro, it's "Signore" Rizzi again.

No, "Signore" Rizzi, I'm sorry. We have already closed at 6:04.

Precisely at sunset.

Oh, well, Geppetto, I'm sorry to disturb you.

I saw your light was on and I thought I would ask you one more time.

Please sell me the cuckoo clock

with the cute duck and the little alligator on it.

That clock is not for sale, as I have told you many times.

I will give you 20 lira. 30 lira.

Name your price, Geppetto, and I will pay.

They are beyond price, "Signore".

I'm very sorry, but I cannot sell you any of my cuckoo clocks.

But if you cannot sell your clocks, why do you have a shop?

It's complicated. Perhaps a music box?

Good night, Geppetto. I leave a disappointed man.

They just don't understand, do they, Cleo? My clocks, they mean everything to me.

My clocks are my most special creations.

I made them for my beloved Constanza,

and she loved every one of them.

Every one of them.

Oh. But never as much as she loved you, my dear boy.

Hmm.

My dear boy.

No more of these sad thoughts, huh? Time for some happiness.

This is why I gave you a smile. So that you will always be happy.

What is your name?

You should have a name of your own. Yes, yes. Now, what should it be?

What should it be?

I carved you out of wood.

I made you out of pine.

You're a boy made out of pine.

Pine-occhio. Pine-occhio. Pinocchio. Huh?

Pinocchio. Yeah.

Uh...

Do... Do you approve of the name "Pinocchio"?

Yes, yes.

You see, Figaro. Do you love the name "Pinocchio"?

Yes. Yes, yes, yes.

Ow! Hey!

Hey. No!

Oh, let's dance.

Whoa! Ow!

You call this music?

Don't you be afraid, Figaro. No.

No. Why? Because he likes you.

Oh! Oh!

Figaro, no, no.

Even Cleo thinks he's very, very handsome.

Figaro, come. Don't be such a scaredy cat!

Oh, Figaro.

What?

Oh. Oh. Yes, yes. Almost time, but...

Wait for it. Wait for it.

Yes. Yeah.

Now, it is time for bed.

Yes.

Good night, Cleo, ah, my little water baby.

Good night.

Good night, my beautiful birthday boy.

Oh.

Oh, what a beautiful clear night. Ah! Beautiful.

Figaro, look at Pinocchio there in the moonlight.

He looks almost like a real boy.

Look, Figaro. Look, look, look. It's... It's the wishing star.

Oh!

I haven't seen one in so...

We should make a wish, huh? Yeah?

Star light, star bright. First star I see tonight.

I wish...

Hmm.

I wish...

How do I say this?

I wish... I wish...

I wish...

Figaro, do you want to know what I wished for? I wished...

No, no. If I was to tell you, you would think I was...

The problem with that one clock, it talks too much.

Get it? Get it? It talks too much. Tick-tock, the clock tick-tocks too much?

Ah. never mind. It's late.

Still,

if my wish came true, Figaro, that would be wonderful.

Wonderful.

Jumpin' jeepers. He's alive.

Now see here. What's this all about?

-Holy moly. You can walk. -"Holy moly. You can walk."

Shut my mouth. You can talk.

"Shut my mouth. You can talk."

-No, you can talk. -"No, you can talk."

-I know I can talk. And so can you. -"I know I can talk. And so can you."

All right, all right. All right, all right, all right.

Everyone can relax. I'm here now. What seems to be the...

Oh, yes. I see what the problem is.

As I live and breathe. A fairy!

You're not really real, are you?

Of course he's real! He's alive, isn't he?

-And who might you be? -Jiminy Cricket.

Bug, "boulevardier, flâneur", man of leisure. And who might you be?

Oh, the good Geppetto made a wish from the depths of his heart and so I'm here.

-I'm the Blue Fairy. -"I'm the Blue Fairy."

-No, I'm the Blue Fairy. -"No, I'm the Blue Fairy."

Oh, I see what the problem is here.

-Let's try this again. I'm the Blue Fairy. -Hello, Blue Fairy!

That's more like it. Yes, I'm the Blue Fairy.

-Now, what's your name? -I don't know.

I heard Geppetto name him Pinocchio.

My name is Pinocchio.

Sounds like your head is made of white pine. Hence, Pinocchio.

The perfect name for a boy with a wooden head.

-I'm a boy? -Well, a wooden boy.

Geppetto, who lies thither sawing wood, he's the wood-carver, I assume?

Yes, I guess you could call him Pinocchio's pops.

-"Pops"? -Yeah, Pops. Pappy. You know, father.

I mean, that is, if Pinocchio here was a real boy.

If Geppetto wanted a real boy, why would he carve a puppet?

Well, sure, there are other ways to make a boy,

but I don't think Geppetto gets out much,

and I guess it's the best he could do with the tools he's got.

Of course, I'm just a talking cricket,

so I'm not one to pass judgment on what's real.

-Ms. Blue Fairy, am I real? -Yes, Pinocchio, you're real, all right.

A real, live, living puppet that's painted to look like a real, live, living boy.

Almost what your father wished for.

So when do I become a real, real, live, living boy?

Because it sounds like that's what will make my father happy.

"Little puppet made of pine Geppetto's wish went up the line

"But his feelings were tangled And knotted like twine

"Then light from a star gave life to a toy A marionette boy full of wonder and joy

"But to be truly real He had to pass an ordeal"

Geppetto has done his part, and I have done mine.

And to be real is up to you.

You have to prove that you are brave, truthful and unselfish.

How do I do that?

Well, by learning to choose between right and wrong.

-Okay, but how do I do that? -Your conscience will tell you.

"Con Shuns"? Who are they?

No, no. "Conscience." Abstract, noun, singular.

A conscience is that still small voice that most people refuse to listen to.

And that is the entire problem with the world today.

Are you my conscience?

Huh? Me? No, I'm not a conscience.

I'm a cricket. More of an insect than an instinct.

Would you like to be his conscience?

Me? No, thanks. I've, uh, got enough on my plate.

Oh, really? I see a lost soul, an insect of no fixed address.

An aimless vagabond hopping from hearth to hearth

with no direction, no job, no prospects and no purpose in life.

Now look here.

Just because a fella sneaks into somebody's house to warm his backside,

and sure, he might have gotten kicked out of a place or two, but...

-Okay, you have a point. -Here's the thing.

Do you know the difference between right and wrong?