Review: Soul (Pete Docter, 2020)
If the narrative of Soul sounds complex, that’s because it is. In a similar vein to Pixar’s Inside Out (Pete Docter, 2015), which explores the abstract concepts of emotions (and, specifically, emotional development) through animation, Soul explores existentialism and the many manifestations of what having a soul can really mean, as well as how these connect to the idea of our lives having a specific “purpose” that we were born to fulfil.
Fig. 1 - Soul’s The Great Before.
A dissatisfied middle school music teacher from New York City, Joe Gardner (voiced by Jamie Foxx), has just gotten his big break to perform as the supporting pianist to the (narratively-famous) jazz saxophonist Dorothea Williams on the same day that he is disturbed to learn that the school where he teaches has decided to give him a full-time, permanent post as their music teacher (complete with health insurance and other benefits). Excitedly leaving his audition for Dorothea, and wrestling with how to break it to his mother that he’s decided to pass on the steady but (he thinks) unfulfilling teaching job in favour of realising his “destiny” to be a professional jazz pianist, Joe accidentally falls down an open manhole, only to come to in what he quickly learns is the path to The Great Beyond, an undefined but otherwise “Heaven”-like plane for the soul’s existence. Unwilling to give up his on life just as it seems his dreams are about to come true, he escapes the moving walkway the souls are taking to The Great Beyond, only to end up in The Great Before (Fig. 1), a space filled with souls who have yet to experience life on Earth. There, mistaken for being a mentor (in what seems like a reference to the opening episode of The Good Place [2016-2020]), he is assumed to be the soul of “world-renowned child psychologist Dr. Bjorn T. Börgensson”. As Börgensson, he is quickly given the task of mentoring a soul called 22 (voiced by Tina Fey), who is afraid of being born into an earthly life.
Indeed, their very low number/name, 22, is contrasted in their introductory scene with the name of another unborn soul, 108,210,121,415, implying that they have been in The Great Before for an incredibly long time. This is further supported by the fact that 22 has had multiple mentors, stretching back seemingly thousands of years (at one point in the film, 22 mentions having had discussions with Aristotle, presumably one of her earlier mentors), all of whom 22 has defeated with their stubbornness and intransigence. Of course, one could point out that the film makes clear that 22 is a very old soul, and furthermore has had dozens — perhaps hundreds, judging by the wall adorned with name tags in 22’s secret den — of mentors. This means that 22 has encountered numerous souls from Earth — to include an impressive selection of the supposedly great and good — and so has kept up with socio-cultural changes on Earth (albeit by proxy), often accompanied by very negative experiences. It seems that, over time, as negative experiences with souls accumulated, 22 began to expect unpleasantness, and their increasing recalcitrance only compounded this. So the idea that 22 would purposefully adopt what could be perceived as an off-putting stereotype serves as one of their many defences, protecting themselves from any “threat” that they would have to journey to Earth and be trapped in such negativity.
Fig. 2 - Joe and 22 in Soul.
Rather than reveal his mistaken identity, Joe decides to use the opportunity of helping 22 as a way to use 22’s Earth Pass so that he can get back to his life on Earth (a plan to which 22 happily agrees, since it seems like a solution to both their dilemmas) (Fig. 2). To do this, Joe and 22 set out to earn 22’s Earth Pass, going to the “the space between the spiritual and the physical” to find a place whereby he can return to his body. In his haste to return, Joe falls toward his body, accidently bringing 22 with him; when he regains consciousness, he realises that he has entered the body of a therapy cat and that 22 has entered Joe’s body. Over the course of the film, this body switch forces Joe to re-examine his life from an outsider’s perspective, helping him – and 22 – to discover what living – and what life – are really about.
Fig. 3 - A moving walkway of light appears to take Joe to The Great Beyond.
Aesthetically, Soul is spectacularly beautiful. Moreover, it utilizes its visuals in a sophisticated way that helps it to deal effectively with the existential concepts it introduces. One of the most striking visual aspects of Soul is the constant contrast between deceptively simple spaces and crowded complex spaces. Upon first falling down the manhole, Joe – surrounded by dark space – is shown in his soul (or non-physical) state for the first time. A moving walkway of light appears to take him to The Great Beyond, toying with the iconography of a stairway to heaven (musical reference no doubt intentional) (Fig. 3). Playing on this perceived simplicity in a minimalist space, we see a number of souls making their journey into The Great Beyond, their passing counted with an abacus. Of course, this film is anything but simple, which only makes the archaic use of an abacus more humorous. Furthermore, there is a dissonance between the sparseness of the space in the frame, the enormity of Joe’s distress at realising his life might end, and the methodical, formulaic counting of the souls passing into The Great Beyond on an ancient counting instrument that, to us, seems so simple as to be quaint, however effective it might be for the job at hand. This juxtaposition introduces a symbolism between the enormity of existentialism and the appreciation of the small that we find throughout the film. This spatial contrast proves to be thematically significant, later reflecting the need to slow down and experience life to the fullest, as symbolised by an appreciation of the ordinary details of life on Earth.
The beauty of both The Great Before and The Great Beyond is mirrored in the living world on Earth, thereby avoiding the clichèd trope of showing the spiritual world as inherently richer and more inviting than the everyday world (as we see, for example, in The Wizard of Oz [Victor Fleming, 1939], and its black-and-white Kansas farm versus the Technicolor world found “Over the Rainbow”). To awaken Joe to the true meaning of life (or at least the meaning that the film suggests exists for us), there are plot points that allow both Joe and the audience to dwell upon the inherent beauty to be found in the ordinary things of this world. Repeated sequences such as the dramatic slow-motion falling of a leaf symbolise a change in perspective and are narratively significant. Likewise, smaller details prove to be even more majestic: the light cast on Joe’s textured jumper when we first see him play the piano in a close-up; the sweat on Dorothea’s brow as she plays her saxophone. Moments are masterfully crafted in almost every frame of the film in order to compel us to notice the fantastic and the transcendent that can be found within the everyday. The act of noticing extends beyond these moments when Joe visits his local barber shop or his mother’s shop, and the film invites the audience to watch as he discovers more about those close to him, and comes to appreciate them in a mature, genuine way, for the very first time.
Fig. 4 - Joe’s life on earth and Soul’s use of Black spaces.
The film’s cultural significance must not be understated. Joe Gardner is Pixar’s first Black lead character, and the Black spaces presented in Joe’s life on Earth are integral to the film (Fig. 4). We are introduced to individuals such as Joe’s mother and her employees (who seem to have known Joe for most of his life), as well as to various acquaintances Joe knows from his local barber shop. Kemp Powers, who was brought onto the project as co-director after becoming heavily involved as a writer, says of Black spaces within the film, “this guy has to pass through authentically Black spaces and there’s no more authentically Black space than a barber shop…I just want to see Black hair” (Hampton 2020). Racial consciousness is even crafted into the dialogue, with Powers noting, “the fact that we were even able to acknowledge race in a Disney animated feature, it seems like a little thing man but it just so served the story.” This long-awaited representation is welcome and works best when we do in fact see Joe, his family and community in these spaces.
Fig. 5 - Joe’s Black male human form in Soul.
This is particularly true when one thinks back to the controversy surrounding the 2009 Disney film The Princess and the Frog (Ron Clements & John Musker, 2009), and the fact that, though we finally got our first African-American Disney princess, Tiana spends the majority of her time on-screen as a frog rather than as a human, thereby hiding – and arguably negating – her racial identity for the majority of the film. Soul does show Joe for a time in his soul form, but we also spend significant time with his human body (Fig. 5). Though this is, at least ostensibly, an improvement upon the issues surrounding Tiana’s depiction, Joe’s on-screen time as a human is nonetheless limited. After all, for much of the middle section of the film, when we see Joe’s body on Earth, we’re not actually seeing “Joe”; we are instead seeing Joe’s body while inhabited by 22, with Joe trapped in the body of the therapy cat who was napping on his body in the hospital. Therefore, though the film clearly seeks to avoid hiding Joe’s Black male human form by having this form on screen for a significant portion of the narrative, it is problematised – and, again, at least partially negated – by having his body inhabited by 22 and their ostensible identification as a “middle-aged white woman” via their voice (as performed by Fey).
Disappointingly, but not unexpectedly, the intrusion of Whiteness into the Black spaces of Soul feels similar to what we’ve seen before. In many ways, the film could be perceived as a White Saviour narrative in which 22, who choses to speak with the voice of a middle-aged white woman (because they know it is annoying), “saves” Joe by helping him to see how worthwhile his life is, and thereby enabling him to gain a second chance at a life. Prior to the film’s release, Monique Jones (2019) raised this issue, noting that “the plot still gives plenty of cause for concern”, citing multiple racial tropes including the need for Black characters to be transformed into animals or other forms to depict an “innate humanity.” It is indeed a shame that we, like Joe, can only see the true value of his life when we are positioned to see it through the eyes of 22. Interestingly, we also see Joe simultaneously thrust (at least partially) into the trope of “Magical Negro” thanks to his helping (and thereby saving) the white-coded character 22 to find their purpose, and to be the one who finally inspired them to be born into a life on Earth at long last. That this also helps Joe to find fulfilment and purpose in his own life (as a teacher of music who can inspire his students to find their spark) serves to reinforce this notion.
One question that should be considered is why 22 needs to have a defined race at all. Pete Docter told IGN that “souls who have not lived, they all look more or less the same… they don’t have any real distinguishing characteristics even to the point where eye colour we made purple so that it wouldn’t be indicative of any race or ethnicity.” 22 hasn’t been to Earth, yet clearly understands concepts of racial discourse enough to know that speaking in the voice of a middle-aged white woman is potentially “annoying” (particularly when that voice assumes authority and/or entitlement when they are not in fact knowledgeable or deserving of special treatment, but instead utilizing their racial and class privilege to their advantage). This implies a knowledge of consciousness of 2020s American social politics and the popular media (and in particular the social media) landscape. The reference to the annoyingness of a middle-aged white woman’s voice seeks to mock the entitlement some white women perceive themselves to have, particularly when voicing an opinion on something they misunderstand, or worse, a racist and/or xenophobic opinion. The reference to 22’s annoying voice likewise feels like a nod and a wink from the creators to the audience, and gives the impression that Pixar are congratulating themselves for being aware enough to mention – and therefore problematise – Whiteness. Although this is certainly a step forward, the film doesn’t explore it much further.
This lack of exploration seems performative, as though the film seeks to justify the implied Whiteness of 22. It is particularly problematic when one remembers that, in modern western cultures such as the US, non-whiteness is typically coded as “Other”, and so “Whiteness” thereby is perceived as the “norm”; Pete Docter’s intention to avoid race (curiously, by giving the characters purple eyes, a rare but nonetheless very real eye colour some white people have) is ultimately cancelled out by the fact that, in soul form, the characters are pearly-white, which would imply potential Whiteness, particularly when read from a western perspective in which Whiteness is the norm. Perhaps this concept can’t be further developed in a film so crammed with metaphysical and existential philosophy, but it is a blind-spot worth mentioning. Such is the pervasiveness of Whiteness, after all, that it can have the privilege of existing inconsequentially. My focus on the Whiteness of 22 is not to diminish the Black spaces, but rather to highlight its permeation within the film “to dislodge it from its centrality and authority” (Dyer 1997, 10). It becomes hard to find the humour in 22 saying “don’t worry, you can’t crush a soul here, that’s what life on Earth is for,” when even in an ethereal state, 22 gets the chance to see into Joe’s world, experience his culture without living the consequences of it, and then deciding whether the Earth is somewhere they would like to go, all while he watches from the body of a rotund cat.
Fig. 6 - Joe’s musical passions in Soul.
Nonetheless, the title sequence, an ‘Alice down the rabbit hole’ style fall through different visual planes that see animation seamlessly transition from 3D to 2D and back again, is capable of inspiring a sense of wonder in the viewer, as do those moments when we see Joe’s “spark” alight while he gets lost in playing the piano (Fig. 6), signified by fantastical synaesthesia style colours, reminiscent of the opening “Toccata and Fugue” segment of Fantasia (Ben Sharpsteen et al., 1940). Likewise, there is pleasure to be found in familiar themes seen so many times before in Pixar: the value of relationships, the power of childhood nostalgia, learning to understand balance in both one’s own life and in the world as a whole. There is also enormous joy in recognising Joe’s passion as the vehicle through which all of these themes are ultimately communicated. That his passion and character are revealed to be far more than just his great talent for – and love of – music becomes an important and moving revelation of the narrative (for Joe himself as well as for the audience who has been asked to identify with him as the primary character), as is his ultimate realisation that he has the autonomy to decide what to place value on. These themes are at the heart of Soul, and are what make this film, despite its problems, so moving and satisfying for its audience.
In conclusion, Soul is uncomfortably underpinned throughout by thematic issues such as its White Saviour narrative (hiding in plain sight in the form of a cute little soul who speaks with the voice of a white middle-aged woman). However, to deny the film’s achievements and significance would be unjust. The film presents Black spaces in Pixar as they have never been seen before, and manages to depict the delicacy and preciousness of life on Earth even when compared to the imaginative aesthetic of The Great Before and The Great Beyond. Soul allows you simultaneously to be moved by tremendous artistic talent, and to recognise that there is more to life than your ambition and material achievements. It is a promising beginning to a greater racial awareness and diversity within Pixar’s (and, hopefully, Disney’s) films, as well as a wonderful and satisfying exploration of why – potentially – we are here on Earth.
***Many thanks to Amy M. Davis for her invaluable editorial work on shaping this Soul review***
**Article published: January 8, 2021**
References
African-American Film Critics Association, The. 2020. “AAFCA. Virtual Roundtable: Soul Interview – Jamie Foxx, Kemp Powers, and Pete Docter.” The AAFCA Channel (November 23, 2020), https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KdLHPBiYbqA.
Dyer, Richard. 1997. White, London, New York: Routledge.
Hampton, Rachelle. 2020. “Soul Co-Director Kemp Powers on the Pressures of Creating Pixar’s First Black Lead.” Slate, December 21, 2020. www.slate.com/culture/2020/12/pixar-soul-kemp-powers-interview-black-lead-barber-shop.html.
IGN. 2020. “How Pixar Designed the Ethereal Characters of Soul (Ft. Director Pete Docter)” IGN (December 14, 2020), https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y_LuOJrrXXg.
Jones, Monique. 2019. “Will Pixar’s ‘Soul’ be a repeat of racial tropes?” Shadow and Act, November 13, 2019. https://shadowandact.com/pixar-soul-racial-tropes.
Biography
Devon Douieb is a Social Media Officer in the third sector. She works with digital communities, creates content and delivers digital communications strategies. Devon completed an MA in Film Studies at King’s College London in 2017, where she was taught by fantasy-animation.org co-founder Dr Christopher Holliday. Her studies primarily focused on the representation of race and gender in popular cinema. Devon has worked in Disneyland Paris as a cast member, and her interest in Disney has expanded into a broader range of fantasy and animation (largely as a result of listening to the Fantasy/Animation podcast). She is also Fantasy/Animation’s Digital Communications Manager.