Grief is fascinating. It's easy to feel whole, moved on, healed.
But then there's Geppetto at the end of Guillermo del Toro's Pinocchio, losing a son for a second time, and suddenly I feel like I've been crying for my entire life, as if I've never known my own eyes without tears or like I've never breathed without my chest rattling with precarious gasps.
I'm being so dramatic. The movie is lovely, honestly. It's rendered with such passion and told with…