It’s been a while since Miguel first picked up that forbidden guitar, but let’s be honest: we’re all still crying. When the Disney Pixar film Coco dropped back in 2017, it wasn't just another animated flick for the kids to watch on a loop. It was a cultural earthquake. Pixar basically took the concept of death—usually a "don't talk about it" topic in Western children's media—and turned it into a vibrant, neon-soaked celebration of memory and music.
You’ve probably seen it. Maybe you’ve seen it ten times. But there is a massive difference between watching a movie and actually seeing the layers of research that Lee Unkrich and Adrian Molina packed into every frame. Most people think it’s just about a kid who wants to play guitar against his family’s wishes. That’s the surface. Underneath? It’s a masterclass in Mexican iconography, the fragility of legacy, and the brutal reality of what happens when we stop telling stories.
The Secret History Behind the Land of the Dead
Pixar didn't just wing this. They spent years in Oaxaca, Guanajuato, and Mexico City. If you look at the Land of the Dead, it’s not just a random fantasy world. It’s built on vertical layers that represent Mexican history. The bottom levels feature Mesoamerican pyramids. As you go up, you see colonial-era Spanish architecture, followed by Porfirian-style buildings, and finally, modern skyscrapers at the top. It is a literal timeline of a civilization.
The bridge? Those bright orange petals? Those are cempasúchil, or Mexican marigolds. In real-life Día de los Muertos traditions, the scent and color of these flowers are believed to guide the spirits back to their family homes. It's not just a pretty visual; it's a theological bridge.
One thing people often miss is the inclusion of the Xoloitzcuintli dog, Dante. He isn't just "the goofy sidekick." In Aztec mythology, the Xolo dog was believed to be the guide for souls traveling through Mictlán, the underworld. Dante’s clumsy behavior hides a deep, ancestral purpose. When he transforms into an Alebrije, the movie is acknowledging the work of Pedro Linares, the artist who first dreamt up these brightly colored folk art sculptures in the 1930s.
Why the Music in Coco Is Actually High-Level Theory
"Remember Me" is a chameleon of a song. Seriously.
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Written by Kristen Anderson-Lopez and Robert Lopez—the same duo behind Frozen—the song changes meaning entirely based on its arrangement. When Ernesto de la Cruz sings it, it’s a bombastic, narcissistic ranchera. It’s a demand for fame. But when Miguel sings it to Mama Coco? It’s a lullaby. It’s a prayer against dementia.
The film uses music as a narrative engine rather than just a soundtrack. The "Grito"—that signature Mexican musical shout—isn't just a sound effect. It’s an expression of soul. When Miguel finally lets out a real grito during "Un Poco Loco," it’s the moment he truly connects with his heritage, moving past the "rules" of his living family and into the heartbeat of his culture.
Honestly, the guitar work is insane. Pixar animators actually recorded musicians with cameras attached to their guitars to make sure Miguel’s finger placements matched the actual notes of the songs. If you play guitar, you can literally watch his hands and play along. That level of detail is why the Disney Pixar film Coco felt so authentic to musicians who usually roll their eyes at "fake" movie playing.
What Most People Get Wrong About the Villain
Ernesto de la Cruz is a great villain because he’s a warning. He represents the danger of prioritizing "legacy" over "family." He wants to be remembered by the masses, even if it means being forgotten by the people who actually loved him.
But the real "villain" of the movie isn't a person. It’s the "Final Death."
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The concept that you die a second time when the last person on earth forgets your name is heavy. It’s a concept rooted in various indigenous beliefs and popularized in modern Mexican culture. It turns the movie from a fun adventure into a race against time. We aren't worried about Miguel getting stuck; we are worried about Héctor disappearing. That stakes-shifting is what makes the third act so gut-wrenching. It’s not about a kid getting home; it's about a father being saved from non-existence.
The Cultural Impact and the "Disney" Controversy
We have to talk about the trademark incident. Before the movie came out, Disney tried to trademark the phrase "Día de los Muertos." It went about as well as you’d expect. The backlash was swift and justified.
To their credit, Pixar pivoted hard. They brought on cultural consultants like Lalo Alcaraz—who had been one of the loudest critics—to ensure the film wasn't a corporate heist of Mexican culture. This changed the DNA of the project. It’s why we see things like the ofrenda treated with such reverence. The ofrenda isn't a "shrine" or an "altar" for worship in the traditional sense; it’s a dinner invitation. You put out the food the deceased liked so they have the energy to make the journey back.
It’s these small nuances—like Abuelita using her chancla as a weapon of mass destruction—that made the film resonate. It felt lived-in. It felt like a Mexican household, not a Hollywood set of one.
Actionable Takeaways for Your Next Rewatch
If you’re going to sit down and watch the Disney Pixar film Coco again, don't just let it wash over you. Pay attention to the background.
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- Look for the cameos: Famous Mexican icons like Frida Kahlo, El Santo (the wrestler), and Jorge Negrete appear in the Land of the Dead. It’s a "who’s who" of Latin American history.
- Watch the colors: Notice how the Land of the Living uses earthy, muted tones while the Land of the Dead is an explosion of fluorescent purples, oranges, and greens. This flipped the script on the trope that "life is bright and death is dark."
- Listen for the instruments: The score by Michael Giacchino uses indigenous instruments like the teponaztli (an Aztec drum) and the vihuela. It creates a texture you won't find in a standard orchestral score.
How to Honor the Themes of Coco in Real Life
The movie isn't just a story; it’s a prompt. If you want to take the message of the Disney Pixar film Coco and apply it, start with your own family history.
Basically, go talk to your oldest living relative. Now.
Ask about the stories that aren't in the photo albums. What was their first job? What did their grandmother’s kitchen smell like? Record these conversations. The "Final Death" in the film happens when stories stop being told. By documenting your family’s oral history, you’re essentially building your own ofrenda.
Also, look into the art of the Alebrije. These aren't just "monsters." They are a uniquely Mexican art form that combines parts of different animals. Supporting Oaxacan artisans who continue this tradition is a great way to keep the spirit of the film’s inspiration alive.
The Disney Pixar film Coco teaches us that we are only as dead as the memories we leave behind. Keep the stories moving. Don't let the photos gather dust. And for the love of everything, keep a box of tissues nearby for that final scene with Mama Coco. It never gets easier.
Next Steps for Deepening the Experience:
- Create a Digital Ofrenda: Use a cloud storage folder to compile old family photos and voice recordings of elders to ensure their "stories" aren't lost to tech failures or fading memories.
- Explore Mexican Cinema: To see where the film got its aesthetic, watch the "Golden Age of Mexican Cinema" films from the 1940s and 50s, particularly those starring Pedro Infante, who heavily inspired the character of Ernesto de la Cruz.
- Support Local Artisans: If you buy "Coco-inspired" art, look for authentic Oaxacan wood carvings (Alebrijes) made by actual Mexican artists rather than mass-produced plastic replicas.