I didn’t plan on watching Coco—it found me. One evening, while mindlessly scrolling through social media, I stumbled on a video confidently claiming, "Coco will definitely make everyone cry." That stuck with me. Even though the film was released back in 2017, curiosity pulled me in, and I finally pressed play.
Sitting down to write this, I know I’m late to the conversation. But after experiencing Coco for myself, I can say it’s never too late to talk about a story that touches the heart this deeply. It has a legendary reputation for making even the most stoic adults reach for the tissues, and honestly? It deserves it. It easily sits in the S-tier of Pixar’s catalog, capturing that classic, mature magic where a movie is vibrant and fun on the surface, but brilliantly dark and profound underneath.
A Tale of Two Worlds: The Visual Contrast
One of the most striking elements of Coco is the deliberate visual contrast between the two realms Miguel inhabits.
Santa Cecilia (The Living World): This world is rendered in dusty, warm earth tones—terracotta, sun-baked bricks, and soft shadows. It feels grounded, historical, and lived-in, representing the literal weight of tradition.
The transition between these worlds is a masterclass in animation. When Miguel first crosses over, the screen erupts with vibrant orange marigold petals, creating a bridge of light that feels both fragile and magical. This spectacle is further elevated by the introduction of Alebrijes—fantastical spirit guides whose neon, clashing patterns add a sense of psychedelic wonder to the afterlife. As Miguel’s emotional journey intensifies, the movie’s colour palette shifts alongside his heart, trading the initial "neon party" for intimate, soulful lighting.
Shoes, Secrets, and Swearing Off Music
The story starts with the backstory of the Rivera family. A long time ago, the family patriarch left his wife and daughter to pursue his dream of playing music for the world, never to return. To survive, his wife, Mamá Imelda, learned to make shoes. She passed the trade down, and generations later, the Riveras are the best cobblers in town—and the only family in Mexico who completely loathes music. No melodies allowed.
But in this family, Mighael was born. He's supposed to pick up the cobbler's hammer, but he secretly harbours a burning passion for the guitar. He is entirely obsessed with the 1930s stardom of Ernesto de la Cruz, a legendary local musician who was tragically crushed by a giant bell in 1942.
When Miguel’s grandmother discovers his secret guitar and smashes it to pieces right before the town's big Día de los Muertos talent show, Miguel reaches his breaking point. Defiant, he runs away and breaks into Ernesto’s mausoleum to borrow his famous skull guitar. But the moment he plucks a string, a mysterious magic takes over. Miguel is accidentally transported straight into the Land of the Dead.
The Plot Thickens (and Gets Surprisingly Dark)
Once in the skeleton world, Miguel runs into his dead ancestors. They want to send him back to the living world before sunrise, which is an easy fix, as it only requires a family blessing. Mamá Imelda gives her blessing on the strict condition that Miguel never plays music again.
Refusing to give up his dream, Miguel slips away to find Ernesto de la Cruz, believing the superstar is his actual great-great-grandfather who will give him an unconditional blessing. Along the way, he teams up with Hector, a charmingly tragic, forgotten skeleton trying to sneak past the afterlife's border control to see his daughter before he fades away.
This partnership introduces us to the heavy, existential rules of Pixar's universe: if no one in the living world puts your photo on an ofrenda (the holiday altar) and remembers you, your soul vanishes into the "Final Death."
Ultimately, Miguel makes it to Ernesto’s massive celebrity party, but the reunion unravels into a massive plot twist. We learn that Hector and Ernesto used to be partners. Hector wrote all the iconic songs, but when he tried to leave the act to return to his family, Ernesto poisoned him, stole his music, and took credit for his genius.
"Remember Me" and the Bitterest Sweet
Stranded in a prison pit after discovering the truth, Hector and Miguel came together to form the final puzzle. Hector isn't just a random musician; he is the true patriarch of the Rivera family. And the clock is ticking. Hector is actively fading away because the only living person who remembers him is his daughter—Mamá Coco, Miguel's great-grandmother—and her memory is slipping due to late-stage dementia.
The emotional climax of this film is breathtakingly heavy for a kids' movie. It centres on the concept of being forgotten before you can be forgiven. When Miguel finally makes it back to the living world, he doesn't have Hector's photo anymore. His only choice is to break the family rules one last time. He grabs the guitar and plays "Remember Me" for Mamá Coco—the private, gentle lullaby Hector wrote just for her.
Seeing Mamá Coco's face light up as her memory returns to connect with her father's song is exactly what makes this movie an absolute tear-jerker. She preserves his memory, shares the missing piece of the family photo, and allows Hector to finally cross the marigold bridge to unite with his family.
Final Verdict: An Organic Masterpiece
What makes Coco stand out so brightly is how organic and logical the storytelling feels. The narrative pieces fall into place beautifully. Hector’s introduction starts as a visual airport-security gag, which naturally leads to his meeting with Miguel, shifting him effortlessly from a comic-relief sidekick to the emotional anchor of the entire film.
The story never feels cheap or emotionally manipulative. It flows naturally, respecting the audience's intelligence while delivering a stunning exploration of culture, identity, and the timeless bond of family love. If you haven't seen it yet—or if it's just been a while—trust me: it’s time to press play.
