Incredibles 2 (2018)

Fourteen years is not the longest we’ve had to wait for sequels – Indiana Jones waited eighteen years to find the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, while Blade Runner 2049 incorporated its 35-year gap into the narrative – but it’s certainly the longest for Pixar, who have expanded four of their films into franchises while The Incredibles stood alone. Because The Incredibles has had (but did not need) fourteen years to become one of my all-time favorite films, it’s hard for me to say whether Incredibles 2 is better, but it’s certainly a worthy successor to what was, for a good long while, possibly the greatest superhero movie ever made.

Incredibles 2 follows up immediately on the original, as the arrival of the Underminer once more calls the Parr family out of hiding. But patriarch Mr. Incredible (Craig T. Nelson) is stunned to learn that the media-savvy Winston Deaver (Bob Odenkirk) and his sister Evelyn (Catherine Keener) believe Elasti-Girl (Holly Hunter) is the key to winning over public perception of re-legalizing superheroes. While Elasti-Girl pursues the case of the villainous Screen-Slaver, Mr. Incredible faces his greatest challenge yet – embracing his role as a stay-at-home dad to adolescent Violet (Sarah Vowell), mathematically-challenged Dash (Huck Milner), and the unpredictably-powered infant Jack-Jack.

As the director of my two favorite Pixar films – The Incredibles, naturally, and Ratatouille – Brad Bird earns a lot of goodwill from me. Despite Tomorrowland being a bit of a flop, there’s been something about it that hasn’t left my mind since I saw it (not counting, of course, Michael Giacchino’s masterful score), which means it’ll make a great “Take Two Tuesday” one of these days. Point being, even when Bird is off his game, he’s still capable of turning in unforgettable work with something to say. For Father’s Day weekend, Incredibles 2  provides a nice reminder that the act of raising a family can indeed be a superheroic feat, that gender roles are just what we make of them, and that the gifted cannot help but seek out their unique purpose in life. Bird’s appreciation for the extraordinary is on full display in Incredibles 2, though he wisely flips the script to show Elasti-Girl’s taste for superheroics; where the first film saw Mr. Incredible revel in his clandestine activities, here we get to see Elasti-Girl have her day in the sun, and the ways she and her husband find peace and fulfillment in their new roles is frankly inspiring for anyone of my generation, staring down the barrel of starting families.

Incredibles 2 does not, however, do much in the way of genre deconstruction after the fashion of the first film. For example, there is a moment when a villain launches into exposition, and in the first film that would have followed up on a winking joke about “monologuing.” Here, though, the superheroics are fairly straight-faced, largely because Bird is less interested in the superhero genre this time and more interested in a story about a family that happens to wear spandex. Put another way, Incredibles 2 is less about reckoning with the past and more about preparing for the future. (Whether that augurs well for a possible Incredibles 3 is anyone’s guess, but I’d wager that the box office receipts will find Bird receiving no shortage of blank checks for a threequel.)

Indeed, the restraint on display is artfully done, refreshing for a sequel that’s been more highly demanded than any other in recent memory. In a production with less integrity, it’s easy to imagine vast subplots dedicated to Edna Mode or even Honey Best, but here they’re part of the narrative world and fit into the story without pandering to an audience that craves so much more of them. Bird also introduces a number of new characters, too many to enumerate, but again they fit into the aesthetic and the world of The Incredibles with that essential hunger to see more. Doors are, of course, left open for further adventures in this world, be they on film, on television, or in comic books, but one is reassured that the film took so long to arrive because its creators are acutely aware of how special the final product needs to be. 

Incredibles 2 feels very special, but it also feels good. At a time when everything seems divisive, when no one can agree on anything from politics to Star Wars, it’s refreshing to go to a film that embodies the purest form of escapism – not escapism from something but escapism to a place where the good guys are unreservedly good, where they have an irrepressible need to help and a visually amazing way of doing so. The film includes a number of sequences that are breathtaking, even as far as a mesmerizing animation of a motel swimming pool, hypnotic in all its simulated eddying glory. Incredibles 2 looks beautiful; its inimitable style is an enviable treat, effortlessly cool yet painstakingly rendered. We want to live there. We want to be these people; at least, I do, because Incredibles 2 reminds us that there is a hero inside of all of us, just waiting for an opportunity to answer the call to do something amazing, even if it’s just changing poopy diapers. From start to finish, Incredibles 2 is a joyride, with heavy emphasis on “joy.”

Incredibles 2 is rated PG for “action sequences and some brief mild language.” Written and directed by Brad Bird. Starring Craig T. Nelson, Holly Hunter, Sarah Vowell, Huck Milner, Bob Odenkirk, Catherine Keener, and Samuel L. Jackson.

Bonus review! Incredibles 2 is preceded by Bao, a short film from Domee Shi in which a dumpling comes to life and brightens the life of his ostensible mother. In the best Pixar tradition, the short is bracingly original, emotionally potent, and dialogue-free, allowing the power of the images to speak volumes. After last year’s “Olaf’s Frozen Adventure” overstayed its welcome, Bao is refreshingly brisk, condensed in a way that shows the tight economy of the narrative. I didn’t know quite what to expect from Bao, beyond seeing still images of its adorable protagonist, but I found myself touched by its sincere sentimentality. Bao is a fine return to form for a studio who has done some of its best work in its pre-feature shorts.

Coco (2017)

Over the last seven years, more than half of Pixar’s output has taken the form of sequels to their preexisting properties (disclosure: I’ve still not seen Finding Dory or Cars 3), and of their original fare only Inside Out has distinguished itself as belonging to that higher stratosphere of storytelling for which Pixar became known long ago. No slight to Brave or The Good Dinosaur, but I’ll claim Inside Out as standing quite apart from those fine but familiar endeavors. Coco is, however, a return to form for Pixar, taking us to a new world with a fresh narrative that ends up touching a few heart (and guitar) strings.

Against the wishes of his family, who believe that music has cursed their family, young Miguel (Anthony Gonzalez) has a secret shrine in his attic where he practices guitar and idolizes the world’s greatest musician, Ernesto de la Cruz (Benjamin Bratt). Miguel wants to play in a talent show on Día de los muertos, but a series of mishaps drops him into the land of the dead, where he’ll need the help of the nearly-forgotten Hector (Gael García Bernal) to reach Ernesto de la Cruz and rejoin his living family.

Director Lee Unkrich has been tied up with Coco since Toy Story 3 (2010), which was arguably Pixar’s finest film in the last ten years, so it’s a welcome relief to see finally what’s taken so long. On that count, Unkrich does not disappoint; Coco is the kind of film that reminds you what truly exceptional animated material looks like when it’s married to equally compelling storytelling. Yes, it’s a version of that same Pixar plot in which a character travels through a new place in order to return home while learning something about himself in the process, but the film feels so remarkably fresh that I didn’t notice this plot similarity until I went back to my review of The Good Dinosaur to remind myself why that film hadn’t worked as well.

One of Pixar’s remarkable strengths has always been its ability to create a world, and it’s that dexterity at world-building that has made Pixar sequels so appetizing to the general public – who wouldn’t want to rejoin The Incredibles or see what else is in the Toy Story toy box? As good as those sequels have been (or are expected to be), though, revisiting a world comes at the expense of building another one. Pixar’s always been quite deft at giving us a sideways glance at our own world, seeing what’s just out of sight and asking us to reimagine – to re-envision (emphasis on vision) – how we view our toys, our feelings, our fish. Here, surprisingly soberly, Coco takes us into the afterlife, through the particular lens of Mexican culture. In so doing, the film does a remarkable job at introducing this tradition to an audience who may not know an ofrenda from an alebrije. Coco is never directly didactic, but it strikes me as a fine primer on what another culture does on October 31.

Visually, Coco is a real delight. My screening of Coco was preceded by a little vignette about how many people participated in the film and how intricate their work was, so perhaps I was readied to appreciate the many details within the film’s animation. Individual illuminated buildings, the peculiar way each skeleton walks, the delicate ornamentation on each skull – to say nothing of the trademark Pixar bouncy ball and Pizza Planet truck – all are brought to startling life with what can only be described as “Pixar showing off” (as in the best it does). Like the famous pencil adjustment scene in The Incredibles, there’s no story relevance to Miguel having only one dimple when he smiles, but it’s a moment when Pixar can flex its animation muscles and play magician with a peek behind the digital curtain and a wink at its own prowess.

At the heart of the film is a smooth, effortless narrative which feels unique and takes the audience to surprising places, both geographically and emotionally. The film’s emphasis on music, so pivotal to Miguel’s self-discovery, also feels like a revelation from Pixar; though composer Michael Giacchino (who himself makes a small cameo) always serves as a worthwhile hand on deck, Coco approaches becoming a musical in a way that most Pixar fare has not, echoing WALL·E’s use of Hello, Dolly! as Miguel makes his way closer to his idol. If you don’t leave the theater humming at least one of the tracks from the film, consult an audiologist, because the songs are so inextricable from the core narrative, so vitally integrated, that the film might not succeed without them.

Coco does succeed, though, and it’s a blessing to have films like this in the world. Without the benefit or burden of extended universes, with a runtime healthily shy of two hours, and with a style that identifies it as uniquely itself, Coco is a fine reminder of what Lee Unkrich and Pixar can accomplish when they do what they do best. And hey, if there’s a Coco 2 in the distant future, I’m all for it; they will have earned it.

Coco is rated PG for “thematic elements.” Directed by Lee Unkrich and Adrian Molina. Written by Lee Unkrich, Adrian Molina, Jason Katz, and Matthew Aldrich. Starring Anthony Gonzalez, Gael García Bernal, Alanna Ubach, and Benjamin Bratt.

Bonus review! Coco is preceded by Olaf’s Frozen Adventure, in which magical snowman Olaf (Josh Gad) travels throughout Arendelle in search of a holiday tradition for Elsa and Anna (Idina Menzel and Kristen Bell). At twenty-one minutes, it’s evident that the short began life as a television holiday special in the vein of Toy Story of Terror! and Toy Story That Time Forgot, and perhaps the short would have fared better there than before a feature film, where it seems to overstay its welcome (conditioned as we are to expect an original short in the neighborhood of eight minutes). Audiences in Mexico have notably revolted, such that the short has been largely pulled from theaters there, and I do have to say that the short isn’t that bad. It’s possessing of the same charm extended from Frozen, though its songs are not quite as memorable and its story holds a little fat around the edges. But I certainly felt impatient around halfway through, so its length and placement would seem to have worked against the short. Frozen fans will love it, but the general audience might not be ready for a "short" of this magnitude.

The Good Dinosaur (2015)

The usual disclaimers apply here: I’m a Disney shill, love Pixar movies, and have a fondness for dinosaurs. I tend to cry buckets at each one of these films, etc. etc. Most of this is all still true, though quantitatively fewer tears were shed at The Good Dinosaur than at, say, Inside Out or Toy Story 3. And perhaps that’s emblematic of my reaction to The Good Dinosaur as a whole: it does a lot of the same things well that Pixar movies overall tend to do, but I’m left feeling a little bit less than I wanted.

In a world where dinosaurs never went extinct and instead took up agriculture, young Arlo (Raymond Ochoa) is desperate to prove himself to his family and make his mark on the world. After a storm separates him from his family, Arlo strikes up an unlikely bond with an evolving human he names Spot. Together, the pair has a whole lot of wilderness to cross before they can get back home.

Here’s the thing (and I know that I usually begin a sentence with that when there might be bad news to follow) – The Good Dinosaur is a bit of disappointment in much the same way (though certainly not to the same degree) that I was disappointed by the trailer for the dismal specter of Alvin & the Chipmunks: The Road Chip: “Oh, this again.” I say the difference is by degree, for there’s little more soul-shattering than the looming threat of yet another squeaky-voiced milked-for-its-last-dollar insult to the word “comedy.” But there is, unfortunately for a studio otherwise prized for its innovation, something all too familiar about The Good Dinosaur. There’s a liberal amount borrowed from The Lion King, The Land Before Time (one of them, anyway), and even a bit from Disney’s own Dinosaur only fifteen years back.

This level of distraction, a kind of narrative déjà vu, is never a good sign on film, because it means that the story isn’t holding you as closely as it ought to be. And indeed, The Good Dinosaur retreads quite literally much of the same ground as some of Pixar’s better films – Toy Story and its sequel, Brave, Up, Finding Nemo, and to a degree Inside Out – in that it’s yet another story about someone traveling through somewhere to get home and learning something about themselves in the process. Yes, it’s a tale at least as old as Homer’s Odyssey, but there’s something less compelling about it this time around (I never, for example, noticed until now the repetition in Inside Out of the road story).

Rather than play backseat driver to the film and tell it what it should have done differently, I will say that the film isn’t a failure. It is simply, as the title indicates, good but not great. It’s a testament to the strength of Pixar’s abilities that even one of its less successful films is still quite good. Two things really stand out here, the first of which is the animation, particularly of the backgrounds. The backdrops are visually breathtaking, and it’s worth staying through the first round of end credits just to see these images unadulterated by the presence of animated figures in the foreground. Though the cartoony nature of the characters never quite resolves with the photorealistic settings, there are moments when it’s quite easy to forget that none of what you’re seeing is real; the mountains, skies, and running waters of the film are visually stunning.

Second, the tears. And yet, there are some to be had in The Good Dinosaur, and they’re in wordless sequences – first, when Arlo tries to communicate with the nonverbal Spot, and second, at the end of their journey together. Again, these scenes show us what the studio can do better than most other filmmakers by tugging at those heartstrings in unexpected yet profound moments. The drawing of a circle never felt so emotional before The Good Dinosaur.

It is, as I’ve said, good but not great – worth the watch, certainly, better than most of the animated drivel (do we need, for example, an Angry Birds movie?) ostensibly targeting the same demographic. The Good Dinosaur maintains the visual standard set by Pixar, even if the story never quite rises above the level of “serviceable.”

The Good Dinosaur is rated PG for “peril, action and thematic elements.” There are some mean dinosaurs in here, some bloodless violence involving such creatures, and a few implied dinosaur deaths.

Bonus review! The Good Dinosaur comes packaged with a delightful short named Sanjay’s Super Team. In it, Pixar displays their gift for wordless storytelling in a story about a boy whose love of superheroes comes into conflict with his father’s devout prayers, until the young Sanjay realizes the two are not wholly irreconcilable. Deeply personal, Sanjay’s Super Team is a worthy appetizer – better placed, perhaps, in front of the forthcoming Incredibles 2 – and a real treat for me, because I’m a very easy sell when it comes to both Pixar and superheroes. The video game-inflected animation is a unique addition to the Pixar canon, and its blend of family values and superheroism is over all too soon. Can we get a full-length Sanjay feature?

Inside Out (2015)

There was a joke going around the Internet a few days ago that Pixar began its career by asking, “What if toys had feelings?” before turning to bugs, cars, and fish. Now, the punchline claims, Pixar is turning their gaze inward to ask, “What if emotions had feelings?” Every good joke, of course, has a grain of truth to it, and the fact of the matter is that Pixar has always been rather good at probing the emotional depth of the quotidian, and going meta is an inevitable move. What’s also inevitable is that writer/director Pete Docter (of Up and Monsters Inc. fame) has done a first-rate job of it.

When Riley turns eleven and her family moves from Minnesota to San Francisco, the emotions in her head go along for the ride too. At the helm is Riley’s dominant emotion Joy (Amy Poehler), in charge of regulating Riley’s mood and creating her “core memories.” Also manning the buttons are Fear (Bill Hader), Anger (Lewis Black), and Disgust (Mindy Kaling), but it’s Sadness (Phyllis Smith) who seems to be influencing Riley more than Joy would like, leading the emotions into disagreement as Riley begins a new life on the West Coast.

Let’s get the preliminary advisory out of the way – yes, I cried. It didn’t seem like I would, for the longest time in the film, which was not to Inside Out’s detriment at all, but then that trademark Pixar sucker punch arrives right at the climax, and blimey. If the film doesn’t strike that chord with you, I worry for the state of your emotions; honestly I do. It’s interesting that this has become the benchmark of success for me in evaluating a Pixar film, and I suppose it’s due to the apparent distinction between “kid’s movie” and “proper film” that I notice (but reject out of hand) the older I get. Take, for example, the smattering of trailers presented before my showing of Inside Out – Minions, Hotel Transylvania 2, Shaun the Sheep, Pan, and Peanuts. Aside from my Charles Schulz nostalgia, I didn’t feel anything but boredom; there is a caliber of storytelling that Pixar films more often than not inhabit, stories told without room for cynicism or cheap gimmicks.

One senses, for instance, that a great deal of thought has gone into Inside Out, with its surprisingly nimble adaptation of how our emotions and memories operate within our own headspace. Though there is little by way of scientific precision in the film, there is a great deal of “truthiness” to the proceedings, as when the film offers an imaginative explanation for why we forget some things but spontaneously recall others. I almost wonder if Inside Out, by deftly portraying certain truths about our interiorities, will help young viewers understand those things about themselves that we adults have already had to learn for ourselves. (For one, the film acknowledges the way that our dreams are reconstructed from our memories – what Freud called “day residues.”) We may not have emotional sprites living in our brains, though we might be better off if we did.

While we’re on the subject of the emotions, it must be said that Amy Poehler is perhaps the best cast of any Pixar protagonist. While the Pixar casting department hasn’t really made any significant bumbles, Poehler is downright inspired as the embodiment of Joy. A kind of manic pixie Leslie Knope, Joy’s relentless enthusiasm is matched perfectly with Poehler’s breathless whimsy and at times infuriating cheeriness. It’s impossible to imagine another voice that would have worked quite so well, but she’s also complimented by a surprising turn by Phyllis Smith as Sadness. Smith turns in a nicely understated performance, playing up not deep sorrow but the exhaustion and defeat that comes with despair. Honestly, the voice cast is all around very strong, but it’s worth noting that the film succeeds largely on the chemistry between Joy and Sadness.

It’s a wonderful relationship, one that doesn’t pander to the simple good-guy/bad-guy narrative to which a lesser film studio might have resorted (heavens, could you imagine Jack Black voicing Disgust, with all the inevitable flatulence jokes that would have accompanied him?). Instead, Docter gives us something much more interesting, a movie about a relationship rather than a movie with an antagonism. There are no bad guys here because it’s all about Riley, about the complex and competing emotions within us and how we navigate our own psychological terrain. It’s surprisingly smart, a kind of “Disney’s Inception” in a way that shows off none of its brilliance because it’s too busy working to get you to feel. And on that account, Inside Out succeeds, one of the more moving entries in the Pixar canon and indeed the film community at large within recent memory.

Inside Out is rated PG for “mild thematic elements and some action.” Do with that what you will – aside from a scary clown and an entirely inoffensive joke about looming puberty, I can’t think of anything really objectionable in this movie. The theater of surprisingly well-behaved kids seemed to agree with me.

Bonus review! As always, Pixar has preceded their main feature with a short that is both whimsical and romantic. Lava is the story, narrated in Hawaiian ballad style, of a lovesick yet lonely volcano who turns his envy of happy dolphin couples into a wistful song of romance. Though not long on story, Lava manages to do that Pixar feat of distilling a host of emotions into one poignant moment that made this grown man realize, “Wait, I’m getting misty-eyed over a volcano?” Sung by Kuana Torres Kahele, Lava is beautiful and powerful and a delightful surprise to those of us who genuinely didn’t know what Pixar would have on tap before Inside Out.

The Incredibles (2004)

I don’t think it’s fair to qualify The Incredibles as “a great Pixar film” or even “a great superhero film.”  (I do love the joke, however, that it’s the best Fantastic Four movie ever made.)  The Incredibles is, of course, all of those things, but it is for my money a great film, period.  When I informally consider my favorite films of all time (a list I really must put on this page, one of these days), I don’t usually think of The Incredibles on that count, but having rewatched it quite recently I do believe it belongs there.

After superheroes were forced into retirement by a litigious citizenry, Mr. Incredible (Craig T. Nelson) struggles to maintain his cover as Bob Parr while his wife Helen, formerly Elastigirl (Holly Hunter), raises their children – speedster Dash and invisible Violet – in a best attempt to fit in.  Bob’s desire to be super leads him into a dangerous new line of work where the sinister Syndrome (Jason Lee) has other plans for the once and future Mr. Incredible.

At the risk of superfluity, The Incredibles attempts to be many things at once, and it is first-rate at all of them.  I’m often very critical of films that try to do too much in the bounded space of one movie, and I’m inclined to be even more so because of how deftly The Incredibles juggles so many narratives in less than two hours.  First, there’s a brilliant deconstruction of the superhero genre, exposing the warts-and-all in several very clever moments that have now themselves become iconic (“No capes!” and the obsession with “monologuing” chief among them).  Taking cues from Watchmen and Robert Mayer’s Superfolks, The Incredibles also manages to do what most deconstruction never even hazards – it reconstructs in the process, offering a narrative that is not about snidely deriding its inspirations but rather about creating an earnest new narrative on that foundation.

In the midst of all the grandeur of masks and superpowers, there’s a deeply personal story about what brings – and holds – a family together, with a very moving sincerity about the proceedings.  The cast (including Spencer Fox and Sarah Vowell as the kids) all work well together, with a kind of natural chemistry that you don’t find even in some real families.  Nelson has that lovable schlubby quality to his voice, and there’s evident deep affection between him and Hunter.  The scene-stealer here, as he always is in any film, is Samuel L. Jackson’s turn as Frozone, the ice-blasting companion with personality and attitude for days.  Indeed, the best scene of the film is his, in which he and his unseen wife quarrel over whether his abilities are actually needed to save the city.

All of this boils down to how sharp the writing is, and Brad Bird (doing double duty, also directing) is a very smart filmmaker, and this is the kind of movie that gives him a lifetime benefit-of-the-doubt on my end.  Lest we forget, he’s also the genius behind Ratatouille, and I can’t wait to see what he does with the mysterious Tomorrowland – a film whose trailer elicited from me the following reaction:  “Oh, the Incredibles guy?  I’ll give anything of his a shot.”  (He’s also the hysterical voice behind the manic Edna Mode, who costumes our superheroes a la Edith Head.)

At the risk of ending on a groaner of a pun, The Incredibles is a movie which wears its review on its sleeve.  It is, in a word, incredible.  And if there’s anyone in the world who hasn’t seen this one yet, it isn’t too late to catch up before the sequel arrives – and praise the Lord, one actually is on the way.

The Incredibles is rated PG for “action violence.” There’s a lot of running, jumping, punching, and exploding, all done in a cartoon manner with little to no blood.

Monday at the Movies - July 29, 2013

Welcome to another edition of “Monday at the Movies” – this week, we backfill some of our missing Pixar coverage.

Monsters, Inc. (2001) – After A Bug’s Life didn’t inspire audiences the way Pixar might have hoped – although Toy Story 2 did – Pixar’s third original idea had a lot riding on its shoulders.  Aw, never mind, you know it worked; we’ve had Pixar movies galore since then, including a Monsters, Inc. prequel back in June.  But the one that started it all?  The original monster-buddy picture finds Sulley (John Goodman) and Mike (Billy Crystal) tearing up the Scare Floor, racking up the big screams in a private competition with slithery serpentine Randall (Steve Buscemi, in a wonderfully scummy villainous role).  The movie’s real soul, though, comes when an adorable toddler named Boo wanders into the monster world – a strict no-no for the creatures from our closets.  Though the animation isn’t as astounding as recent turns, the deliberately cartoonish nature of the characters engages us in an endearing way, especially (once again) the innocently chubby cheeks and spastic arm movements of Boo.  It’s not that she’s the only ray of light in a dismal feature film; Goodman and Crystal are perfect as the opposites-attract team of scarer and engineer, and Buscemi is a revelation as always as the antagonist.  But Boo is that one character in ten thousand who completely eclipses the rest of the movie; like Heath Ledger’s Joker or the monkey puppet Monk on HBO’s Family Ties, Boo steals not just the film but your very gaze in every one of her scenes.  She’ll make you laugh, and if she doesn’t make you cry that Randy Newman score almost certainly will.

Ratatouille (2007) – There comes a moment every time I rewatch Ratatouille where I sit back in my chair and think to myself, “My God, I really love this movie.”  It’s not always the same moment every time – usually it’s Remy’s silent plea not to be drowned or it’s Anton Ego’s big monologue evaluating whether or not anyone actually can cook (which, yes, still brings a tear or two of aesthetic sublimity) – but there’s something about Brad Bird’s second Pixar film that just hits you right square in the feels in a way that The Incredibles never did.  That’s not a slight to Incredibles, which I love, but Ratatouille manages to transcend a hokey conceit (talking mice?) and a clichéd message (follow your dreams) in one of my favorite Pixar movies.  Patton Oswalt voices Remy, a mouse with sensitive taste buds and a desire to cook, while Lou Romano plays Linguini, the clumsy but well-intentioned janitor-cum-chef who brokers a deal with Remy so that both can achieve their goals and feed Paris.  Naturally, the plan butts heads with Head Chef Skinner (Ian Holm), who resents both Linguini and the rat infestation, while top critic Anton Ego (Peter O’Toole, in a brilliant performance) fumes at the resurgence of a restaurant he once damned.  There’s so much this film does right – the friendship between Remy and Linguini, the familial bonds amongst the kitchen staff, the characterization of Ego – that makes Ratatouille an A-Number-One feature, topped with a score by Michael Giacchino (Pixar’s best, for my money) so perfect that you’ll be downloading recipes and wishing you had a “lil chef” to help you out.

That does it for this week’s edition of “Monday at the Movies.” We’ll see you here next week!

Monsters University (2013)

Aside from Cars 2 (which, if we’re being honest, felt a little like a cash grab), Pixar’s made a name for itself for high quality original material, only dipping a second time into the well when the story merits it.  We go all the way back to (before) 2001’s Monsters, Inc., which gets the prequel treatment with Monsters University.  And like a matriculating monster, Monsters U stumbles at first but finds itself and recovers by film’s end.

Set to fulfill his lifetime dream of becoming a professional scarer, Mike Wazowski (Billy Crystal) heads to top college Monsters University.  There, studious Mike meets James P. Sullivan (John Goodman), son of a top scarer and more party-hearty than study-buddy.  Antagonized by the stern Dean Hardscrabble (Helen Mirren), the two enter into the college’s olympian Scare Games, with their reputations and their standing at the college on the line.

Entering prequel territory for a buddy picture like Monsters, Inc. verges on predictable in the sense that the film has to cover the “adversaries turn amigos” plot beat in order to feel narratively fulfilling.  Monsters U hits those moments without feeling too forced; remember, Mike and Sulley were hardly birds of a feather in Inc.  Monsters U does not, however, spend too much time making Mike and Sulley polar opposites that meet in the middle, casting them more as contrasting types who begrudgingly work together.  (More interesting for the prequel enthusiast:  the way that Monsters U recasts the tension between Mike and in-crowd wannabe Randall [Steve Buscemi], now college roommates divided by fraternity loyalties.)

There are lots of very interesting things going on in the movie, which aren’t explored at much length in order to focus on the intramural Scare Games.  I see the value in concentrating on the Scare Games; the episodic nature of an event-based competition helps us to see how Oozma Kappa (Mike’s fraternity) improves, and it allows the filmmakers to expand the Monsters world by showing various other creatures (plus it boosts the toy line significantly).

But even in spite of the parts where Monsters U feels paint-by-numbers – which, in Pixar’s hands, is still plenty enjoyable if more generic than usual – there are moments of pure genius that remind us why Pixar movies are still the pinnacle of animated film (or, perhaps, even above most live-action storytelling).  I’ll pit the last twenty minutes of Monsters U against any of the other great Pixar moments for genre-bending imagination and exuberant pathos.  It’s almost too good to spoil where the movie goes, but the film quickly shirks that cliché you feel it’s embracing before contorting 180 degrees into a monster-inflected take on the “Play nice” scene from Toy Story. 

It ends with a callback to a bit of Inc. you didn’t expect to see, but the real heart comes when Dean Hardscrabble – in a turn delivered strongly by Mirren – warms up ever so slightly to our heroes.  It’s comparable to Anton Ego’s change of heart in Ratatouille, and as with Peter O’Toole it’s a reminder that the film needs as much of these top thespians as we can get.  Otherwise, the voice cast is what you’d expect from Pixar – pitch-perfect and full of aural treats (like Aubrey Plaza’s laconic sorority president, though Nathan Fillion’s swagger is more distracting because of how larger-than-life his voice tends to be).

In the end, I find myself having written a more positive review than I anticipated, in part because there’s nothing about Monsters University that is entirely irredeemable; even when they’re not pulling out all the stops creatively, the Pixar team is still lightyears (pun intended) ahead of the competition.  But when they do, Monsters University is a real scream.

Monsters University is rated G.  A few monsters have tricks and skills that might scare the wee babies, but overall most kids can handle it.

Brave (2012)

I make no apologies for being a Pixar shill.  Their movies all do exactly what I want a film to do – transport me to a new world, move me in many emotional directions, and leave me with a memorable and complete story (arguably their strongest suit). 

And so it seems insufficient merely to say that Brave, Pixar’s latest offering, is a success.  We (that is, the royal we) assumed this much going in; therefore, it only remains to be seen how much of a success Brave manages to be.

Pixar dips into the princess business with Brave, a Scottish fairy tale about the tomboyish Merida (voiced by Kelly MacDonald) and her resistance to the idea of an arranged marriage.  Rather than obey her mother (Emma Thompson) and father (Billy Connolly), Merida wants to “ride through the glen, firing arrows into the sunset.”  But after a witch’s potion doesn’t quite change her fate the way she envisioned, Merida is left with only two days to make things right and mend her relationship with her mother.

The first thing you’ll notice about Brave, even without seeing it in 3D (which I didn’t, since my love affair with the extra dimension is waning), is how incredible the visual effects are.  The landscapes look natural, misting water might trick you into believing you’re not watching an animated film, and the abundance of detailed curly red hair can only be described as “Pixar showing off.”  With the clan of DunBroch, Pixar takes one more step toward indistinguishable perfection.

The other great Pixar talent on showcase here is their ability to create emotive, expressive nonhuman characters.  We know that they’re gifted at human faces (or even semi-human, as in the case of the Toy Story films), but the bear characters in Brave especially manage to communicate human feelings and motivations; better, none of the bears are indistinguishable, as each has a unique body language that allows us to know precisely – even if it’s a detail as fine as eye color – which bear is which.

The best example of nonverbal filmmaking, though, comes from the scene-stealing triplets Hamish, Harris, and Hubert.  These three never speak, but through their faces and their body language we know from scene one what these three rascals are like.  They’re crowd-pleasers, instant favorites, and a perfect example of what Pixar does better than any other animation studio – tact.  If this were a Dreamworks film, for example, we’d see a franchise around these three, running the joke into the ground.  (As it is, I’m kept awake at nights by the haunting specter of the “Afro Circus” song.)  But directors Mark Andrews and Brenda Chapman wisely keep the boys in check (at least, as in check as three little hellions can be kept).  But if the film merits a rewatch, it’s at least to keep an eye on these three.

As always, the voice cast matches well, although the small setting doesn’t allow for many trademark Pixar cameos (but John Ratzenberger is in there).  MacDonald is spunky and sassy without shortchanging the emotional moments when her character pivots, Thompson is stern but frustrated with her daughter, and Connolly seems to be channeling Brian Cox as the patriarch, reining in his madcap stand-up inflection for a (slightly) more dignified king.

It’s not Toy Story 3 by any stretch of the imagination – I maintain that that is Pixar’s crowning achievement, if only because I still cry just thinking about it – but Brave is another solid entry in the Pixar catalog, fun for the whole family and delightfully entertaining even for those of us who ought to be too old for this sort of thing.

PS – make certain you stick around after the credits.  No, Nick Fury doesn’t recruit Merida to join The Avengers (they already have an archer, after all), but the stinger scene does tie up a loose end.

Brave is rated PG “for some scary action and rude humor.”  There’s an evil monster bear running around, growling and mauling.  In addition, there are a surprising number of nude rear ends (all played for laughs) in this one, as well as a booger joke.  I think the latter two are a first for Pixar.

Toy Story 3 (2010)

I'm starting to feel a little bit old, particularly because I can remember vividly standing in line for Toy Story 2 with bated breath, dying to see my favorite toys (well, except for my Batman action figures) back in town.

That was eleven years ago. Here I am, all grown up - like Andy - in a transitional state of my life, with a third installment of the Toy Story franchise in theaters. I admit to some trepidation preceding my experience with the theatrical run, in part due to the historically low track record for threequels - which I feared might put a damper on what might otherwise have been a successful series of films from the folks over at Pixar.

Oh, ye of little faith. Toy Story 3 is everything a moviegoer - and a franchise fan - could want: a delightful and fulfilling follow-up, a fresh and fun film, and escapism at its effervescent peak.

The toys are indeed back in town, but not for long; owner Andy's off to college, and the fate of the toys is in flux. Sheriff Woody (voice of Tom Hanks) is the odds-on favorite to accompany Andy as he moves out, leaving Buzz Lightyear (Tim Allen) and the others - including cowgirl Jessie (Joan Cusack) and trusty steed Bullseye, Mr. & Mrs. Potato Head (Don Rickles and Estelle Harris, respectively), piggy bank Hamm (John Ratzenberger), and dinosaur Rex (Wallace Shawn) - bound for the attic. A twist of fate, however, brings the toys first to the curb on garbage day and inevitably to be donated to Sunnyside Daycare. Though Sunnyside - and its feudal lord Lotso Huggin Bear (Ned Beatty) - welcome the toys with open arms, it seems all that glitters is indeed not gold, and perhaps there is no worse fate than being played with.

I've extensively praised the voice cast for both the first and second films, so suffice it to say that no one sleeps through their performance. Hanks is pitch-perfect overconfident as always, and Allen is exuberantly boisterous as ever. Rickles, of course, can do no wrong in my book, and I particularly loved the "Get a haircut" shoutout to his standup comedy routine. What's especially worthy of note in this one is the crop of new additions to the voice cast. Beatty is a knockout as Lotso, capturing the multifaceted nature of the character and even making us believe that he smells like strawberries. A new group of toys - belonging to a little girl named Bonnie, a near clone of Boo from Monsters, Inc. - is introduced here, and they're among the cuter ones of the bunch; lederhosen-garbed Mr. Pricklepants (Timothy Dalton), triceratops Trixie (Kristen Schaal, late of Flight of the Conchords), and unicorn Buttercup (Jeff Garlin) are all fun and interesting characters worthy of their own spinquel (a word I think I coined, meaning a spin-off/sequel), though I could do without the one-dimensional (pun intended) Dolly (Bonnie Hunt). But my favorite new character here is Michael Keaton as Ken, Barbie's on/off boyfriend who embodies the "It is better to look good than to feel [or even be] good." Keaton, with his signature comedic timing, brings Ken entirely to life here, capturing all the narcissism and simplicity of what is essentially an accessory to a girl's toy (though he objects to all of the above).

Director Lee Unkrich takes the helm from John Lasseter for the third outing, though the transition is seamless. The screenplay is first-rate, opening new ground on a series I had assumed was closed. Where the first and the second films shared plot points, the third one stands on its own fairly well, opening itself to a new generation while keeping the diehard fans (the "Andyites," as Pixar refers to the audience who grew up with Andy) satisfied and smiling. I was particularly pleased with how generic the film felt, in the most positive sense of the word; nothing seemed forced, but rather the daycare plotline felt like the next logical step in the narrative trajectory of the franchise (in a way that the rejected "Buzz gets recalled" plotline did not). The film has plenty of surprises, even for a seasoned filmgoer; I had a similar experience with Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, where characters in peril still put me on the edge of my seat even though I know the impending doom is an artificial threat. So kudos to Unkrich's team for making the certain destruction facing our characters actually seem threatening and not formulaic.

Kudos also for a great visual look to the film. With an attention to detail on minute features like Jessie's yarn hair and the mesh tutu worn by Bonnie, the effects are polished (representing Pixar at the top of their technical game), and the stylized look of the film has a sharp glow to it that is comforting on an unconscious level and attractive on a conscious one. The characters all have intricate designs that speak to their personalities, particularly with the new faces; I'm struck by the implicit irony in a lot of these characterizations, as with the dour-faced clown Chuckles and the lumbering Vader-esque Big Baby (who is perennially reliable for those uncomfortable "creeeeeeepy" laughs).

On one level, I feel silly writing about the technical merits and narrative accomplishments of the film; part of me wants to shout, "It's a kids' movie! Stop looking for opportunites to brandish some literary analysis!" But on another level, I'm conscious of the fact that this is a Pixar movie, made by people who absolutely love their job and put as much of their passion into the finished product as possible so that an audience can derive the greatest quantity of enjoyment from it. To overlook the minutiae bubbling beneath the surface, to decline the chance to open the veritable toy chest that is this film would be to do a disservice to the creators of the film. But it's also easy to lose sight of the forest for the trees. I can get caught up, for example, in the myriad Star Wars references (there's a particularly pointed reference to the climax of Return of the Jedi, though not as direct as Toy Story 2's shout-out to The Empire Strikes Back) or in the quiet message delivered by Sid's cameo as a garbageman. But by doing that, though, I might forget that this is a movie that is first and foremost meant to be enjoyed.

To borrow a page from Ken's book, then, Toy Story 3 is simply "cool and groovy."
Aww, look - Toy Story 3 is rated G, but without any qualifying statements like "mild peril."

Toy Story 2 (1999)

Cinema King to Star Command - come in, Star Command. I've uncovered evidence of a sequel being better than its antecedent, something I haven't said since The Dark Knight (okay, High School Musical 3 can count).

On my way to reviewing all the Pixar films, a head cold and a lack of enthusiasm led me to skip over A Bug's Life (coming soon, I promise) and hop right on over to Toy Story 2, which I fondly remembered as a fantastic film but hadn't seen since its theatrical release. Fortunately, the film is still as shiny as Buzz Lightyear's laser beam and genuinely touching, to boot.

Where the first film dealt with the basic rules of the Toy Story world (toys animating when their owners aren't looking) and Buzz Lightyear's identity crisis, the second film puts the dramatic onus on Sheriff Woody (Tom Hanks), who finds out he's a rare collectible toy with an exhibit in Tokyo just waiting for his presence. Buzz (Tim Allen, delightfully bombastic as ever) leads the rest of the toys on a rescue mission to save Woody from the thieving clutches of collector Al (a wonderfully skeevy Wayne "Newman" Knight) before it's too late.

The script here is positively brilliant, lifting visual cues and plot points from the first Toy Story and turning them on their respective heads. If Buzz did something in Toy Story, Woody does it in Toy Story 2. Now if that sounds like lazy writing, it very well could have been were it not for the clever and fun way in which the modestly familiar plot is delivered. In addition to revisiting territory covered in Toy Story, Toy Story 2 adds a great deal to the franchise's mythology, including a supporting cast for Woody - featuring Joan Cusack as yodeling cowgirl Jessie and an adorably Harpo Marxist trusty steed named Bullseye - as well as the introduction of the Evil Emperor Zurg, around whom are centered some of my favorite scenes of the film. (The film's opener, pittting Buzz against Zurg in the latter's stronghold, is spectacular but takes a backseat to Zurg's superb revelation: "No, Buzz, I am your father!")

With all of the same voice cast returning from the first film, there's little to cover that hasn't already been said in my previous review. Hanks and Allen are still fine choices (Allen still coming out on top, especially when drawing subtle distinctions between Buzz and Utility Belt Buzz), and the supporting cast - especially Don Rickles as Mr. Potato Head and Wallace Shawn as Rex - shines. I've praised Knight, and Cusack's all right (though Jessie tugs at every heartstring when Sarah McLachlan sings "When Somebody Loved Me," a moving piece about being forgotten by someone who loved you), but Kelsey Grammer and his gravitas-laden voice is solid as Stinky Pete the Prospector. And let's not forget a charming cameo by Robert Goulet, who sings "You've Got a Friend in Me."

But what makes the film positively glitter is the fact that the filmmakers love making movies - and it shows. Between loving allusions (Star Wars sounds pepper the effects library) and downright good filmmaking, the whole movie carries with it an atmosphere of self-enjoyment and nostalgic appreciation for "the good ole days." That, I suppose, is what makes the film most abundantly rewatchable - if you want to remember the good ole days, the best way to do that is with a film that does exactly that.

Ride like the wind, Bullseye! On to Toy Story 3 with no reservations!


Toy Story 2 is still rated G.

Toy Story (1995)

The great Pixar review experiment begins with a look back at 1995's Toy Story, which I'm glad to say held up a little better than Raiders of the Lost Ark did last season. That's not to comparatively evaluate the films, but Toy Story - seen by an older me - held more surprises and unremembered gems than the oft-viewed Indiana Jones picture did.


The plotline of toy rivalry competing for the affections of owner Andy is the stuff of the animated Hollywood bible by this point, but for those of you just tuning in: Sheriff Woody (Tom Hanks) is Andy's favorite toy... until birthday gift Buzz Lightyear of Star Command (Tim Allen) upsets the delicate balance in the playroom. When a plan to recoup Andy's affections goes awry, Woodyd finds himself and Buzz fighting for their toy lives - literally, if vicious neighbor Sid has anything to say about it.


The visuals aren't as polished as later Pixar ventures (see WALL-E if you want photorealism), but the fanciful nature of the animation helps give Toy Story that "toys come alive" feel that warms our hearts. What does an even better job at bringing the film to life is a stellar voice cast that perfectly matches each character's appearance and personality. American favorite Tom Hanks is a knockout as Woody, capturing all of the sheriff's emotions (running the gamut from beloved leader to childhood favorite to dawning jealousy) and good-ole-boy charm without missing a beat. And, though I've become a huge Don Rickles fan (he voices Mr. Potato Head) in the intervening years since '95, the real star in the voice cast is Tim Allen, who comfortably dons Buzz Lightyear like a spacesuit and takes risks by flirting with an overly bombastic performance in order to fully capture the mildly delusional toy's bravado.


Both Billy Crystal (turning down the part of Buzz, a move he'd later regret and atone for by voicing Mike in Monsters, Inc.) and Mattel (who withheld Barbie from the film, expecting a flop) didn't think Pixar could dream the impossible dream of a computer-animated film, instead believing the digital wunderkinds to be tilting at windmills. But what makes the film a first-rate success isn't just the pretty pictures and soothing sounds (including a downright touching soundtrack from Randy Newman). It's the story, a solid piece of writing that speaks to every generation who beholds it (well, except for Andy Rooney, I'd bet). There's enough in here for kids and adults to appreciate, and they'd better appreciate it because Toy Story is better crafted than a lot of other pictures out there today. The script is expansive, creating a new world with new rules (especially appertaining to when toys can and cannot animate themselves) in a brilliantly digestible manner. And it's touching, too, tugging at those heartstrings right before reawakening the kid you adults thought you'd put away with the rest of the bricabrac in your toybox.


Food for thought: where's Andy's father?

Toy Story, not surprisingly, is rated G, though a few younger viewers might be perturbed by discussion of toy homicide, particularly within Sid's yard. Sid is one of the creepiest characters ever animated, and his army of Frankensteinian toys may give the faint at heart the willies.

Trailer Park: Toy Story 3 (2010)

You know it's a good trailer when you get chills running up your arm even though there's barely anything substantive on the screen.

Hi, folks. The trailer we're looking at today is from a sequel that everyone's been waiting around for: Toy Story 3. It's easy to take for granted the significance of the Toy Story franchise and the Pixar geniuses behind it, but it's also saying something extremely important to note that this trailer feels like a breath of fresh air amid trailers for remakes and bad horror pictures. And in less than two minutes, it's even more noteworthy that nothing happens in this trailer.

That's the genius of this trailer. All we have to do is hear the bouncing melody of Randy Newman's new classic "You've Got A Friend in Me" and see the characters file past the screen with their voices ringing nostalgia in our ears (good to hear that most of the cast is back!), and most of us have already preordered our tickets for Toy Story 3. The folks at Pixar have done it again.

Though there's no plot detail here, what I've managed to unearth is that the film seems to be about Andy growing up and leaving Woody and Buzz behind. With all the cast back in tow, Michael Keaton joins on as Ken (yes, that Ken), and the film is making its big-screen debut in Disney Digital 3-D (trust me, that's worth the extra price of admission) on June 18, 2010.

[In preparation, stay tuned for a tour de review through the Pixar catalogue. Their two most recent ventures, WALL-E and Up, are already posted, so we'll be starting at the beginning, with 1995's Toy Story.]

Up (2009)

Up, the latest Pixar/Disney joint, is an exhilarating breath of fresh air at an otherwise stale time in cinematic history. With remakes (I'm still reeling from the God-awful Nic Cage version of The Wicker Man), reboots (Friday the 13th, Halloween, and Nightmare on Elm Street might have been better off dead, though Star Trek wasn't bad), sequels (how many Ice Ages do we need?), re-quels (as Terminator Salvation has been dubbed), and uninspired film versions of media better left unadapted (I'm looking at you, GI Joe), an original story with a breathtaking production value is more than welcome.

Facing a string of troubles after the passing of his adventurous wife Ellie, Carl Fredricksen (voiced by Ed Asner) decides to fulfill the one adventure the two never had - travel to South America's Paradise Falls. Facing a court-ordered retirement home and grabby construction agents, Carl rigs his colorful home with scads of helium balloons and sets off - with Wilderness Explorer (a kind of Boy Scout) Russell (voice of Jordan Nagai) in tow.

To say any more of the adventure the two have would be to pull back the curtains on one of the most magical movie experiences I've had in a long, long while. Up is, like almost everything in the Pixar canon, a whirlwind of a picture, taking advantage of starkly stylized visuals to create a powerful film that never stops being entertaining. This is escapism at its best, simultaneously awe-inspiring and just plain inspiring.

There was an old commercial back in the day for popsicles or something where a kid exclaimed to his dog, "The colors, Duke, the colors!" (Am I the only one who remembers this one?) And so, with a cast of talking dogs in Up, it seems apropos to ruminate briefly on the colors of Up and more largely the visuals as a whole. I don't want to overuse the word "breathtaking," but the images that accompany Carl's flight are so realistic you'll want to rub your eyes in disbelief - but don't, or you'll miss precious seconds. Vibrant colors accompany both the balloons and the wildlife on Carl's journey, and the motions are so fluid you'll forget you're watching a cartoon.

Confession time: Up put the same mistiness in my eyes that Wall-E did, only here it's over an impressively translated tour de force through Carl and Ellie's marriage. This, dear readers, is the single best time-lapse montage since Citizen Kane's "dissolution of a marriage" scene. It won't be long, I predict, before Pixar puts real tears on my cheeks - you're close, dash it all.

Carl is a lovable character, one of the best in the Pixar catalog. Though I was initially suspicious of his grumpy demeanor as depicted in the trailers, Carl turns out to be a curmudgeonly cross between Spencer Tracy and your grandfather, gruff but lovable. Asner does a great job voicing Carl, giving real life to the already emoting digital eyes of the old man. Most of the laughs, though, come from Dug the talking dog, gifted with the power of speech by his intelligent though mysterious master---squirrel! Try not to laugh every time Dug stoically points and brings the pace of the film to a dramatic halt while we watch this ne'er-do-well pup attempt to... well, do well.

It's good to see that Pixar, ten films into its production catalog, has lost none of the magic. Indeed, Up is one of their best (Wall-E might be the most moving, Ratatouille the best animated, and The Incredibles downright the most fun), one of the best of 2009, and - to borrow a line from Superman - you'll believe a man can fly. Squirrel!
The MPAA rather uncharitably handed Up a "PG for some peril and action." Some of the dogs in the film could be a bit frightening, and the antics in the sky may scare some, but I saw this movie in a theater filled with tykes, none of whom seemed particularly terrified. They clapped at the end, though - out of the mouths of babes, eh?

WALL·E (2008)

[It might come as a total surprise to loyal readers that, on July 18, WALL·E is the movie I chose to see. "With The Dark Knight next door?" you might ask. There are a myriad of reasons for this strange choice - not the least of which being the possession of IMAX tickets for Saturday that might be spoiled by seeing this spectacle on a comparatively small screen. So for now, enjoy some family entertainment.]

Andrew Stanton, along with the geniuses at PIXAR who collectively brought to the screen new classics like Toy Story and Finding Nemo, has done something completely remarkable. He and his cohorts have given life to a few robots and created some of the most humanly sympathetic characters I've ever seen.

To give away too much of a plot summary would be to take away some of the magic of the film, which relies almost exclusively on visuals (rather than dialogue, which is almost nonexistent in the first half of the movie) to tell a story. Suffice it to say that WALL·E is the last robot on an abandoned Earth who finds a new purpose in life when a strange visitor, a robot called EVE, arrives. This sci-fi fable is as grand as it is eloquent, sweeping as it is sentimental, and touching as it is terrific.

Can we say much about acting here, aside from Fred Willard's classically and beautifully hammy turn as the Global CEO (the only live-action role in a Pixar movie to date)? Almost all the voicework is done by Ben Burtt - the man who brought you R2-D2's signature bloops and be-doops -who uses tech sounds rather than human vocalizations to give "voice" to characters who have no vocal chords. No, the real stars here are the animators at PIXAR, who breathe life into these robots with a simple twitch of the "eyes."

There's so much power in anthropomorphization that I actually - for the first time in a long while at the cinema - got choked up. I'm more prone to that sort of thing in the home theater, so for a big screen motion picture to do that to me in a room of about fifty people is significant in itself. These robots emote, something most of today's actors seem tragically incapable of doing. (Keanu Reeves, anyone? No thanks? I don't blame you.) Working simply with the eyepieces of WALL·E and a few longing stares at the "hand" of EVE elicited more tear-jerking feeling from me than the entire last act of Brokeback Mountain.

Visually the human characters (Willard aside) are cartoonish, on a par more with The Incredibles than with Ratatouille. But again, the movie aptly relies more on the nonsentient photorealistic beings to drive the plot forward and destroy that fourth wall so that we're too attached to the characters. I didn't care, for example, if the humans ever came back to the earth they abandoned. I just wanted WALL·E to hold EVE's hand once.

There's a political message in here somewhere about consumerist man's ability to repair an earth he has destroyed, but perhaps I'm reading too far into it. What's important is the beauty of a film that relies on simplicity itself to create one of the more complex movies to come from the Disney castle.