Ratatouille
I would love to simply praise “Ratatouille” as the exemplary all-ages entertainment it is. Inventive, fast-paced and visually seductive, with a balance of humor, tension and precise characterization, it has more than you could ever hope for in a mainstream movie, even from the computer-animation wizards at Pixar. All this, and it’s about rats cooking haute cuisine in France. It’s a triumph, but not an uncomplicated one. “Ratatouille,” from writer-director Brad Bird, screams at the adult moviegoer with a bizarre and troubling subtext. One might think, from Bird’s apparent insecurity, that he didn’t receive ecstatic reviews for his previous movie, “The Incredibles.” In the third act of “Ratatouille,” Bird kills the momentum to compose a paean to artistic genius and a jeremiad against critics. As in “The Incredibles,” Bird espouses an Ayn Rand-influenced worldview, celebrating individuals who reject collective wisdom and dare to be great. Critics, personified by a grave, humorless food writer named Anton Ego, amount to little more than mosquitoes sucking the blood of the brilliant few. I don’t want to get provincial and defend my profession against Bird’s broadside, so I’ll just say it’s disappointing that his theme – the triumph of artistic expression over those who seek to squelch it – becomes explicit rather than implicit. He gets preachy, and he drains the fun out of the movie as he insists that everyone bow to the genius of his rodent-chef hero. Clearly it’s his own greatness that Bird feels must be acknowledged.
LISTEN: Ratatouille