Ratatouille

I have been immersed in the Disney mythos for well over thirty years now. Picture after picture impressed upon me the boundless possibility of imagination that was and is rarely matched. I remember fondly going to the old Dolphin Theatre on 10th & Congress in West Palm Beach, FL nearly every Saturday of my childhood to witness the lush backgrounds and sometimes bouncy melodies of delights such as THE JUNGLE BOOK, 101 DALMATIONS, and DUMBO. Even lesser pics like PETE'S DRAGON, THE NORTH AVENUE IRREGULARS, and THE CAT FROM OUTER SPACE thrilled my young self. There was something about a Disney film, an unexplainable bliss I could always expect. As elementary school wore on and Life began to reveal its teeth, I still had the magic of Disney to which I could escape. I bought into it full guns. Nothing's changed. Latter day wonders like THE LION KING and TARZAN continued the trend. Of course, those movies were merely in glorious two dimensions. 

Who was to know what was to come only a few decades after my first exposure to the magic? In the mid-1990s, Pixar, a company that had begun as a division of Lucasfilm in the late 1970s, released its first film, TOY STORY, to a chorus of wows. Computer generated animation was certainly not new but the general public had never seen anything like this. Characters and backgrounds seem to occupy actual depth. While WHO FRAMED ROGER RABBIT? had dazzled us in the 80s with its animation/live-action combo, with its characters changing dimension and size as they moved through scenes, the Pixar gang had upped the ante, raised the bar to which 2-D animation will possibly never rise. Including those of the Disney Studios other films, even the aforementioned new classics. 

So, it was inevitable that these two titans, who had worked together for some time, would eventually officially merge, but not without some difficulty. There were disagreements over the marketing and distribution of the Pixar films, and a handful of those pesky creative differences we always read about. However, the fine print and legalese were sufficiently smoothed over and a collaboration was minted. Then, in the mid 00s, Disney acquired Pixar. So much for the history lesson. Lest I sound Disney partisan. I stated all that to illustrate how Disney continues to produce films that always seem to reduce me to a wide-eyed eight-year-old. All the Pixar films I've seen have done this, including my most recent, RATATOUILLE.

We first meet Remy, a country rat, as he is racing from the shotgun blasts of a rather scared/ticked off granny. Remy and his family and friends have lived a cozy existence in the octogenarian's kitchen ceiling at her farm, and the jig is finally up. Before the close knit group scatters, we learn that Remy has absorbed the cookbooks of one Chef Gusteau, a famous French chef who made his name known throughout Europe with his namesake 5-star restaurant. These studies have only sharpened Remy's already impressive senses of taste and smell. He had spent his days on the farm berating his rodent brethren for their acceptance of leftovers and assorted refuse. A discerning pallatte has no place for the mere discarded apple core!

After surviving a drag down the river rapids, Remy finds himself all alone in the big city. Paris. He quickly discovers that an apparition of Gusteau is suddenly there to guide him in this unfamiliar territory, leading him into....Gusteau's Restaurant! But we learn that the chef himself had recently passed on, and the eatery has fallen into mediocrity. Remy scampers through the kitchen, noting the staff pecking order, which includes a rather clumsy young man named Linguini, hired as a busboy. Remy also finds a way to drop a few ingredients into a large pot of soup (he can't resist). The concotion makes its way to the dining room and is a big hit. The current owner, the sniveling Skinner, mistakenly believes that Linguini created the soup, and gives him a shot at joining his staff.

Linguini can't even boil water without creating a disaster. He learns that the pesky little rat was actually responsible for the delectable broth, and through machinations too involved to describe, the pair teams up to make Gusteau's a raging success once again. Of course, there are several complications along the way, including that cute lone female chef, a fearsome restauarant critic named Anton Ego, and the reuinting of Remy with his family before we get to the triumphant finale.

RATATOUILLE is grand fun. I marveled at the master shots, containing more detail than I could possibly process during one viewing. Each still can be frozen and analyzed for its fastidious care. Techniques are employed to apply organic textures and movement to the food we see onscreen. Three dimensional lighting and shadow effects bring every morsel into sharp focus. It is some tribute to the animators that their artificially created culinaries still inspire mouth watering. The lighting, the color; it's all amazingly realized. Even a compost pile is eye-filling in its intricacies.

The filmmakers interned in American and French kitchens to get a sense of how things operate, how dishes are adorned. I briefly worked in a luxury hotel's food and beverage department several years back and got some first hand observation of the process. The diva-like executive chefs, the shuffling support staff. The array of herbs and sauces. It all came swirling back to me.

Director Brad Bird (THE INCREDIBLES) again utilizes a breathless pace and wicked sense of humor. There are many sly winks and jabs at the French and their proclivity toward, eh, pretension. Anton Ego, for example, gets many laughs, what with his derision of Gusteau by comparing him with Chef Boy Ardee and later, his childhood flashback after savoring the Remy designed dish, yes, ratatouille. The choice to not have Remy be able to speak to the Linguini or any of the other humans (he does communicate in English with his animal cohorts) was also wise, as that would've made the movie too cute, in my opinion. The relationship between Remy and Linguini, in its slapstick (but silent) ballet owes more to Chaplin and Keaton than say, Scooby and Shaggy, thank goodness.

Pixar also always knows how to tug at the heart then send you out with a wide smile. Their films are never smarmy or cheesy (pardon the pun), but rather reminiscent of the golden days of family entertainment, when Walt still drew the cells himself. Warm, colorful, and smart. A treat for the heart and brain alike. And the eyes. Oh, and for RATATOUILLE, the tongue as well.

(part deux of cinematic gustatory trilogy)