Pixar’s animated story of a rat that strives to become a top French chef, the irresistible Ratatouille,
is pure summer entertainment. Pleasantly light and amusing, it’s a
visually appealing tale of work and luck as the key to success.
The rat is Remy, a slimmer rodent than one might be
accustomed to spotting in an alley, and his blue hair defies reality.
But Remy’s facial expressions—especially while he’s chewing something
delicious—and body language cast him as the anti-Templeton(that fat,
nasty rat from E.B. White’s Charlotte’s Web); Remy’s another adorable misfit.
He walks upright, eats only the finest foods, and he
admires human beings because "they discover and create, " an attitude
that’s rare among humans, let alone French rats. His love of food—and
it is love, not fixation, lest health-conscious parents worry about an
animated endorsement of overeating—leads to his search for saffron,
which disturbs a gun-toting granny, which leads to Remy becoming
separated from his family.
That’s not necessarily bad, because Remy’s kin are
completely unsupportive of his interests and goals. Besides, they steal
their food, while Remy prefers to cook his food(though he isn’t past
petty theft). His hero is a master chef named Gusteau, the recently
departed proprietor of his own restaurant whose motto is "anyone can
cook". After Remy floats along with Parisian sewage, Gusteau’s spirit
becomes his guide.
The rest of Ratatouille is enjoyable and
watchable, with Remy surfacing in Gusteau’s restaurant, latching onto a
human boy and, perched on his pal’s head underneath a hat, cooking by
pulling the boy’s hair as a signal. The animation—color, action and
details—is outstanding.
Conflict comes in the form of an evil chef who
harbors a secret about the boy, romance in the person of a salty female
cook and resolution is achieved through a subplot involving a food
critic voiced by Peter O’Toole. Ratatouille puts them each to good use; no one exists to tell jokes—each character suits the story.
As it is, the story is secondary to the action,
which is a treat, whether someone’s being chased through
Paris—reverently recreated in blue with glimmering lights—coasting
through the kitchen or preparing a gourmet dish with seconds to spare.
Like writer and director Brad Bird’s The Incredibles, it’s wonderful to sit and watch.
Other nice touches include inventive use of everyday
items like tealights, ladles and antenna to promote the story’s
progression, and Michael Giacchino’s
jazzy mix that uses accordions and guitars. Crisp writing is purged of
popular cultural humor, though a line about a well-known chef hit the
funny bone.
When the notion of a rat in the kitchen meets
reality, the story sags. The kitchen’s hierarchy, introduced with wit,
disappears into oblivion, Remy’s family gets an unearned pass and a
feminist diatribe erupts from nothing—and don’t expect to learn why
Remy likes, makes or does anything. Like The Incredibles, his skill is more bred than acquired. Watching him use it is Disney/Pixar’s summer gift.