Movie review: Ratatouille

by John P. Meyer

When I previewed Ratatouille a few weeks ago at the Magnolia, I unfortunately found myself sitting in close proximity to a person who I presume to be North Texas' only tic-disordered film critic. He was prone to an amazing range of (presumably) uncontrollable glottal, nasal and trilled exclamations in response to various cutenesses and/or surprises occurring on screen. It's the sort of distraction one might expect to have to suffer through when seated in the theater next to a four-year-old child, though this gentleman was well over thirty.

At first I thought this might prove to be a short-term phenomenon; in fact it persisted through the run of the show, and thus I consider it a testament to the quality of the cinematic material that I was able at some point to simply tune it out.

Regardless of this bizarre personal predicament, I should report without further delay that Ratatouille turns out to be a marvelously enjoyable movie, even from the perspective of a fully-adult manly man such as myself. (Ahem.) If you'd told me going in that I'd be shedding actual tears over the fortunes of a cartoon rodent, I'd have uttered an abrupt plosive and suggested that you seek out another dupe.

As we've come to expect from Pixar, the thousand-pound gorilla of computer animation studios, production quality is top-notch: when we peruse the walking, talking rats, we can easily allow ourselves to believe they are actually there before us, walking and talking - in the streets of a fully-realized CG Paris, no less. (From my peculiar perspective as a still photographer, I appreciated a bit of value-added visual detail relating to depth of field: there are scenes in which the cartoon characters appear in selective focus, as would "real" actors if recorded by a lens set to large aperture.)

Visual excellence having been established, we are left to consider story and character. The plot in stripped-down terms is basically "follow your dream" with a dash of "be true to yourself," and a two-spoon dose of "never give up" stirred in for good measure; the characters can be construed as underprivileged/marginalized individuals in rats' clothing.

Or, you could take them simply as cartoon rats.

Remy (Patton Oswalt), the hero of our little tail (er, I mean "tale"), resides among a colony of fellow rats living comfortably and care-free on the farm of an elderly widow woman. Unique among his peers, Remy displays powers of aromatic discernment and sensibilities of the palate which prove to be both a blessing and a curse: while his family and friends care little what they eat as long as it's organic (these are, after all, French varmints), Remy deigns not to partake of less-than-fresh foodstuffs, and thus finds himself going far afield to satisfy his hunger - eventually even into the off-limits kitchen of the farmhouse itself. It's here he encounters a full-figured television chef named Gusteau (Brad Garrett), who declares that "anyone can cook" and proceeds to show those who care to learn exactly how to do so. Remy is enthralled and believes he has discovered his true calling, but - alas - he is a rat. (Though by no means a dirty one.) Difficult to manipulate those spoons and knives with tiny rat hands, don't you know.

When, after a violent encounter with the shotgun-wielding farm matron, Remy and his rat pals are forced to hide out in a storm culvert, a cloudburst washes them away and they end up (Remy having been separated from his acquaintances) in a sewer under the streets of Paris. Emerging from the darkened tunnel, Remy finds himself face-to-facade with the restaurant featured in Chef Gusteau's cooking broadcasts.

In yet another example of rodent/human collaboration, our intrepid and incisor-ful protagonist hooks up with a feckless young man looking to make a name for himself in the restaurant business - back of house side. Linguini (Lou Romano, a Pixar illustrator chiseling out quite the niche for himself in the vocal character trade) hires on at the tony establishment as a garbage boy, but soon finds himself mistaken for a culinary prodigy when he's associated with a celebrated pot of soup that Remy has been surreptitiously souping up.

Poor Linguini is assigned the thankless task of transporting a trapped rat (Remy) from the kitchen to its assigned resting place on the bottom of the Seine - but on the point of tossing our tiny hero into the drink, he discovers that Remy is actually attempting to communicate (by means of frantic nods and paw motions), and quickly determines that this "little chef" was in fact responsible for the fabulous soupe chiffonnade. Thus begins a partnership that finds Linguini and Remy lodged claustrophobically in a garret barely spacious enough for a boy and his rat.

Our dynamic daubière-slinging duo proceed to hammer out the details of their working relationship. At the risk of giving away the film's most endearing comic device, Remy discovers that his perch atop Linguini's head (under cover of the toque) provides an optimum platform for controlling what amounts to a fully-articulated pair of mechanical arms.

Chef Gusteau's restaurant has fallen out of favor in recent years due in large part to the insidious textual attacks of noted/feared/revered food critic Anton Ego (Peter O'Toole), who delights in sinking his literary fangs into the tender low-hanging flesh of beleaguered bills of fare and sucking the lingering vital juices from them - in high-profile publication. [It's no coincidence that his character is drawn to resemble a vampire.]

Thus it's with requisite trepidation that our restaurateurs confront the appearance of the great Ego, notebook in hand, in the dining room of their establishment.

Will Remy succeed in preparing a piece de resistance to wow the predisposed-to-be-critical food critic? Further, will he obtain the respect of both his fellow rats and his new-found human friends? Will Linguini achieve his birthright by wresting control of the restaurant from Emile, his business nemesis? And will he (Linguini) win the love and affection of his fetching and talented sous chef, Colette (Janeane Garofalo, looking almost edible in cartoon garb)? Well, the movie's rated "G," so one might be safe in assuming that Godzilla's not going to crush them underfoot in the final reel.

While Ratatouille is my favorite film of the summer thus far, several factors may limit its box office: 1) the story and characters could prove to be less attractive to kiddos than movies starring, for instance, toys or cars or even superheroes (I mean, what we've got here are rats in a kitchen, for cripe's sake!); 2) there are no dancing rat production numbers featuring songs composed by Elton John or Sting (for which I heartily congratulate everyone involved in the storyboarding process); and 3) the title: ratatouille is a traditional French peasant dish, but it's a pretty obscure designation for a (hopefully) popular animated film. Something like "Rat Chef" might have been a cannier choice if the filmmakers were out to attract the widest possible audience. Being a closet elitist, however, I can serve up nothing but applause to writer/director Brad Bird and crew. Bonne chance, monsieur et madame.

While writing this piece I came across this interesting news story regarding the Pixar/Disney association and its prospects for the future. Since we're on the subject.

FATHER DOESN'T ALWAYS KNOW BEST: "Shut up and eat your garbage." - Remy's dad, Django (Brian Dennehy)

MATCH MADE IN RAT-CHEF HEAVEN: "You know how to cook, and I know how to... appear human!" - Linguini to Remy

MATCHLESS MOVIE MOMENT: Ego experiences a Proustean epiphany.

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