Top Ten Animated Films with Guest Writer Tucker Meijer: #8
If you want to read the introduction from Tucker and myself, please go to our choices for the #10 best animated film. Here are our selections for #8.
Tucker’s #8: Spider-man: Into the Spider-Verse
I’ve mentioned this in one of my earlier blog posts, but I am not a huge fan of superhero movies; I often find them formulaic, predictable, and repetitive. I wonder if the root cause of this strong feeling is that I’ve never read comics books, so I was late on hopping on the superhero genre train. With that being said, I do understand why people are so drawn to them. In a world where conflicts are never black and white, it’s comforting to escape into a place where there the heroes and villains are clearly delineated and the hero (most often) comes out on top.
Because of my dislike of the superhero genre, I was fully expecting to be underwhelmed by Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse. How utterly wrong I was. In my movie-going experiences, few movies have surprised me by how much I enjoyed them than this one. It was, put simply, a delightful experience.
The first striking thing about the movie is its unique, singular style. I think that making the distinctive style of a comic book integral to the animation runs the risk of being too reliant on the film form or comic form. Into the Spider-Verse avoids this completely; it is the perfect blend of the comic and film form. Both forms compliment one another in a way that creates a completely new style, one that feels organic and authentic.
On a narrative level, the film surges forward at a fast pace, but gives enough space for the characters to develop. Watching Miles struggle to become the Spider-Man people expect him to be is painful to watch; his attempts and subsequent failures to assume a role that has been foisted upon him feels authentic. But when he finally gets it, not only is it an incredibly fulfilling conclusion to his arc, it also just makes sense. So many times, I find myself frustrated by a character that suddenly becomes heroic without putting in the work to earn it. Miles’ arc doesn’t suffer from this. When he finally becomes the hero, it is because the heroic qualities that he had been showcasing throughout the entire film finally came out.
The people Miles surrounds himself with aid his character development. The ensemble characters are so, so good and the movie gets so much more enjoyable than it already is once they are introduced. There’s John Mulaney’s Spider-Ham, Nicolas Cage as Spider-Man Noir, and Hailee Steinfeld’s Spider-Woman who all stand out as simultaneously comedic and richly developed supporting characters.
But of course, Miles as the main character demonstrates how superhero movies are often leagues ahead of other Hollywood offerings in terms of diversity. Like Black Panther before it, Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse features a person of color in its lead role. The impact of diversity in film is consequential (here’s a short Vice article that articulates why), especially in a movie where the people of color are the heroes and end up saving the day.
Into the Spider-Verse also uses music in a great way. The hip-hop soundtrack saturates the film and does not take a back seat to the narrative. But often, the music does not necessarily correlate to a deeper meaning. Instead, it provides a backdrop for the urban landscape of the city. To some degree, the movie is about New York and the people and sounds that populate it. These sounds make the film’s city as vibrant as the texture of the film itself.
There are so many things that I love about Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse but my biggest takeaway from it is that superhero movies are so much more than just predicable good guy vs bad guy romps; they can be rich, complex, hilarious, and poignant too. Because of this, I consider Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse to be critical in expanding my own cinematic tastes.
Jeremy’s #8: Ratatouille
8) Ratatouille
When I first heard the premise for Ratatouille, images from Disney’s Cinderella and Snow White came to mind. The lively and stereotypical Disney Esque animals coming to the aid the protagonist in doing their chores. I admit... I wasn’t looking forward to this movie. Then came word that Brad Bird of Iron Giant and Incredibles fame had been brought in mid-production to save a troubled movie. Although I love Brad Bird (see my #10 pick), it spelled a movie in production hell. Even more reason not to look forward to this rare Pixar disaster. Finally, I will admit, the idea of rats in the kitchen is one of the least appetizing ideas one could think of to romanticize onscreen. Yet, as I sat down to watch Ratatouille for the first time, I was captured by every frame, from the beauty of the Seine river composed in a picturesque style, to the incredible detail of the food, even the manner that vegetables bod up and down in soup, to the wonderful characterization. This was not going to be a poor Disney clone. For a Pixar Disney close, watch Brave.
Ratatouille starts out with such a classic image in cartoons. Our main character, Remy the rat, jumping through a window with a cookbook he is trying to steal while a grandmother with a shotgun shoots at him and then… freeze frame!. As fun as it is though, it was a classic trope. It was funny and well done. Certainly, I was enjoying myself. But my hopes were still not high. Then came the scene where Remy, complaining to his brother who doesn’t understand food, that they don’t need to just to eat trash, discovers that his brother has found a piece of great cheese. They would have to do something grand with it, even though his brother can’t understand why they just can’t eat it. To explain, Remy has him take a bite of the cheese. The movie transitions to the colors of emotions created from the taste of the cheese. Then, he eats something else and a different kaleidoscope of colors lights the screen. Then, he eats the two of them together and the flavors meld into something new that creates the most wonderful shapes and colors combining the two distinct patterns before, but also adding new elements. This is the greatest explanation of how food works that I have ever seen or heard. It was at this point that I knew I was in for something great.
One of my fears was that Ratatouille would be a Disney clone in that Remy would be like Sebastian in The Little Mermaid or Mushu in Mulan: a talking animal. But, when Remy and Linguini finally meet, they cannot speak to each other. The scene of them standing on the river Seine learning that they can communicate, because Remy does understand Linguini, is a moment of revelation. How they figure out to cook together without being able to speak is equally inventive. One of the most amazing things to me is the narrative imagination of the film. Rather than portraying Remy’s “demanding father” as a villain, he is a loving dad who is simply concerned for his son, who admittedly, he does not understand. It is such a realistic relationship. When his father drags Remy to see a hardware store that sells products to kill rats, it is not done to get his son back, but rather, to tell him a hard truth.
Equally inventive in the film is the strange love triangle of sorts that develops between Linguini, Remy (who is the reason for Linguini’s culinary success), and Colette, who is also responsible for training Linguini in the culinary arts. The idea that such a relationship could cause jealousy is hysterical in hindsight and completely unexpected within the film.
But for me, perhaps the most important character in the film emerges towards the end. Linguini is enjoying his new found success, while Remy begins to get jealous that Linguini is taking the credit or even worse giving the credit to Colette when Anton Ego walks in. Anton Ego may be the best character that Pixar has ever created; thin to the point of seeming weak and frail; we previously have seen him in his office, shaped like a coffin with a typewriter that looks like a skull. As a culinary critic, Anton Ego has the ability to kill restaurants. He lauds himself as a definitive judge of the worthiness of food. Voiced by Peter O’Toole in a genius performance, his voice careers grandauer and power in it. This is the same actor who played Lawrence in Lawrence of Arabia, one of the most arrogant characters ever to grace the screen. In one scene, Lawrence is informed that no one has ever crossed the desert that he was about to attempt… his response? “Moses did.”
When Ego walks in, he interrupts a press conference that Linguini’s is holding to celebrate his new success. Informing Linguini that he has been breaking the rules because he has been playing the “game” without an opponent. Then taking a swipe at Linguini’s intelligence: “You’re very slow for someone in the fast lane.” Linguini responds, “And you’re very thin for someone who likes food.” Then, there is a gasp from the press. Linguini has dared to insult the man who holds Linguini’s future in his hands. “I don’t like food, Mr. Linguini. I love it. And when I don’t love it, I don’t swallow.” Ego presents both the truth and sad truth about critics. We do love the medium that we criticize; otherwise the criticism is not worth doing. However, there is a danger in criticism to become a cynic, to become a person who doesn’t engage that film they are watching for what it is trying to do, but rather against some standard that you have crafted. It is here that film critics fail. One should not try to judge Star Wars: A New Hope in the exact same way one analyzes Citizen Kane. And yet, there is a craft to filmmaking that must be used to create effect, just as in cooking there is a craft that produces flavor. This is one reason I love Roger Ebert. His voice is sorely missed. He never hated the movies. Yes, there were movies he famously hated, but he loved cinema and specifically its power to create empathy with the other. He always approached a film looking for what it tried to do rather than what he wanted it to do.
The finale of Ratatouille is filled with wonderful surprises and even though this is an in depth review, I shall not deprive those who have seen the film of experiencing them. Let’s just say that Ego’s reaction to the food is so unexpected and brilliant, reaffirming why we all love food, and the truth about simplicity in art. His final monologue is one of the best explanations of criticism ever written. Ironic that it was written by an artist, not a critic.
