Top Ten Animated Films with Guest Writer Tucker Meijer: #8 Critics' Take
Here are Tucker’s take on my choice, Ratatouille, and my take on his choice, Spider-man: Into the Spider-verse. Below are our original posts.
Tucker’s take on Jeremy’s #8: Ratatouille
When I was maybe 7 or 8 years old, I went on a family vacation to San Diego. Because it was so long ago and because I was so young, I don’t remember very much from that vacation; I can remember the general arc of events, but the details have become fuzzy. Except for one moment. It was an inconsequential moment, but I can still remember the details so vividly, almost fifteen years later.
It was early afternoon. My family was all piled into our rented mini van and I was in the same seat I always sat in our minivan back home (second row, seat on the left). We were taking a right onto a busy road out of the parking lot of our hotel. I was listening to the book Dragon Rider through my red CD player (this was the early 2000s); it was narrated by Brendan Fraser, whose vocal fry made me cringe, even as a 7 year old. The sun was shining, the whole day was ahead of me, and I was chewing watermelon-flavored gum.
The fact that I was chewing watermelon-flavored gum is not insignificant. Now, anytime I chew watermelon-flavored gum, I am immediately transported to this moment. I’m not sure why this flavor conjures this specific moment with such vividness or why I haven’t experienced a similar sensation with any other food. But there is no denying the fact that the flavor of watermelon gum takes me back to that sun-drenched afternoon in San Diego.
When I first saw Ratatouille, I was reminded of my relationship with watermelon-flavored gum during the same scene that Jeremy mentions in his review: Remy takes a bite of one piece of cheese and bright colors explode on the screen. He takes a bite of something else and a different kaleidoscope of colors appears. He eats both together and the colors change again. It’s a simple and, at the same time, grand demonstration of the impact of food; not only does food nourish the body, but it can bring back memories (a la Anton Ego’s experience), facilitate the onslaught of emotions, and encourage community. I love the view of food that’s portrayed in Ratatouille; it is elevated from a tool for sustenance to a nuanced and impactful experience.
As with all Pixar movies, Ratatouille is beautiful to look out. Each shot of the Parisian streets is so gorgeously composed. This helps a little with the cognitive dissonance that comes with the movie: the beautiful images distract from the fact that the protagonist is…well…a rat. As Jeremy notes, this protagonist is one that never feels corny or contrived. As Jeremy rightfully mentions, Remy is not just a talking animal. He and Linguini (as an aside, I absolutely LOVE the fact that his name is Linguini – it has the danger of being a little too on-the-nose, but the character so perfectly embodies the name that it works out well) communicate through means that are not talking. This is a narrative device that reflects the universality of food; although Linguini and Remy cannot speak to each other verbally, they find their own method of communication that is facilitated by their desire to make good food.
Like Jeremy’s pick last week (The Wind Rises), Ratatouille is another movie that explores and depicts the creative process. Remy is truly passionate about food (for evidence, refer back to the scene I mentioned above, where Remy literally sees different colors that are associated with different foods) and this passion forms the basis for his relationship with Linguini and the restaurant. One of the movie’s greatest pleasures is watching Remy exercise his passion and learn to share this passion with others. Just like Jiro in The Wind Rises, Remy must learn how to balance his passion projects with his personal relationships, which, as Jeremy mentions, culminates in a truly beautiful conclusion.
I won’t go too deeply into it here (you really do have to see it to truly appreciate it) but the sequence where Anton Ego takes his first bite of the eponymous ratatouille is a stunning example of how the film navigates the absurdity of its premise (rats making food is not the most appealing of elevator pitches) by portraying emotional moments in ways that feel intensely real and authentic. Ratatouille is a film that straddles the line between magic and realism, making it a truly delightful experience.
It will likely be a long time before I see another movie with such a ridiculous premise that holds the same charm as Ratatouille. Not only is it entertaining, but it also visually portrays how I feel when I first start chewing watermelon gum and am transported back to that car in San Diego, sitting around the people I love the most.
Jeremy’s take on Tucker’s #8: Spider-man: Into the Spider-verse
I am not sure if we are doing a “Runner’s Up list”, but if we were, my #11 would be Spider-man: Into the Spider-verse.
If you had asked me a year ago, before the film premiered, whether Spider-man: Into the Spider-verse would rank among my favorite animated, my answer would have been no. Growing up, I was raised reading comic books and love them. Unlike Tucker, who does not like the most superhero films, I do. That being said, we are so over-saturated with them now that I too find them tedious. However, ff all the series I grew up reading, one series I did not enjoy as a child was The Spider-verse. In Science Fiction, dealing with the concept of multiple dimensions, especially when you are dealing with more than one, always seemed silly to me. Even in this film, I think that conceptually, the Spider-verse is the weakest point of the movie. Narratively, I find it clunky. If there infinite possibilities, then there is a spider-man somewhere that could have prevented all of this. In animation, though, the concept of the multiverse gave the directors of Spider-man: Into the Spider-verse an opportunity to do something rarely done and that is to play with the actual form of animation.
When animators play with the style of animation in their films, leaving behind a more realistic artform, and plunging into stylized art, there is often something special happening. Even in the horrible Looney Tunes: Back in Action, there is a brilliant moment when Bugs and Daffy run through different paintings in a museum causing their own bodies to change into the art style of whatever painting they enter Running into Seurat’s Sunday in the Park, they change into pointillism. Here, when the Spider-verses begin colliding, it gives Persichetti, Ramsey, and Rothman a chance to change the animation style for each character from each different dimension. It is one of the most creative uses of animation I’ve ever seen.
While I do believe narratively there are better Spider-man and superhero films than Spider-man: Into the Spider-verse, one point Tucker brings up that makes this film so special is the main character Miles Morales. Being an artist, Miles nerdiness comes not from science like Peter Parker, but from being a misunderstood artist. This gives the directors again a chance to play with how does art, comic books, and specifically stories impact our lives. Can Miles become his favorite hero, Spider-man?
Even more than his artistic background though, Miles is also revolutionary for his ethnicity. This is one of our first non-white American superheros. Even when superheroes are of other races, they tend to also be an outsider. This is not always true, Luke Cage, but Miles is another step forward. Why is this important? I know that for some this feels like inclusivity for commercial reasons. That is probably true, but that fact does not negate the practical effect.
Growing up as an Asian-American, I had very few role models who were Asian. In fact, Asians tended to be regarded as merely the nerd in almost all 1990s popular stories. Is it a wonder that I felt I had to become that? I didn’t see Asian-American sports heroes or superheroes. When I did, they were often only tokenism; just one to say that they had one, but with no depth or purpose. For the longest time, Sunfire fulfilled that roll on X-men. This is one reason I gravitated towards Star Trek. Sulu was a strong Asian male. He had sword-fighting scenes and several times was given command of the Enterprise while his superior officers were on an away mission. He commanded with authority. In the sixth Star Trek film, The Undiscovered Country, Sulu is the only member of the original crew to be given his own command. Captaining the Starship Excelsior, he came to the rescue of Kirk in their final outing. For years there were rumors that they might be developing a Star Trek: Excelsior show. It would have meant so much to me as a young boy. To the minority kid, who only sees that heroes are white, here is Miles Morales. This is an important film.
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
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.
