Fans of animation often bicker over which of the Pixar films is quantifiably the best. There's a case to be made for all of them (except the
Cars films - if you ever say
Cars is the best, you're wrongest wrong person in Wrongville); however, after rewatching
Ratatouille over the weekend, I find myself making a case for the story about the little rodent who could.
The first time I watched
Ratatouille, I found it to be enjoyable but highly formulaic - almost forgettable. It's a pretty standard idea for a children's story - artist dreams big, gets rejected because he's misunderstood (pobrecito). Eventually, through sheer tenacity, he triumphs and is recognized as the genius he is. I don't think I watched it again for several years, because I never really felt the need.
After this most recent viewing, though, I've changed my mind - there's a lot going on in
Ratatouille that isn't immediately evident. True, there's the whole underappreciated artist story, but that really takes a back seat to the individual character arcs. There's an underlying theme that runs throughout that says art is for EVERYONE, and a person can only be truly happy when they learn how to take their art and share it. Nearly every character has to come to terms with this democratic understanding of the art of cooking (or "The Gospel of Gusteau," you might say):
- Remy the rat, nearly a fully realized artist already, has to recognize that he's not held back in his art because the world refuses to accept a rat chef, but because he himself has not fully accepted his role as an artist. Thus, his moment of revelation comes when he starts to identify himself as a "cook" before anything else.
- Linguini, who has no talent for cooking, discovers in an almost wordless moment that he has a skill for customer service and waiting tables that allows others access to Remy's art. The scene where Linguini darts around Gusteau's upscale restaurant on roller skates is almost played comically, but it's a real moment of realization for Linguini. His "art" is a subtle one, but very important.
- Colette proves early on that she accepts Gusteau's maxim that "anyone can cook" when she helps Linguini get a job in the kitchen. Her devotion as a "Disciple of Gusteau" is put to the test, though, when Remy is revealed to be the mastermind chef. Ultimately, hers is a trial of faith in art, and she passes.
Sorry if the religious verbage is a bit much, but it fits pretty well.
Beyond the arcs for the main trio, though, there is another, subtler theme which becomes apparent when analyzing the roles of two supporting characters: namely, the importance of turning one's role or occupation into art. Let's look first at Remy's father (whose name, according to Wikipedia, is Django).
In the world of
Ratatouille, cooking is treated as an art, not just a skill (
even though we in the "real world" tend not to consider it so). However, to hear characters like Gusteau, Remy, and Colette speak of cooking, the audience soon realizes that cooking - so often a routine, mundane activity - not only nourishes the body, but it also nurtures the soul.
Initially, Django refuses to accept that cooking does anything more than fill a specific physical need. His attitude is understandable, even natural: he's the de-facto father of an entire clan, whose survival depends on pilfering food from people who would kill them on sight. He doesn't feel he can indulge his son's need for fancy flavorings; as a parent, he considers it to be his rightful role to protect and provide for his clan.
Django fills his role as provider excellently; however, he fails to realize that a parent should nurture as well as feed his children. By enlisting the aid of his clan to help Remy cook, Django finally accepts, not only his son's dreams, but also his total role as a parent. He has become a nurturer, just as Remy has with his cooking.
While that's all well and good, the real star of this subplot is the film's villain (and my new favorite Pixar character), Anton Ego.
Ego is a food critic, and, like many critics, he finds the easiest way to make a living from his criticism is to tear down. He delights in negative criticism, which sucks the soul from an artist (not to mention a star from Gusteau's restaurant). Indeed, Ego fits this negative definition of a critic so well that his entire world appears vampiric - his long frame, skeletal fingers, and thin lips mirror those of the classic vampire. Heck, his often even resembles a coffin. The man is initially a parasite - he makes his living by destroying, even devouring, others.
However, the end of the film finds Ego remembering and fulfilling the higher call of the critic. He chooses not to resort to negative criticism - which is profitable and "fun to write" - but instead puts his reputation and livelihood on the line to defend something new and enriching. Ultimately, he loses both, but he is still content, even happy, with the role he played. Ego learns to "nourish" with his criticism, becoming, in a sense, an artist himself.
Anton Ego's story is a bit preachy (
and rubbed some critics the wrong way), but the message is one well-worth considering: Whatever you do, you can be an artist.
So, yeah, new favorite Pixar movie.
