IF we are living in a golden age of animation -- and we are -- one of the reasons is writer-director Brad Bird. That's somewhat ironic, because as his new "Ratatouille" demonstrates, what makes Bird so unusual is that he doesn't really think of himself as an animator at all.
From his exceptional previous features ("The Iron Giant" and "The Incredibles") through this one, Bird has refused to ghettoize himself, refused to back off from his passion to make movies whose animated surface doesn't stop them from touching the same emotional bases as live-action fare. When Pixar executive producer John Lasseter says, "There's a level of depth, complexity and humor to this film that I don't think any Pixar film has had before," he's not giving in to hyperbole, he's getting at the heart of Bird's concerns.
The story of another creature that refuses to be ghettoized, in this case a rat -- yes, a rat -- with the palate of an epicure and a passion to be the greatest chef in the world, "Ratatouille" is as audacious as they come. It takes risks and goes places other films wouldn't dare, and it ends up putting rival imaginations in the shade.
Whereas the tendency in so much of today's animation is to be glib and on the surface, "Ratatouille" and its Pixar brethren have carved out a place for themselves by being genuinely smart and sophisticated in ways that please audiences as much as critics.
"Ratatouille" also takes full advantage of what the medium of computer animation offers. As much as story, director Bird and his team love great chases, wild rides and wacky adventures, and setting this film both in a breathtakingly beautiful Paris and the unnerving sewers beneath the city offers ample opportunity for all manner of visual play.
Although mice have been members in good standing of the animation community at least since Ub Iwerks drew Mickey Mouse in 1928, the idea (which started with animator Jan Pinkava, who shares a story credit) of making a rat the hero of a major motion picture is a lot nervier than having penguins or other cuddly folk in the first position.
And, to its credit, "Ratatouille" is surprisingly candid about letting rats be rats. Yes, our hero Remy walks on his hind legs (the better to keep his front paws clean for eating) and has a face as expressive as that of a Yiddish theater actor, but his fellow rats swarm in such realistic packs it is a real gut-check to see them scurrying about. And asking audiences to accept them as heroes is a riskier gambit still.
