A Worthy Successor

My favorite movie of all time, Mouse Hunt, has found itself a worthy successor. Ratatouille plentifully plunders from the 1998 flick, but steals riches to share with the world.

Remy the rat is not your ordinary vermin. Gifted with a finely tuned nose, he cannot subsist on his rodent clan's diet of garbage. Remy thirsts for human cuisine. That is where he encounters trouble.

Overreaching into the pantries of a well-armed widow results in the eviction of Remy's family from her ceiling. A harrowing flight washes our protagonist into the sewers of Paris, separating Remy from his clan and plopping him right below the restaurant of Chef Auguste Gusteau.

Gusteau is a propenent of kitchen egalitarianism, that anyone can cook successfully if they let their imagination run free. Manifesting himself as a figment of Remy's imagination, the chef guides Remy through self-doubt into (literally) the toque blanche of a restaurant employee who is transformed by his tiny companion into an overnight sensation.

Before divulging any more of the movie, let me convince you to see it.

Ratatouille represents the best graphics Pixar has yet concocted. Every scene (and every mouse hair) is packed with high-resolution detail. JT and I are eager to rewatch it just to pick up side action in the cooking scenes.

The caricatures in this movie are exaggerated beyond all belief, almost to the point of reality. Anton Ego, the supreme Parisian food critic, sits hunched in a dark mahogany-panelled chamber clacking at his ancient typewriter, miniscule reading glasses perched at the end of his nose, revelling in the mortal hold (once again, quite literally--every hyperbole is reality in this movie) he commands over chefs. Ratatouille's portions are so small they almost evaporate; Gusteau is gargantuan to the point of a bean bag chair.

At times the plot feels contrived, but in a movie centered on anthropomorphic mice converging with the Parisian food scene, a few dei ex machina barely distort the story.

There is a subtle, likely unintentional, lesson to this movie. Of the rats, Remy is most comfortable with humans, and is the only one who pursues good food. This disturbs his father, who does not appreciate his son's ability except when it is used for sniffing out rat poison. Meanwhile, the clan scarfs down unidentifiable trash, sometimes ingesting poison as a result.

Most humans--to an extent, myself included--barely know or care what they are eating, including many of the atrociously unhealthy ingredients found in processed food. Thus, the United States faces an epidemic of obesity, especially glaring in children. This movie forces the viewer to see food as something that can be crafted into delicious artwork, not as fat and sugar laden fodder in the trough of humanity. In Ratatouille, rats represent a mirror of humankind, and Remy, the outcast of both sects, finds delight in a small portion of carefully constructed fare, not in heaps of processed garbage. Ideally, theater audiences will follow suit and buck the trend that has a microcosm in JT's beloved hot dog eating contest.