A rat who dreams of cooking in a Parisian kitchen. A narrative that jumps from human to rodent at the drop of a chef's hat. A third act turn into dissecting the motivations behind criticism. It may on the face of it be a standard Pixar flick, but Ratatouille is actually one of the studio's most daring, ambitious films. That it all comes together so seamlessly, the bonkers nature of its various concepts so measured, then, is testament to its brilliance. In fact, it perhaps manages the blend so impeccably that some don't quite appreciate what skill is at work in Ratatouille - by all reckoning it's Pixar's most underrated film. Each element the film raises is worthy of unwavering praise: the base concept, disgusting as a real world idea, is immediately buyable thanks to Remy's clear passion and the so-real-you-can-taste-it food; the gutter-perspective rat community and human world are visually (the kitchen alternates from towering to regular) and audibly (there's no actual communication) distinct, yet through a simple lack of defined barriers the film flows from one thread to another But the standout moment is when Ego, the maniacal critic, is reverted back to his childhood with a simple mouthful of Remy's ratatouille, prompting a review that winds up challenging the very nature of criticism. It's simultaneously a put-down of needless negativity, a playful attack on those who dismiss Pixar themselves purely down to their chosen form and a moment of personal self-realisation. Beautiful.
