Toy Story 4 (2019)

The Low-Down: 24 years ago, Pixar’s Toy Story quite literally changed the face of animation as we know it. The film presented an entirely new way of telling a story, bringing characters to life via CGI – pixels over pencils, so to speak. At the same time, Toy Story set a new high standard for storytelling in film, proving conclusively that animated movies aren’t just for kids. In the intervening decades, the franchise has even made a strong case in favour of sequels – demonstrating that they’re not necessarily soulless cash-grabs. Toy Story 4 is very much a part of that grand tradition. This is smart, soulful, sublime film-making: somehow entertaining and profound all at once.

The Story: Sheriff Woody (voiced by Tom Hanks) is trying his best to adjust to life with Bonnie (Madeleine McGraw) – the little girl who inherited Andy’s beloved childhood toys at the end of Toy Story 3. Even though he’s forgotten more often than not, Woody remains intensely focused on Bonnie and her happiness. This means going into full babysitter/bodyguard mode when Bonnie creates Forky (Tony Hale), a spork with twists of wire for hands and clumsy wooden popsicle sticks for feet. As Woody tries to keep the trash-oriented Forky safe, he’s swept into an accidental adventure – one in which he meets old friends and learns new truths about who he is and who he has yet to be.

The Great: Perhaps the most remarkable thing about Toy Story 4 is the fact that it feels like the natural, necessary final chapter of a story told in four parts. There’s no way that any of this could have been planned when Pixar first introduced us to Woody in 1995, but the progression in both narrative and character development feels utterly organic. Woody has spent the last three films grappling with his existential fear of being lost, forgotten or replaced, from his first meeting with the brash Buzz Lightyear (Tim Allen) to the day Andy outgrew him and went away to college. This film challenges Woody – and his audiences – to think hard about second chances, about changing how you look at yourself, about finding and embracing a new purpose in life. As such, Toy Story 4 might be the most philosophical movie you’ll see this year, in the best possible way.

The Not-So-Great: There actually isn’t all that much to complain about. The plot machinations can feel a little clunky at times, but Stephany Folsom and Andrew Stanton weave so much joy and humour into their screenplay that the film still zips along. As this is very much Woody’s movie, fan-favourite legacy characters like Buzz and Jessie (Joan Cusack) inevitably end up taking a back-seat. Even then, however, they each still get moments to shine. You might find yourself both thoroughly amused and mildly annoyed by the antics of Ducky (Keagan Michael-Key) and Bunny (Jordan Peele), a symbiotic pair of new characters who were clearly inserted into proceedings for comic relief.

Forking Funny: Give it up for Forky, surely the best new animated character of the year. Voiced with a bewildered tenderness by Hale, Forky is a delight – a walking, talking identity crisis created out of one little girl’s love and imagination. Even better? With his magnetic attraction to all nearby trash-cans, Forky is a fandom meme just waiting to happen. A close runner-up is daredevil stuntman Duke Caboom, who reportedly owes his ridiculously charming posing and personality to current internet darling Keanu Reeves’ commitment to the role. Toy Story 4 even manages to make its main antagonist, Gabby Gabby (Christina Hendricks), both terrifying and endearing – although there are fewer shades of grey when it comes to her ventriloquist-doll minions, led by the determinedly creepy Benson.

Cowboy Blues: Ultimately, Toy Story 4 belongs to Woody, and rightfully so. He is this franchise’s Captain America, in more ways than one. This film pays loving tribute to Woody’s big heart and unwavering, self-effacing loyalty, even as it shakes up his life and world-view when he encounters old friend and possible paramour Bo Peep (Annie Potts) again. (Bo, by the way, is now super-cool and as far away from a fragile damsel-in-distress as anyone can be.) Woody’s decisions and revelations about himself will make you weep with the most complex and bittersweet of emotions. There is joy and sorrow here, hope and heartbreak, final farewells and new beginnings, often in the same moment. In other words, it’s the stuff of life itself, and it’s glorious.

Credits Where Credits Are Due: You’ll definitely want to stay throughout the credits of the film, which are peppered with closing scenes that are essential to tying up the overarching narrative. At the very end, you’ll even be rewarded with a happy ending for one of Toy Story 4’s most minor of characters.

Recommended? In every possible way. Toy Story 4 is a masterpiece of film-making, story-telling and animation. Delightful and devastating in equal measure, it might well be the silliest and most soul-stirring film you’ll see this year.

Incredibles 2 (2018)

A sequel to The Incredibles has a lot to live up to. Pixar’s fresh, funny look at an ordinary family with extraordinary powers became an instant classic when it was released in 2004 – for very good reason. Writer-director Brad Bird struck a sublime balance between domestic drama and tongue-in-cheek satire – celebrating and sending up superheroes in equal measure. So, 14 years on, is Incredibles 2 worth the wait? Fortunately… yes. It doesn’t quite redefine or revitalise the genre, the way its predecessor did, but it’s still brilliantly funny, thoughtful and a pure joy to watch.

The film picks up exactly where The Incredibles left off – revealing that, as in often the case in real life, the happy ending was neither entirely ‘happy’ nor an ‘ending’. When we meet the superpowered Parrs again, they’re trying to figure out how to fight crime – not just as a team, but as a family. It’s more complicated and frustrating than any of them expects, especially when a botched mission yields catastrophic results… and a ban on superheroes.

This turn of events allows Bird to capitalise on the one element of Incredibles 2 that remains unique even in these superhero-obsessed times: the fact that the Parrs are a proper family, bound together by blood, love, duty and responsibility. That dynamic – anchored by the profoundly relatable tensions between husband and wife, parent and child, brother and sister – was what made the first film such a delight to begin with.

Incredibles 2 builds on this with even greater warmth, sensitivity and insight, touching on themes as expansive as feminism, empowerment and screen addiction along the way. When she’s called upon to front a pro-superhero publicity campaign, we watch Helen/Elastigirl (Holly Hunter) struggle with the demands of being a working mom. Left to take care of the children, Bob/Mr. Incredible (voiced by Craig T. Nelson) is forced to come to terms with his own roles and responsibilities as a father. And the kids are experiencing growing pains of their own: Violet (Sarah Vowell) freaks out over a forgotten first date; Dash (Huck Milner) does battle with his homework; and baby Jack-Jack tests out his burgeoning powers on an unfortunate nemesis.

Speaking of Jack-Jack – the youngest member of the Parr family steals the entire film – and will run away with your heart too. It’s no spoiler to say that he starts randomly unleashing one superpower after another: his abilities manifested in Pixar’s 2005 short film, Jack-Jack Attack, and are on full display in every trailer for Incredibles 2. But it’s impossible to adequately express just how delightful Jack-Jack is in this film – even as he shoots laser beams from his eyes, spontaneously combusts (“It means fire, Robert!”) and morphs into a rampaging mini-demon. His kinetic showdown with a hapless raccoon is one of the film’s best scenes: at once howlingly funny and gorgeously animated.

Jack-Jack is the easy standout, but similar care has been invested into exploring the potential and implications of his family’s powers. In particular, there’s a thrill of imaginative fluidity that runs throughout every one of Elastigirl’s scenes, given freer rein by 14 years of technological improvements. Her ability to stretch herself thin – a canny metaphor for the myriad demands of motherhood – allows her to slip through cracks, soar through the air and stop a runaway train in visually arresting ways.

In fact, it all looks so spectacular that you’ll find yourself gaining a renewed appreciation for the pure magic of animated movies. We’re living at a time when CGI and special effects can pull off just about anything on screen. And yet, Incredibles 2 proves with its every frame and action sequence that there are some ideas that just won’t work as well in live action. (That’s a lesson Disney might want to take to heart, by the way.) Edna Mode – genius fashion designer and undying fan favourite – proves it whenever she slices through a scene, radiating a cutting charisma as huge as she is tiny.

It’s fair to say, however, that not everything about Incredibles 2 feels quite as effortless as it did for its predecessor. This time around, Bird’s screenplay isn’t as light and nimble in its examination of superheroes and the people who help and hinder them. The characters of Winston (Bob Odenkirk) and Evelyn Deaver (Catherine Keener) are more grounded, for example, but also less interesting than the likes of supervillain Syndrome and super-sidekick Frozone (Samuel L. Jackson). The biting meta commentary of the first film is sorely missed. Some of the characters aren’t given much space to grow, either – Dash moves the fastest of them all, but feels like he doesn’t really go anywhere.

14 years on, you’d be perfectly justified to ask if there’s any point to Incredibles 2. After all, we now live in a cinematic era in which the superhero genre has established itself firmly in Hollywood. We’re intensely familiar with tales of ordinary people living and grappling with extraordinary powers. In the decade and a half(ish) that has passed since, Pixar has also released a bunch of sequels to films that didn’t require or deserve them (*cough*Cars*cough*). It’s enough to make you doubt if the Parrs have anything left to say – and if it would be said well. Thankfully, the wit and wonder of Incredibles 2 proves that good things do indeed come to those who wait – and that we’d be happy to wait for even more.

Basically: Brilliant in both execution and enjoyment, Incredibles 2 is worth the wait.

Coco (2017)

Since its inception, Pixar has prided itself on creating films for the entire family. This shouldn’t be confused, of course, with the mildly derogatory label of ‘family-friendly’, which is usually slapped on movies cobbled together to distract children, while also driving their parents to distraction. Rich, deep and profound, Pixar’s films are something else altogether. They may star toys, cars, bugs, fish and rats, but they deal with universal themes like growing up, loss and depression. And now, Pixar is dealing with death as well – Coco is a bold, tender meditation on living and dying that is as morbid as it is marvellous.

All 12-year-old Miguel (voiced by newcomer Anthony Gonzalez) wants is to sing and strum his guitar, entertaining the masses just as the late superstar, Ernesto de la Cruz (Benjamin Bratt), did. Unfortunately, he must adhere to a strict ban on music that has been imposed within the family for generations – a decision taken by his great-great-grandmother, Imelda (Alanna Ubach), after her husband abandoned the family to pursue his dream of becoming a musician.

Determined to enter his town’s Día de los Muertos talent show, Miguel sneaks into de la Cruz’s mausoleum to borrow his idol’s iconic guitar. When Miguel touches the instrument, however, he finds that he now has the ability to enter the Land of the Dead – an afterlife bursting with every colour of the rainbow and populated by those who have shuffled off the proverbial mortal coil.

Coco checks quite a few boxes on Pixar’s preferred list of tropes and themes. It’s a coming-of-age story, as Miguel learns not just the cost and value of his dreams, but also the importance of family. Woven into the narrative, too, is an odd-couple road trip of sorts, as Miguel cuts a deal with the eccentric, big-hearted Hector (Gael Garcia Bernal) – a deceased resident desperate to cross over to the Land of the Living – and they set off on an epic adventure to locate the legendary de la Cruz.

Familiar though it may occasionally be in terms of plot and predicament, Coco taps into something joyfully fresh in its setting and scenery. It’s not the first time the Mexican conception of the afterlife has underpinned an entire animated movie; that honour belongs to 2014’s quaintly quirky The Book Of Life.

But Coco makes it all erupt off the screen in a charming, chaotic tumble of colour. It’s no coincidence that the film, which gets off to a deceptively slow start, explodes into kaleidoscopic life once it enters the Land of the Dead. Suddenly, Miguel is consorting with neon-bright spirit creatures and skeletal figures so expressively animated that they can easily skate a fine line between sad, snarky and sinister.

All the eye-popping colour and design in the world would mean little, however, if the film ultimately failed to capture audiences’ hearts. Fortunately, there’s little danger of that happening where Coco is concerned. In fact, be warned – keep a firm hold of your heart and your composure, because you might find yourself losing both before the final credits roll.

Underscored by an utterly gorgeous soundtrack soaked in love and loss, Coco serves up some potent reminders of the power, value and importance of family – with a few perfectly crafted twists along the way. The film is all the stronger for weaving Miguel’s relatives from the great beyond into his narrative, allowing them to cast both light and shadow on his life-changing adventure. Imelda, for instance, comes into her own as a sharp, unforgettable voice and presence. As Miguel makes friends, choices and mistakes in the Land of the Dead, it becomes clearer just how Imelda’s story continues through his, and how his tale is shaped by her decisions and heartbreak.

Taken altogether, Coco will leave you with a devastating, but also powerfully uplifting, sense of how our dearly departed never really leave us. We are who they helped us to be, and they live on as long as their stories are remembered. That’s a remarkably brave concept for a film meant for the entire family to tackle, but it’s one that Pixar pulls off with flair and care to spare. Just be prepared to have some seriously grave conversations about life and death with the little ones…

Basically: Coco pops off the screen in a blast of colour, humour and heart. Bring tissues.

 

Monsters University (2013)

Remember those days long, long ago when Pixar maintained that they weren’t really in the business of making sequels to their perfectly-crafted animated gems? They maintained, quite admirably, that there would be no cashing-in or selling-out when it came to the integrity of their story ideas and universes. Today, with two Toy Story sequels (hugely successful), Cars 2 (arguably worse than the first) and the upcoming Finding Dory filling its filmography, Pixar has clearly recognised the benefits (financially and otherwise) of brand recognition at the box office.

Pretty much anyone who’s wondered why Pixar has held off on picking up where it left off with The Incredibles (easily its most sequel-worthy film to date) in favour of dwelling in the Cars universe – there’s even an impending spin-off called Planes – have justly lamented this decision. But Pixar has also proven with its two utterly delightful, excellent Toy Story sequels that it’s entirely possible to pick up a story in a way that expands rather than cheapens what came before it.

How, then, does Monsters University fare? This sequel that’s actually a prequel arrives in cinemas twelve years after its predecessor Monsters Inc., which so memorably established a parallel-but-connected universe of monsters who gather energy from the terrified bedtime scream of little kids in our world to power their own. Is this second film strictly necessary? Not really. Monsters Inc. remains a film that’s perfectly self-contained. But what this finely-crafted, well-thought-through prequel does do very well is expand on an already-established universe, shading in colour, depth and complexity for characters and making audiences all the more excited to (re-)discover the film that inspired it.

As the title makes amply clear, Monsters University takes one-eyed green monster ball Mike (voiced by Billy Crystal) and fearsomely furry James P. “Sulley” Sullivan (John Goodman) back to their college years – a time when the two best buddies could barely stand to be in the same room with each other. The two monsters clash in a bitter, seemingly irreconcilable way: Mike is working furiously hard to get into the renowned Scaring Programme, but isn’t really all that scary himself; whereas Sulley comes from a long, naturally gifted line of Scarers and is confident that genetics will get him through his exams. When the duo bicker their way into the bad books of the legendary, fearsome Dean Hardscrabble (voiced deliciously by Helen Mirren), they have to fight doubly hard to win their coveted places in the Scaring Programme.

As with all great prequels, Monsters University does a superlative job of revisiting old characters in a new, refreshing light. The film not only shows us how Mike and Sulley become best friends, but also how they grew up and learnt a little about life and themselves. The bond that they forge as they participate in the college-wide Scare Games is wonderfully developed: from the first moment when they take a dislike to each other, through their reluctant decision to work together, right until they’ve found their way towards a deep, powerful mutual respect. Along the way, Pixar doesn’t forget to have lots of fun, peppering their the proceedings with its characteristic humour and unexpected depth.

The film is also packed with delightful details and thoroughly charming supporting characters. The cliques that make up the Scare Game teams range from alpha jocks to fearsome sorority sisters, all of them memorably designed and equipped with sassy quips or character quirks. But it’s the sweetly pathetic Oozma Kappa brothers – including mature student Don (Joel Murray), Siamese twin monsters Terri (Sean Hayes) and Terry (Dave Foley), the incredibly random Art (Charlie Day) and the insanely adorable Squishy (Peter Sohn) – who will, well, ooze into your hearts and take up residence there. 

Pretty much the only thing that could count against the film – and it’s not even technically a flaw – is that the story is a little too far-removed for an audience of tiny tots. The morals and friendship of this particular story skew far older – while Pixar has been an absolute master on previous occasions of creating films that work on multiple levels, Monsters University is remarkably grown-up fare that might well leave little ones bored by the end. After the screams and shenanigans surrounding the Scare Games fade away, the narrative goes considerably deeper and darker, with Mike and Sulley having to confront and accept not just each other, but themselves, for who they really are. There’s a moment set by a moonlit lake that’s profoundly moving for anyone who’s been to college, or been torn down by life. But it’s not a moment that will sit well with a tot who simply doesn’t have the patience to sit through long, heartfelt conversations about life, reality and disappointments.

Sequels often have a poor rep among movie fans – prequels all the more so. (Think Star Wars: I rest my case.) Apart from its longer-than-really-warranted dalliance in the Cars universe, Pixar has proven that it’s possible to create sequels that do justice to – if not improve on – already great movies. With the care, heart and passion lavished upon Monsters University, the animation studio proves that it can also work minor miracles when going back into the timelines of characters we’ve already met once before.

Basically: Pixar scares up lots of laughs with Monsters University, but also comes of age with a film that skews far older than ever before.

Brave (2012)

After watching the trailer for Brave, you’d be forgiven for thinking that Pixar has finally sealed the deal on its return to the Disney fold by at long last trying its hand at the princess movies the Mouse House has turned into its stock in trade. After all, the trailer explicitly sets its heroine, the gloriously ginger Scottish princess Merida (voiced by Kelly MacDonald), on the road to her destiny – and we all know from countless Disney princess movies that ‘destiny’ is code for the man of her dreams. Sure, she’ll encounter some obstacles along the way, like being a mermaid in love with a landlubber, falling and staying asleep for an inconveniently long period of time, and in the case of Brave, a pretty terrifying-looking enormous black bear roaming the Scottish moors… but a happy ending the princess will surely find in the arms of her true love when all is said and done.

As the old adage goes, never judge a book by its cover… or a movie by its trailer. A princess movie this might ostensibly be, because that’s what Merida is… but a princess movie in the style of Disney it emphatically is not. In fact, Brave does not shy away from the realities of Merida’s situation and addresses head-on what it actually means to be a princess. The regal Queen Elinor (Emma Thompson) spends much of the first half of the movie butting heads with her impetuous daughter, trying to make clear to Merida that there are very real political consequences to jealously guarding her personal freedom. ‘Happily ever after’ isn’t defined as Merida getting what she rather childishly wants at the start of the film, because, well, that’s not very realistic. It’s about the journey she must take, both literal and metaphorical, to discover who she is, and how her duties and obligations must sometimes take precedence over her dreams and desires.

I can certainly see why this might prove unpopular or puzzling to people who were expecting a heart-thumping action adventure romp through the Scottish highlands. If you were on the lookout for dazzling feats of bravery and archery and witchcraft and bear-hunting (all of which you do get by the way), but were instead met with a movie that advocates the value of pragmatism and compromise… well, I can see why you’d be a little disappointed. And I will concede that, at times, Brave seems to be doing little more than retro-fitting a story you’ve seen many times before, of rebellious daughters who have to be taught the ways of the world by their mothers, with bears and Scottish accents and ginger hair.

But then the movie takes off – with a twist brilliantly disguised in the trailer and which I won’t say anything about as it’s better to encounter it fresh – and it becomes clear just why Pixar chose to tell this particular story. There is a love story in Brave, it turns out… but not one of the star-crossed, lovelorn variety. It’s Merida’s dynamic with her family – the reserved Elinor, the boisterous King Fergus (Billy Connolly), her incredibly precious triplet brothers – that provides much of the humour and all of the heart in the film. In particular, the way in which Merida and Elinor must battle through their emotionally fraught and tense relationship to reach a better understanding of themselves and each other is beautifully handled. It seems obvious in retrospect, but it was really Brave that brought home to me the fact that Pixar’s oh-so-subversive message all along has been about the importance of the ones you love: that you make mistakes, learn and grow the most with the people you call family, whether it’s the ones you’re born with or the ones you find along the way.

The question remains: is this absolutely top-flight Pixar? I wouldn’t say so. It’s certainly solid, intelligent, emotional fare, better than a lot of movies (whether animated or live-action) currently making their way through the local cineplexes… but it does lack that elusive spark of magic that made indisputable classics out of films like Toy Story, Finding Nemo and The Incredibles. The animation remains gorgeous and lush – I doubt anyone would come away from this film having not marvelled, at one point or another, over how many sleepless nights the animators must have suffered through to bring Merida’s lustrous red mane to fiery, spectacular life – but none of it feels particularly groundbreaking the way Finding Nemo, say, revolutionised how water could be depicted in an animated film.

Nevertheless, it’s heartening to see Pixar resolutely soldier on in its refusal to tailor its movies solely to the box office. Instead of whipping up forgettable but super-hip movies about sassy anthropomorphised animals escaping from Africa or the ice age, and then relentlessly churning out increasingly charm-free sequels, this animation studio continues to produce relatively more grown-up films that are meant to hit home, asking adults to think and feel as much as they make children laugh. Perhaps even more importantly, Pixar has broken the Disney mould in presenting us with a princess for a new age – one who’s spunky, fierce and unapologetically herself… and one who’s certainly brave enough to find her own unique happy ending.

Wall-E (2008)

If you’re going to come out of the animation closet, so to speak, with an instant classic like Toy Story, where do you go from there? Well, going by most critical reviews, Pixar is progressing in leaps and bounds from its already impressive debut with its two most recent works, Ratatouille and Wall-E. Pixar, it would seem, has produced truly classy entertainment for every possible generation of audience – both films have been heralded as mature, smart movies that are glossy and funny enough to occupy the kids, but which also boast profound and arty credentials that can readily please even the fussiest of film connoisseurs. Wall-E, in particular, has been held up as a hallmark in animation – a film whose first half dared to hark back to the good ol’ days of silent movies, eschewing bangs and kinetic explosions for beeps and a gentle love story. Pixar has grown up, some would say, and bravo for that!

Certainly, the film’s eponymous star, Wall-E (voiced by Ben Burtt in a series of remarkably expressive bleeps and bloops), is adorable – he is a tiny trash compactor robot, the last of his kind, still resolutely cleaning up a barren and deserted Earth that’s apparently devoid of any signs of life. Among the scraps of human detritus still remaining, he fashions his home, hoarding things that make him happy: like an old video copy of Hello Dolly!, sporks and any manner of other gadgets. One fateful day, he encounters the sleek, pod-like EVE (Elissa Knight), a gorgeous robot sent down to Earth to determine if the planet has become habitable again. Thereafter begins a sweet courtship as Wall-E tentatively reaches out to the single-minded EVE… but can he distract her from her purpose when they discover the first blossom of new life in a world long thought dead?

Wall-E is, without a doubt, a fantastic achievement in the realm of animated films – the expressiveness that can be wrung from the artfully-constructed mechanical bits that make up Wall-E’s features must truly be seen to be believed. It’s hard to believe that a wealth of sadness, joy and yes, love, can be reflected in the glass binocular eyes of a little robot, but there you have it: Pixar have made the robotic disarmingly, charmingly human. The effect is even more staggering with EVE – essentially a smooth, milky white pod with no discernible features that can be mapped onto a human face (Wall-E’s can, at least), Pixar achieves something approaching the marvellous with the soft glow of EVE’s computer screen-face and tiny lines standing in for eyebrows. The gloss and sheer beauty of Pixar’s animation is on full, glorious display in this film – and it is a sight to behold.

But, as always with Pixar’s films (thank goodness!), the animation comes second to the story and characters. And in this regard, there is a great deal that justifies the overwhelmingly positive critical reception Wall-E has received. The first half of the film – when we’re introduced to the solitary and yet sweetly upbeat Wall-E and he in turn encounters the tempestuous EVE – is one of the sweetest realisations of a love story ever put on film… yes, including live-action actors and movies from ages past! The two robots are adorable, as Wall-E watches EVE, well, decimate everything in her path with fiery blasts… and as he tries to gently woo her with his latest discovery – the proof of life on earth, a fledgling green plant that he has carefully placed in a discarded boot. There will probably be few scenes this year more romantic than Wall-E’s dogged attempts to shield a shuttered-up EVE from the rain. This half of the film is sublime – practically silent, yes, save for snatches of dialogue from Hello, Dolly! or Wall-E’s cheerfully expressive bleeps, but nevertheless a masterpiece in courtship on the silver screen.

My problem with the film, however, comes with the second half – my opinion is that Wall-E shifts gears, abruptly and to its detriment, midway through the film, when its scope expands beyond the relationship between Wall-E and EVE to encompass a universe and humanity gone hopelessly to pot. Aside from the implicit moralising (which really isn’t too offensive, but it’s there), the film never quite recovers its steam thereafter. It’s not that I think the story could have developed in any other way: it would’ve been ridiculous to build the whole film around the courtship of two robots without an end in sight. The expansion of the story – which explains the existences of and very different goals behind the construction of both Wall-E and EVE – is necessary… but nevertheless problematic. The shift in tone introduces characters, motives and action: but it also feels, strangely, a bit like an afterthought – as if so much work went into devising the first half that the film-makers kind of forgot that expanding the universe to encompass characters which one would typically assume would be more relatable (i.e., humans) actually turns the film into a different, less accessible beast.

This probably explains my own – shall we say – unique reaction to Pixar’s recent critically lauded films. I enjoyed them, don’t get me wrong, and can fully appreciate the artistry and intent behind both Wall-E and Ratatouille. In fact, to these films, I would also add the rather less universally adored Cars – another film that is very similar in tone if not final achievement. Aside from the occasional burst of comic frenzy, Cars was Pixar’s first attempt to move into unusually indie territory for what was still a big-budget animated movie – its characters were more clearly focused on introspection, growing up and settling down than the quests of self-discovery that marked out the template of Pixar’s early buddy movies. In this context, then, some might well say that Pixar has grown up.

Sadly, I’m probably one of the few who think that it can stand, on occasion, to “grow back down again” (to quote Mamma Mia!, one of the far less critically welcomed films also released this past summer). The rather more mature focus of the recent films are great and certainly daring – compared to some of the crud being churned out by other animation studios these days, Pixar’s movies are head and shoulders above the competition in terms of pure quality and class. That is unquestionable. But in terms of being just genuine entertainment, that could thrill and educate both adults and children, the way the studio’s earlier films like The Incredibles and Toy Story did? Pixar seems to now be just that little bit more beholden to putting out folksy moral-laden films that are almost… too arch and smart for their own good.

I say almost, of course, because this is not to say that I wouldn’t still take a Pixar film over another film on seven kinds of crack like those currently being produced by Dreamworks and other studios. And of course, there remain moments of glorious whimsy scattered throughout even these more highbrow films: in Wall-E, the adorable supporting character M-O (short for Microbe Obliterator, a tiny, fussy, compulsive little clean-up bot) was a highlight of the second half of the film, as he chased after Wall-E for constantly tracking dirt into his painfully clean environment.

In the final analysis, then, what does one make of Wall-E? The film’s heart-stirringly gorgeous first half, as emotionally affecting as it is lovely and funny to watch, is unparalleled – and one of the greatest achievements on film this year. That it isn’t matched quite as ably by its second half is a shame, for sure, as the movie feels like it’s been split in two and can’t quite recover from that break. But Wall-E still remains head and shoulders above many of the other films put out over the last twelve months, animated or not – and to Pixar’s credit, that’s certainly a ball it keeps hitting out of the park year after year.

Toy Story 2 (1999)

Conventional wisdom, it appears, means nothing at all when it comes to dream-making machine and animation giant Pixar. After all, conventional wisdom would suggest that a sequel is pretty much always half as funny and twice as lame as its predecessor, made simply to cash in big-time at the box office. Well, Pixar only went and made Toy Story 2, widely recognised as one of the handful of sequels that might actually surpass the original film in quality. Certainly, way back in 1999, TS2 received a rapturous critical welcome and went on to cement Pixar’s standing as the animation studio with the greatest likelihood – among all its competitors – of dethroning long-reining, practically unchallenged king Disney. (Turns out it was an inside job, after all…)

We’re re-introduced quickly to the toys we loved so much in the first film: after their earlier misadventures, sensible cowboy Woody (voiced by Tom Hanks) and once arrogant astronaut Buzz Lightyear (Tim Allen) are getting along just fine… until their owner Andy (John Morris) leaves for cowboy camp but breaks with tradition in bringing Woody along after the toy’s arm is practically ripped off. This doesn’t mean Woody stays home pining (ha ha!) after Andy, however: through a fluke, he is kidnapped by toy collector Al (Wayne Knight), who recognises Woody as the invaluable star of a merchandise chain from decades ago and, dollar signs in mind, needs him to complete a set to be shipped to a museum in Japan. Brokenhearted and concerned that he will inevitably be consigned to the dustheap of memory as Andy grows up, Woody convinces himself that he’s better off becoming a matched set with yodelling cowgirl Jessie (Joan Cusack) and Stinky Pete the Prospector (Kelsey Grammer). But he doesn’t count on the determination of his friends, led by the determined Buzz, in returning him to Andy’s side…

As with the best Pixar movies, the film-makers have prided story over special effects. The animation, of course, remains world-class, and even eight years later still holds up marvellously. But Pixar has always been intent on having the visuals service the story, and in this regard, has come up with a corker of a tale that’s achingly simple and resonates with both children and adults. In fact, with the benefit of age and some maturity (hopefully, anyway), it’s easier to appreciate the delicate themes layered into the story, behind the cute new characters (bug-eyed aliens who adopt Mr Potato Head as their saviour), snarky banter and madcap action as Buzz leads a troop of toys across town to save their friend. It’s a remarkably clever, sensitive look at pretty ambitious themes: what you leave behind when you grow up, the need to make difficult choices for the sake of the one you love (in a platonic sense – Woody has to decide between feeding his own ego and remaining steadfast to a boy who might, in a matter of weeks, forget about him entirely).

The best movies boil a world of ideas and emotions down into something so simple and touching you can’t help but be affected by it, and TS2 boasts just such a classic scene that perfectly encapsulates this particularly rare kind of movie alchemy. Set to a gentle, heartrending ballad When She Loved Me performed beautifully by Sarah McLachlan, drenched in autumn colours, the scene that delves into Jessie’s back story is luminous, almost shining with a level of artistry and quiet grace that you hardly see in films these days. I defy anyone to remain dry-eyed when Jessie leans into her owner, a look of sheer bliss on her face, as McLachlan’s dreamy, sad melody wraps itself around the moment.

Throw this scene in with a cracking script, fantastic action (Buzz tumbling through scenes reminiscent of any Indiana Jones movie, or facing off against his nemesis in a moment that consciously recalls Star Wars), and humour that plays beautifully whether you’re 7 or 70. Pixar really takes the idea of its main characters being toys and runs with it, coming up with inventive gag after gag as Buzz’s crew struggles across what, to them, are gargantuan canyons (really streets) or try to navigate Al’s toy store while looking for Woody, meeting Barbie doll tour guides and Buzz’s alter ego along the way. The voice talent, as always, is memorable: Hanks and Allen, of course, relishing their roles with Hanks in particular managing to lend shades of emotion to the words he puts in a toy cowboy’s mouth. Cusack makes a welcome addition to the fold, as do Grammer’s buttery-smooth vocals and delivery – at once charming and slightly sinister as Stinky Pete.

Pretty much the only problem with this film is its rather rushed ending. Presumably having finally run out of gags and steam, the final rescue sequence is a bit far-fetched, and the writers don’t even seem to have bothered to devise a way to explain how most of the main characters wind up back at Andy’s place. But, honestly, this is a tiny quibble in an otherwise pitch-perfect film. Perhaps what’s so great about Pixar is how they’ve so clearly recognised what made Disney films such a success: it’s not about the visuals, or being particularly hip and avant garde. What it comes down to is that particular magical glow you get from a good story well-told, with believable characters and big ideas that aren’t afraid to be just that. And all this you get in spades in TS2 – which, without a doubt, ranks not just as one of the best of Pixar’s films, but is definitely in the running to be one of the best, most heartfelt and surprisingly lovely films of all time.

Ratatouille (2007)

Ratatouille has enjoyed the kind of overwhelming critical adoration reserved for very few films – many of which, it turns out, are from the Pixar stable. The world’s most reliable animation studio, intent always on getting the best story first before matching and supporting it with gorgeous, lush visuals, no doubt deserves it. It’s churned out many a classic before releasing this little film about a rat who eschews garbage for culinary perfection. Has Pixar, again, hit the mother lode by turning an unconventional hero’s tale into a story for the ages?

Well, not quite, but the movie’s still good. Remy (voiced by Patton Oswalt) is a misfit – a rat with the palate of a gourmet, outfitted with a marvellously sensitive sense of smell that sets him apart in the community of rats run by his gruff dad Django (Brian Dennehy) and his hapless brother Emile (Peter Sohn). One day, however, he gets the chance to live his dream: separated from his family, Remy ends up in Paris, culinary capital of the world. Specifically, he ends up in the kitchen of his late inspiration Gusteau (Brad Garrett), although the restaurant is now run by the mercenary, height-challenged, growly Skinner (Ian Holm). It’s pure chance, but also pure serendipity, when Remy doctors the soup ruined by new kitchen-boy, the bumbly, gangly Linguini (Lou Romano). Soon, they’re a dream team – a rat who can cook controlling the motions of a human who can’t – shocking the tastebuds of Parisian reviewers and driving Skinner mad with envy and paranoia. But soon, their friendship starts to fray, as Remy’s hungry family comes a-calling, and Linguini’s head is turned by fame and feisty co-chef Colette (Janeane Garafolo). Can they get their act together before they give renowned food critic Anton Ego (Peter O’Toole) the reason and opportunity to critically destroy Gusteau’s legacy forever?

If it sounds like there’s a lot going on in Ratatouille, that’s because there is – plot threads and characters spill over and into each other with merry abandon, as Skinner frets over the true identity of Linguini, Chef Gusteau pops up to serve as Remy’s imaginary alter ego, and Linguini gets his knickers in a twist over Colette. With all that going on, the movie just can’t help but meander, losing sight of what it should have focused on: the quirky, charming friendship between a man and his rodent. This overabundance of plot is undoubtedly the legacy of the game of musical chairs that director Brad Bird (Pixar’s go-to guy following the resounding success of The Incredibles) played with original helmer Jan Pinkava – the latter unceremoniously exiting the project when it became clear that Ratatouille might very well suffocate to death beneath the weight of Pinkava’s story-telling ambition. Bird has said he tried to prune the film down to what worked, but clearly there remain the seeds of a dozen other stories in this film, and it becomes distracting, after a while. I was particularly irked by the appearances of Gusteau – aside from committing the crime of being annoying and tragically unfunny, they were genuinely unnecessary. Rather than humanising Remy, the scenes in which he chattered away with Gusteau (all the way insisting that he was limited in the advice he could provide as he was but a figment of Remy’s imagination) makes Remy seem like a nutter. Not helpful.

Nevertheless, Ratatouille does retain enough of Pixar’s reliable story-telling verve and cheerfully timeless humour to entertain for most of its two-hour running time. The movie is, in fact, at its charming best in its first half, as we’re introduced to Remy and the dismal life he’s forced to live with his demanding father and undemanding brother, and when he meets the goofy, clumsy Linguini with a heart of gold. There’s a lot of sweet, delightful comedy inherent in the film’s main conceit – that Remy, by tugging on Linguini’s hair, becomes a conductor in an orchestra, producing a symphony of haute cuisine from a boy who’s otherwise useless in the kitchen. It’s hilarious, for example, when Remy trains Linguini to respond perfectly to his hair being pulled (“That’s… strangely involuntary…”) – to the extent that Linguini can be deeply asleep but still move however Remy wants him to, much to Colette’s bewildered chagrin. Much of the movie’s humour is organic – unfolding in amusing banter (“Let us toast your non-idiocy!”) and the delight of meeting new characters. Linguini, in particular, is an artful creation: typically, one would expect the dorky human kid to be the star of the show, his happy ending the one the audience roots for. But here, although Linguini is the second act, he nevertheless proves to be quite the charmer – at once nerdy, cute and thoroughly believable.

With Ratatouille, Pixar continues its strategy of employing big-name stars only if they fit the characters they’ve been contracted to voice. Bird has gone for mostly unknowns, or at least people whose fame won’t overshadow the story – O’Toole and Garafolo are the biggest names they’ve got, with Oswalt and Romano getting top honours. For this film, it works: Oswalt is wry and delightfully deadpan as Remy, words brimming with just the right amount of passion as he discusses cooking and Gusteau, while Linguini’s innocence spills through in every note sounded by Romano in the film. This vaguely indie sensibility comes through in the rest of the film as well, which occasionally plays like a languid French pastoral drama – who would have expected a movie for kids to be quite so quaint and melodically mellow? As with Cars, a lesser entry in the Pixar canon but one that is similarly soaked in rose-coloured nostalgia, Ratatouille is as much a tribute to food as it is a poem about Paris and the twists and turns of its arrondissements.

Suffering somewhat from a case of too many cooks spoiling the broth, Ratatouille has all the crucial ingredients that go into making a classic Pixar movie – a friendship filled with heart and love, dollops of fresh humour and a familiar tale told in an unfamiliar way (how many other films are you going to get with a sympathetic rat for a protagonist?) – but lacks the focus that would have made it great, instead of simply, quite good. That being said, it’s still miles better than a lot of the other animated movies springing up all over the place, so Pixar can breathe easy for now. Bring on Wall-E and 2008!

Cars (2006)

As an unabashed Pixar devotee (many of the movies the studio has churned out over the years rate among my absolute favourite movies), I suppose it’s a shame and a bit of a sacrilege to admit that I was dreading watching Cars. Compared to the snappily intelligent, gut-bustingly hilarious teasers promoting Pixar’s last multiplex-busting effort The Incredibles, the trailers for Cars have been lacklustre in the extreme and – dare I say – frustratingly unfunny. A hot-shot race car gets brought down to earth by his unexpected detour through a sleepy American small town, where his encounters with the local hillbillies cause him to rediscover his roots and his humility? Argh, ugh and oh dear. The trailer made the movie sound and look like a preachy morality tale – shots of the eponymous cars falling in love as they take a slow drive through beautiful countryside (I mean, ew, how obvious and pedestrian can you get?), and the cheesy tagline promoting life as the journey you take rather than the destination you reach certainly didn’t help matters. So I admit to entering the cinema with a great deal of trepidation, hoping against hope that Pixar would pull another slam dunk out of its hat and surprise me. Thankfully, I was surprised, and in a good way. While never really matching Pixar’s best work, Cars fortunately is in every way a Pixar thoroughbred.

But more on this later. First, a brief synopsis: meet hotshot Lightning McQueen (voiced by Owen Wilson), who’s surely the smirkiest animated race car in history. Still just a rookie and lacking even basic accoutrements like headlights, Lightning is nevertheless the new, electrifying presence on the prestigious Piston Cup race circuit. Flashy and arrogant as they come, all Lightning wants is to beat his two greatest rivals – classy long-time champion The King (Richard Petty) and obnoxious perennial runner-up Chick Hicks (Michael Keaton) – at a face-off in California in a week’s time. Unfortunately, en route to California on the interstate, he gets rudely separated from his minder Mack (John Ratzenberger), and trundles into Radiator Springs, a tiny, forgotten town just off the increasingly infrequently used Route 66 whose inhabitants are as weathered and beaten down by time as their surroundings. Trapped into fixing a road he broke (almost literally), Lightning at first reviles then comes to accept and understand the motley crew of townsfolk he encounters, including surprising sophisticate Sally (Bonnie Hunt); mysteriously gruff Doc Hudson (Paul Newman); relentlessly upbeat idiot savant Mater (Larry the Cable Guy) and Ferrari-obsessed tiresmiths Luigi (Tony Shalhoub) and Guido (Guido Quaroni). When what he thought would be the longest week in his life draws far too quickly to a close, can Lightning leave behind this little ghost town that has long been left behind by progress?

Sounds hokey as heck, doesn’t it? And, in a way, Cars is every bit as predictable and cheesy as it appears to be in the trailer. The story doesn’t even try for twists, laying out for Lightning in meticulously obvious detail the path that must be taken by all wayward snobs in movies about self-discovery. Although director John Lasseter thankfully keeps to the Pixar tradition in not making the blatant pop-culture in-jokes that pepper other lesser animated movies, he does resort to rather a lot more cliché than you’d find in Cars‘ predecessors in the Pixar stable. Doc is the quintessential reluctant mentor who sees in young upstart Lightning the secrets and pain of his own past, while Mater – delightfully loopy Mater – is that tenuous connection to humanity Lightning at first can’t wait to shake off but which he slowly realises is a lifeline keeping him from falling prey to his own ambition. Throw in the requisite sassy love interest for our slick little anti-hero, a slew of supposedly inspiring, quirky minor characters who maintain a simple faith in life despite all the setbacks they’ve suffered, slow-mo drives through the countryside in which Lightning readjusts his previously fast-paced priorities… Yup, all that cheese is in there and more.

But – all credit to Pixar for creating some moonshine out of so much pablum – Lasseter somehow polishes up all this old hat up, and makes a surprisingly sweet, touching little cinematic patchwork out of these oh-so-predictable moments. Sure, the storytelling team behind Cars never hits the breathtakingly inventive heights of Toy Story or The Incredibles with its plot, but – crucially – seems to know this and doesn’t care. To my mind, at least, the movie is meant to be a little creaky, a little old-fashioned and predictable. It’s supposed to feel comfortable and familiar, like a movie you’ve watched a hundred times before, as you immerse yourself in nostalgia for an America long lost in the dust of the desert and bypassed by modern roads. Clearly, the road trip Lasseter took his team on before they started the movie yielded some pretty tangible benefits: you can tell just how much love and care went into recreating Radiator Springs’ achingly photo-realistic environs. When Sally explains her apparently inexplicable attachment to a little hick town, she says she fell in love – and the sheer majestic beauty of the panorama revealed to both Lightning and the audience is enough to make you believe every word she says.

All the more amazing, of course, for it having been animated or drawn – and in this regard at least, Cars is another coup for Pixar, which has moved on from toys to fish to people and now conquers the realm of re-imagining cars to somehow make them convey as much, if not more, emotion than you’d imagine would be possible from a bunch of coloured pixels. Thank heavens for Pixar’s design team – each character is more incredibly expressive than the next, moving from guilt to embarrassment to anger with a twist of their fenders and a blink of their windows. Standouts are the irrepressibly emotional Lightning, who’s at once smirky, snobbish and innocent; gangly, rusting Mater, clunky but just about held together with so much cheerful will power; and the reticent little worker-bee Guido. Once you immerse yourself into this movie’s reality, the artwork and animation is so professional that you very quickly take for granted the visual treat you’re experiencing, and give yourself over to the story… which I suspect is what Pixar has always wanted out of its movies. The animation is meant to serve the story, rather than the other way around (Final Fantasy, anyone?) and although here the story is not as compelling or original as in Pixar’s previous outings, the studio’s big, big heart – it’s right there on this movie’s sleeve – remains intact.

Another saving grace for Cars is the trademark wry humour that suffuses much of the movie – there aren’t that many quotable quotes that will stick with you after you leave the cinema, but that’s largely because a great deal of the humour is character-driven… which also partly explains why the movie, despite being set in the high-speed world of race-car driving, initially moves at an almost languid pace as it builds and develops character and story to form a solid bedrock for the gentle, surprising laughs that are teased out of the audience thereafter. Of course, what’s an animated movie without a memorable sidekick and a couple of stupidly but howlingly funny scenes? Mater, for his part, is one of the best comic sidekicks created in recent history – silly, irreverent and a bit of a doofus, yet earnest, faithful and true. He could have been twenty kinds of annoying; instead, he becomes the movie’s kooky emotional fulcrum, and thereby indirectly grounds the far flightier, less sympathetic Lightning in the audience’s affections. And of course, if you’ve seen the movie, you’ll know what I mean when I say the tractor-tipping scene is hilarious – a pretty cheap shot, as jokes go, but deeply amusing for all that.

You wouldn’t think so to look at it, given its seriously glossy, kid-friendly and thoroughly merchandise-ready vehicular stars, but Cars is actually Pixar’s most grown-up movie. It’s an elegy and a tribute to days long gone by, a story about redemption and finding yourself and all that other inspirational hooey you’d have to be, you know, grown up to enjoy. Be warned that your kids might get fidgety at points, and so might you – but it’s the kind of movie in which you have to invest a certain amount of patience and attention before you get your reward. And if you do give yourself over to the movie’s knowingly familiar, happily old-school charms, ten to one you’ll find by the end that you’d been completely won over but had no idea just when it happened. Not an instant classic like some of its more famous stable-mates, Cars nevertheless boasts enough of that magical Pixar sheen to retain a charm and appeal all of its own.