Ratatouille by Paul Bullock

If Pixar could bottle whatever it is that creates that tingly feeling of joy in you whenever you watch their latest film they‘d have a potent replacement for prozac on their hands. Having already made us believe in the life-affirming quality of toys, fish and monsters that hide in the wardrobe at night, cinema's most consistent studio are at it once again, only this time with a rat named Remy whose dreams of becoming a chef are realised when he teams up with bumbling garbage boy Linguini at a top Parisian restaurant. It's certainly an unusual premise. Rats on their own are an unpleasant enough idea, but rats in the kitchen? Well, that's just a recipe for disaster (or a rubbish reggae song). So why does Ratatouille offer up a deluxe five course feast, rather than leftovers from last night's take-away?

The answer, very simply, is Brad Bird. Even amongst the luminaries at Pixar, Bird has proven himself something special, a director who refuses to tread where others have gone before. When most animation studios were jumping on the postmodern CG bandwagon in the late 90s, Bird made The Iron Giant, a charmingly retro 2D tale based on Ted Hughes' short story. Just when it looked like Pixar were starting to travel down the buddy comedy path a little too often after the likes of Toy Story, Finding Nemo and Monsters Inc, Bird created The Incredibles, a sophisticated blend of the X-Men and Watchmen that placed superhero derring-do over buddy sweetness. And now there’s Ratatouille, a story which once again sees Bird defying conventions by adding a unique seasoning to the tried and tested recipe for cartoon character writing.

The norm for animated films is to create characters who must undertake a great voyage of self-discovery. Woody has to understand that he should be friends with Buzz rather than jealous of him, Lightning McQueen needs to recognise that there’s more to life than simply winning trophies and Pinocchio, Dumbo and Bambi must learn to become ethical, confident and mature during the courses of their respective adventures. Remy is notable for the fact that he really doesn’t have any life lessons to learn or emotional issues to overcome. He knows he wants to be a chef and is not going to let anyone talk him out of it. That, however, is the problem. There are plenty of people who do want to stop him: his father, his colony, the humans who want to kill him. So Bird turns his film into a life lesson story in which it’s the world rather than Remy that has to be taught the error of its ways.

In this way the film owes a debt of gratitude to Frank Capra, more than it does to expected sources like Disney and Pixar. Ok, Capra never wrote about sensitive rats with desires way beyond their station, but he did write about common, seemingly simple, everymen (and you can’t get anymore common and simple than a rat) who confounded the cynicism of the world and inspired others through their kindness and sincerity. This, ultimately, is what Remy is all about. He doesn’t want to cook to feed himself (indeed, he even refuses to steal the food he needs to stay alive); he wants to cook to create something beautiful that will help others transcend their humdrum lives and prove to the world, as his hero, top chef Gusteau, says, that “anyone can cook”. And in putting this on screen Bird writes scenes, especially the glorious finale, that fill you with the same unabashed joy that you had when you first saw Mr Smith taking on Washington or George Bailey wishing a Merry Christmas to every shop on Bedford Falls high street. Put simply it’s the little man (well, rat) proving the world wrong and saving the day.

For all his skill with screenwriting though, it’s in direction that Bird’s finest talents lie and Ratatouille finds him on top form. Naturally, he and Pixar’s team of behind-the-scenes nerds nail Remy’s ratty movements and hangdog expressions, and their latest technological achievment is food so real and textured you'll want to reach into the screen and take a bite yourself. But there‘s a real cinematicness to the film that beats even the grandeur Pixar usually conjure. In the astonishing Parisian vistas Bird produces some of the finest shots of the French capital ever put on screen. In the slapstick of the kitchen scenes where Remy controls Linguini like a puppet on a string he evokes the finely-orchestrated insanity of Buster Keaton. And in the opening scenes - which feature a gun-toting old lady and hoards of rats - he musters moments of unpredictable comic anarchy right up there with anything Chuck Jones did.

Yet, despite this fine blending of disparate flavours, Ratatouille is not quite cooked to perfection. The heady feel-good mixture is soured somewhat by a rather incongruous final act rant against critics (embodied by poison-penned scribe Anton Ego, voiced magnificently by Peter O‘Toole), while some younger children may find the pacing a little sedate and the humour more wry and witty than all-out hilarious. But this is what you get with a Brad Bird film. His movies are unlikely to feature a Dory or a Mike Wazowski, characters who can have you rolling around in fits of laughter with one sentence, catchphrase or facial movement. He’s a filmmaker who will always favour a sophisticated recipe of humour and pathos over more simple culinary pleasures. And frankly you‘re not going to find all that served up with quite so much aplomb as it is here. Your dinner is served, sir. Bon Appetite!