The Pixar movies have always had a special place in the heart of conservatives and libertarians because they show a commitment to human excellence without apology. While the films are directed at children, they are anything but childish. Each of the Pixar films deserves celebration in its own right, but here are a few of my favorites.
In Ratatouille, in the obscure French countryside, an aspiring chef, Remy, follows the televised culinary advice of his idol, Auguste Gusteau. Remy dreams of following him, but there’s just one problem: he’s a rat and rats don’t belong in the kitchen. Fate offers Remy an opportunity Separated from his family during a farmer’s raid, Remy falls into the sewage, traveling thousands of miles, until, at last he finds himself underneath Gusteau’s very Parisian restaurant!
The choice of locale is deliberate, of course. Paris, long the home of big government and bien-pensant, is also the home of gourmands, haute cuisine, and critique, so Remy’s passion might yet find outlet. Alas, in France, the hopes of the entrepreneur are subordinated to the plans of others. The word for the French economic system, “dirigiste,” means to direct and the French love nothing more than to direct their citizenry, and that, of course, includes who is and who is not among the crème de la crème par excellence. While his keen sense of smell saves the family from rat poisoned garbage, Remy knows it still stinks to be a rat who loves food amongst those who couldn’t care less. He is his family’s bête noire. Quelle horreur!
Gusteau was too much of a bon vivant, for as soon as Remy arrives in Paris, he finds that Gusteau is dead. Fortunately, his legacy – and spectre – lives on as Remy’s conscience and, in times of desperation becomes his only companion. He exhorts Remy to be better than his nature, to be more than a rat and a thief: “A chef makes, while a thief takes.” In a moment of despair, Gusteau tells Remy, “If you focus on what you left behind. You will never be able to see what lies ahead.”
The writing is easily the cleverest of the Pixar films. For French speakers, the names are more than a bit of fun. Remy is likely short for Rembrandt, while Auguste Gusteau means “august taste.” Linguini is the noodle of a boy who becomes great as Skinner seeks to cut down the great Gusteau’s restaurant.
Anton Ego’s name needs no explanation, nor does his appearance. Pixar designed him to look like a vulture, which is precisely what many critics have become. Left with nothing but their own ego to satisfy, some critics never recognize that which is truly great, as we see when Ego tells Linguini that he wants his “heart roasted on a spit.” But, as with all great masterpieces, Remy’s great chef d’oeuvre turns even the staunchest critic to a supporter because true excellence needs no marketing.
For conservatives, there’s much to like. We learn that while “not everyone can be an artist, an artist can come from anywhere” and “Anyone can [cook but], that doesn’t mean that anyone should.” The greats can rise to the top, but that doesn’t mean everyone is great.
Ratatouille is so good it allows us to even overlook Janeane Garofalo, whose politics would sound more believable, if not sensible, were she always to speak with that affected French accent. It just seems far too natural for her.
In The Incredibles, the fear of being sued prompts the superheroes to put away their uniforms for the tedium of office work, a drudgery which suits neither their talents, nor their ambition. Bob Parr, the erstwhile Mr. Incredible feels, well, not so incredible. His gut expands and he can’t fit into his suit; he’s trapped instead, in a life that doesn’t suit him. He makes due, because there are bills to pay and a family to feed. He remains confined to a car and a cubical comically too small to hold him – a comment, perhaps, on our struggling entrepreneurs, retarded as they are, by government more intent to keep the status quo than to celebrate the best? The tone of the film, however, shifts markedly, as we see the Parr family as they were meant to be: kicking ass and fighting for one another.
Their worst enemies, though, aren’t the Syndromes of the world, but the syndrome that places normality above excellence, a mind-crushing conformity that permeates our public schools and our office parks.
Dash, the boy wonder, can run faster than a speeding bullet, but he can’t play sports, because “the world just wants us to fit in, and to fit in, we gotta be like everyone else.” He pleads with his mother, “I’ll only be the best by a tiny bit,” telling her:
Dash: You always say ‘Do your best’, but you don’t really mean it. Why can’t I do the best that I can do?
Helen: Right now, honey, the world just wants us to fit in, and to fit in, we gotta be like everyone else.
Dash: But Dad always said our powers were nothing to be ashamed of, our powers made us special.
Helen: Everyone’s special, Dash.
Dash: [muttering] Which is another way of saying no one is.
“If everyone is special, no one is.”
Ask yourself, have you ever heard a better indictment of what’s wrong with our failed, everyone-gets-a-trophy culture of public education?
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