Last year I was greatly disappointed by the release of Cars. The cautionary nature of its hideous advertising campaign notwithstanding, I entered the theater prepared for a film in true Pixar tradition only to find... a superbly animated lack of decent story.
But this year things would be different! Right? I tried to cling to that belief. The advertising was more than enough to raise hopes. But the stigma of the asinine automobiles was still present, as proved when the nine-minute clip on Yahoo! Movies failed to excite me despite lacking complaints.
The only true test would be the film itself. "Lifted," the short preceding this feature, did just that to my expectations. And then Ratatouille finally began its roll.
Superb story, characters, design, direction, acting, etc. And while some may well wonder at a cartoon's ability to rush the parental discussion of childbirth outside wedlock, I admit I actively dislike only one element in the entire film. (What that one is, I refuse to discuss.)
To make it brief: the hopping lamp is back on top.
In related news, Monsieur Randolph publicly moves for an addition to la loi commune barring minors, particularly the male variety, from consuming cheese nachos in public theater houses. If this legislation passes, espescially harsh penalties will be levied on repeated belchings of such appetizers.