W.

While this entry isn't firmly in the stated purpose of the blog, I have been thinking about this film since I saw it and so feel compelled to write my impressions.

It goes without saying that the current President isn't terribly popular. When respected newsmen like Paul Begala can say pretty inflammatory things about him without anyone arguing back, it is clear that our confidence in our country's leadership is at an all-time low. It is one of the main reasons I'd say that the country's eyeballs have been glued to the Presidential race like never before: after what the majority of America views as an eight-year costly mistake, we are ready to look forward and see where we can stumble towards now.

Except, one man is still looking backwards. Oliver Stone has made a biopic about a standing president, an unprecedented gesture from one of America's most enigmatic filmmakers. Stone's films are liberal, psychedelic and in many ways prophetic. He isn't afraid to criticize the country he loves, in the hope that through his criticism he challenges us to be better ourselves.

Thus it comes as a shock that W. is a largely sympathetic view of the man. Yes, Bush is presented as being conservative, short-sighted and a man of limited intellect (though Stone goes to great effort to push the idea that Bush's memory and personal skills are actually exceptional if nor admirable). But he is also presented through Josh Brolin's depiction as a complicated and tragic figure, a man who loves his country, his wife and, yes, his God.

I would argue that Bush is not the villain of the film, but he certainly isn't the protagonist either. Throughout the film, Bush feels the need to remind people that he is the President of the United States, or as he defines that role, the Decider. He makes the final choice in all cases. That is his power. He pushes the button, controls the pen.

Only, of course, he has no control over his destiny. He surrounds himself with dangerous men (most chillingly Richard Dreyfuss' Oscar-worthy turn as Dick Cheney) who have much less pure motives, but know which buttons to push to get W. on their side. Stone argues that Bush bought into his own smoke operation, that his movements against Iraq were based on his personal hate of Saddam Hussein and his desire to protect his country, not on the greed for oil that Cheney in the film openly states in the reason for this war.

The lasting image of the film, for me, is Bush as a man of great passion and personable character with limited vision. Throughout the film, we are reminded what a serious sports fan Bush is. He knows baseball the way that we expect presidents to know foreign relations. He is shown watching college football constantly in the height of his political difficulties. This obsession seems to shed some light on the limit of his political vision; Bush has generated much criticism for his "you're either with us or against us" stance, but the dichotomy perfectly reflects the mind-set of someone who views the world as a sports contest. Near the end of the film, Bush states his frustration and belief that there is Good and Evil in the world, and it is Good's responsibility to fight Evil.

There is no room for discussion or any gray area in that world view. And for Stone, that seems to be where Bush has fallen short and hurt our nation; we don't live in simple, black and white times. And we never have.

The Films of Brad Bird

Paul O'Brien, one of my favorite cultural bloggers, in his review of Ratatouille commented that the Brad Bird's two Pixar films are essentially a celebration of "well-founded elitism." The argument goes something like this: both The Incredibles and Ratatouille are about what can be described as supernaturally gifted people/animals that should not be ashamed of their gifts that they've been given and "true excellence should be celebrated."

All of that is certainly an interesting view of things, but I also can't help but think it is also a bit short-sighted. Yes, both Remy the Rat and the Parr family are displayed as being exceptional. But they also aren't shown as being perfect, or necessarily better than anyone else. The Parrs especially are shown as being jealous, self-obsessed and otherwise human throughout the film. Yes, they are heroes, and yes, in the end they do the right thing. But to say that they are elite or in some way elevated from common people seems to miss the point somewhat.

The Incredibles' core is about not merely taking charge of those exceptional qualities, but using those gifts towards bettering the world. To use the classic Stan Lee axiom, the Parrs learn that with great power, great responsibility isn't far behind. When Mr. Incredible sees victimization, he can't help but think that he should do something. There is a core somewhere in him, beneath that narcissistic streak (his own elitist tendencies) is a person called to selfless service of the world. Within the model of the superhero, Mr. Incredible serves as an example of doing the right thing with the ability you've been given.

While Ratatouille is certainly less flashy than Incredibles, it is no less prophetic in its charge to better the world in any way that you can. Remy the Rat is a gifted chef, due to his amazing sense of smell and taste. He is also an outcast; his rattiness causes him to be a reject due to his refined tastes not exactly being appreciated within his clan. So like many artists, he has to find his own place in the world, and figure out a way to express himself somehow, a wanderer without a home.

He finds his soul mate in Alfredo Linguini, the nervous but well-intentioned garbage boy who also has no family any more. Alfredo, who has no skill in cooking (like most of us, I'd assume) , needs a job, and has his last chance in the kitchen of the late Gusteau. Soon, a symbiotic relationship is created: Remy gets a home and gets to do his favorite thing and cook, Alfredo keeps his job and starts to get some fame. Remy and Alfredo help each other, and in the kitchen Remy quite literally moves Alfredo, reflecting the way some believe that people are "moved" by the spirit. Remy serves as a guide to Alfredo's hand, helping him to make excellent food for people.

But haute cuisine is really an elitist skill, isn't it? There is certainly a celebration of foodyism throughout the film, as well as a not so subtle condemnation of mass-produced frozen food. But what is more life-affirming, to say nothing of life-giving than food? It is one of the staples of human existence and community; there are several scenes throughout the film, including one prodigal sonesque party among the rats upon Remy's return that show the gathering of people around food; it is what initially binds Remy and Alfredo together.

As if to make the point, the film ends with the heartless Anton Ego being fed "peasant food," the titular dish. Instead of taking notes and critiquing the meal, he has a flashback to his childhood and how his soul would be lifted when his mother fed him. Food binds us, makes us human and keeps us alive. Remy's skill is feeding people, which is one of the things that Christ calls people to do: feed the hungry. Ratatouille may never feed the physically hungry, but he sees a hunger and emptiness in Anton Ego that needs to be fed as well.