Wall-E, Pixar's newest blockbuster, is more than merely a feel-good summer flick with cute robots and a happy ending. Surprisingly, a whole lot more. Its message is both superb and sobering, a haunting and starkly beautiful view of one possible future. With graphics that do for earth, air, and space what "Finding Nemo" did for water, it is a visual delight for all ages. Wall-E, EVE, and their pet cockroach are unbelievably cute (even the roach). The storyline is clever, quick, and accessible at every level, from a fun space adventure to a hauntingly sad--yes, sad, at least at first--story of what humankind lost when we left earth. And also how we can find it again, through the help of one little machine who has learned how to love. But perhaps the most amazing part of this film is not the incredible graphics or the tight, heart-string-pulling plot.
It is the complete lack of dialogue. With the exception of the few scenes featuring humans, the movie is carried out by showing, not telling. The titular character Wall-E and the love of his life, EVE, "speak" each other's names, but little else; the only humanizing sounds present in the first fifteen minutes of the movie come from a recording that Wall-E plays to keep himself company. His loneliness is palpable and heartrending in the extreme.
And he doesn't have to say so. The folks at Pixar have outdone themselves here; Wall-E's message is not shoved down our throats, but is both subtle and poignant. Something about this little machine embodies what it means to be human: to long for companionship and something beyond what we can see. The fact that the film can create such an emotional 3-D-ness about Wall-E without the need for words is truly proof of Pixar's genius. Such a tactic could have failed utterly, but here it succeeds in brilliantly transforming a good film about cute robots into an amazing visual and aural feast. Ratatouille's Remy would be jealous.
It is the complete lack of dialogue. With the exception of the few scenes featuring humans, the movie is carried out by showing, not telling. The titular character Wall-E and the love of his life, EVE, "speak" each other's names, but little else; the only humanizing sounds present in the first fifteen minutes of the movie come from a recording that Wall-E plays to keep himself company. His loneliness is palpable and heartrending in the extreme.
And he doesn't have to say so. The folks at Pixar have outdone themselves here; Wall-E's message is not shoved down our throats, but is both subtle and poignant. Something about this little machine embodies what it means to be human: to long for companionship and something beyond what we can see. The fact that the film can create such an emotional 3-D-ness about Wall-E without the need for words is truly proof of Pixar's genius. Such a tactic could have failed utterly, but here it succeeds in brilliantly transforming a good film about cute robots into an amazing visual and aural feast. Ratatouille's Remy would be jealous.