No, it wasn’t a nightmare. I was surrounded by jive-ass talking cartoon animals, and so were you.
The dictum of great animation is that it gives us something a straightforward film cannot. It can show us visions that would be impossible in reality, if not just ridiculous looking. Animation affords an instant degree of suspension of reality, that magical bit of stuff that allows us to empathize with photos projected in succession. It’s an unwritten pact between the maker of those images and the person who spent $10+ for the ticket — take me out of reality for an hour and a half. For many years that pact has been, if not broken, arguably fudged and cheated. It’s the only way I can explain 2005’s Madagascar, 2006’s The Wild and Over the Hedge, this summer’s Kung Fu Panda, and even the upcoming CG-tweaked horror of Beverly Hills Chihuahua. It’s as if the studios all gave up writing and just agreed to make animals yammer and yap for a couple decades.
Pixar, the little CG studio that could, wasn’t immune either. In their defense they were able to work the worlds of insects (1998’s A Bug’s Life), fish (2003’s Finding Nemo), and culinary rats (2007’s Ratatouille) with a lot more finesse and intelligence than their competitors, in both the visual sense and the sheer commitment to story. Fortunately I didn’t get railroaded by hippos, rhinos, roaches, cats, dogs, and amoeba spouting the latest catchphrase in pop culture, rapping, or other such unforgivable acts, and I didn’t have bovine herds congratulating one of their own with “You go, cow girl!” Pixar always seemed intent to keep the fauna among themselves. Regardless, there were still talking animals.
