I first fell in love with Brad Bird way back in late 2001. It was at a Q&A session with John Lasseter and a few of the other Pixar guys for their new film, Monsters, Inc. Somebody asked a question about motion-capture technology in films like Final Fantasy; right in the middle of Lasseter's response, Bird - who was not on stage, mind you, but merely sitting in the audience - stood up and started into a five minute rant about cutting corners, unnatural animation, and true artistic achievement. The fact that this man was so passionate about his medium that he would interrupt one of his contemporaries to rail against the mounting mediocrity within the animation business... my 13 year-old mind was blown.

This is what makes Bird not just an interesting animator, but an interesting filmmaker. He focuses his sights on a society where the average are rewarded for fitting in and the truly talented have to dumb down their gifts to fit into the grand scheme of things. In Ratatouille, the evil chef Skinner (Ian Holm) is not just the villain because he's concocting a devious scheme against our heroes, but also because he's trying to sell gourmet food as microwave meals. It's a brilliant analogy for how Bird sees the rest of the entertainment industry, especially animation: All the power and beauty in the world is at the fingertips of movie makers, and yet far too often it becomes merely about selling the product as quickly and cheaply as possible. While The Incredibles had a similar theme (superheroes yearning to unleash their hidden talents on sleepy-eyed suburbia), Ratatouille is far less of a social comment, choosing instead to stick to the creative process. Even though Jan Pinkava (of Jerry's Game fame) came up with the original story, Bird obviously feels a bit like the rat in a kitchen full of movie executive chefs sometimes. Remy (Patton Oswalt), the literal rat in question, must overcome prejudice both within his own family and in the world at large in order to fulfill his dream of being the greatest chef in Paris. If you think I'm pulling all of this subtext out of my ass, that this is really just a children's film about a talking rat, think again. There's a brilliant chunk of dialogue toward the end where Peter O'Toole's gravelly voiced food critic, Anton Ego, discusses how true art - and true artists - pushes boundaries, tears down walls, "rocks us to our very core." Remy isn't a by-the-books French chef, just like Bird isn't a by-the-books animator ready to back down just because Disney's marketing department can't think of how to sell Ratatouille toothpaste. They both defy our expectations and beliefs on where extraordinary talent comes from. Call me crazy, but Ratatouille nails the prejudices and social limitations of creative expression better than any hard-luck-artist biopic I've ever seen.

And yet, Bird isn't a cynic. Despite his films being a rallying cry against sticking to the status quo, it's his humanity and ability to craft characters that are both deeply flawed and incredibly likable that make him shine as a filmmaker. Yes, Remy is a true artist, but he's also controlling, obsessive, and conflicted about the world he belongs to. Linguini, the garbage boy who joins forces with Remy (brilliantly and sympathetically voiced by Pixar-ian Lou Romano), finds himself in the middle of this absurd situation - playing puppet to a genius rat chef - and must come to terms with people loving and rewarding him for a talent he doesn't possess. Even the aforementioned food critic, who at first seems to only exist to make Remy and Linguini's lives a living hell, is revealed to have a heart and relatable backstory. The most repeated phrase in Ratatouille is "Anyone can cook," which might seem contradictory to Bird's stance against less-than-stellar art but actually complements it quite well. Yes, anyone can cook, anyone can create. Anyone can reach deep down within himself and find the daring and courage to be great. However, very few are able to overcome the obstacles both inside and outside themselves to achieve brilliance. Bird's characters all must overcome both internal and external struggles to reach their goals, and that is truly what elevates their personalities, gives them life, makes you remember them long after you leave the theater.

I've been rambling for three paragraphs now and have yet to even mention the ingenious storytelling and pacing, the hilarious physical comedy, and gorgeous animation. (No motion capture here, folks!) But do you really need me to? The fact that I could go this long writing simply about the themes of this film (sorry if it sounds like a college thesis or something) should convince you of its brilliance. This is a Pixar movie, after all; that other stuff mentioned above just comes with the territory at this point. The fact that Bird is not only able to make you care about some ridiculous plot involving a rat's quest to become a gourmet chef, but can also invest so much subtle richness under the surface, ensures him a spot in the movie history books. It's not very often when I can't come up with something I didn't like about a film (sorry, Brad, but they spent a bit too long on that island in The Incredibles), but Ratatouille was such a delight and meant so much to me that I just can't bring myself to nitpick. So after all of you line up for Transformers for the fifth time (don't take this the wrong way, I'll probably be right there with you), for the love of God find time to see this film. You might not find it to be as transcendent as I did, but I promise that you'll walk away with something. And in an era of microwave dinners supply most people's food for thought, how often can you even say that?