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Ratatouille

Ratatouille start ed making their right mind would pay to see an animated tale about a rat cooking in a high class French restaurant
"we are still wondering said producer brad de spite the fact that the disney/pixar film has grossed $600 million at worldwide box office and is widely expected to wn sunday Oscar for 2007 best animated film.
Ratatouille producer lewis credited the success of the filem to director brad bird Oscar winning animator for the incredible s who was implored by Disney pixar to take over a project spinning out of control lewis said when bird stepped in it was n't that the film was going nowwhere at once brad came in and gave it focys
Ratatouille is the lastest in a long line of disney pixar animated hits that inclueds two toy story movie finding nemo and cars many critics belivee this newest movie is the best so far

Ratatouille is best movie. i was saw Ratatouille movie. you also see tell your friends

Finding Nemo

Hilarious, exciting and endlessly inventive, Finding Nemo is an awesome aquatic animation which will exhaust the adjective store of even the most hyperbolic film hack (ahem). One word just about does the job: genius.

Somewhere, under the sea, weak-finned clown fish Nemo (Alexander Gould) lives with his fretful father, Marlin (Albert Brooks). Smothered by pop's paranoia, he ventures away from the reef, but his dad's dread is justified when a passing diver whisks him away.

Taken to a tank in a Sydney dentists, Nemo meets Gill (Willem Dafoe) and co - friendly fish who dream of escaping to the ocean. Meanwhile, Marlin bumps into a blue tang named Dory (Ellen DeGeneres), and sets out to save his son...

It's a familiar formula for the digi-drawn dynamics of Pixar, whose Toy Story and Monsters, Inc. have proved such critical and commercial hits. How increasingly impressive the achievement, then, that Finding Nemo feels so fresh.

There is beauty and brilliance in every frame. Tasked with creating an undersea environment, the animators have excelled themselves, capturing textures, light, shade and movement that could be photo-real, were it not for the clever way the makers have subtly caricatured landscapes, as well as characters, lending a warm cartoonish quality to the stunning visuals.

The splendour of natural history hit The Blue Planet is matched by the wit of the script and stars. Barry Humphries has a terrific cameo as a great white shark who's sworn off killing (Remember, fish are friends, not food!), while DeGeneres provides perfect timing and tone as Dory, whose short-term memory loss is a gag that never stops running.

Managing to move without falling into the jaws of sentimentality, the picture thrills and frightens too. A paean to parenthood and superb for sprogs, it's a perfect piece of storytelling. What a catch!/Reel it in!/You'll have a whale of a time! Etc, etc.

Finding Nemo opens in London's West End, and Manchester Filmworks, on Friday 3rd October 2003. It goes nationwide on Friday 10th October 2003.

Shrek 2

An enjoyable if not especially imaginative sequel to 2001's monster smash, Shrek 2 will entrance those who loved the original. The rest of us can have fun and forget it, for there's little here to match the storytelling skill of Finding Nemo. Mike Myers returns to voice the big green beast, who's married Princess Fiona (Cameron Diaz) and must visit his resentful royal in-laws (John Cleese and Julie Andrews) and deal with the double-dealing Fairy Godmother (Jennifer Saunders).

Myers is strangely muted as Shrek, playing straight man to Eddie Murphy, who again gets the best lines and the biggest laughs as the smart ass, Donkey. "The position of annoying talking animal has been filled," he snorts at Puss-In-Boots (Antonio Banderas), an apparently ferocious feline assassin who wrongfoots enemies with his cutesy, saucer-like eyes. Banderas has great fun with the role, gently mocking his own Zorro persona, while Murphy's terrific, rat-tat-tat delivery shows why he became a star in the first place (if only his live-action outings were half as impressive).

"A SLEDGEHAMMER-SUBTLE SATIRE OF HOLLYWOOD"

The Kingdom of Far Far Away is the setting for a sledgehammer-subtle satire of Hollywood, which never offers anything dangerous or perceptive - just observation that it's glitzy, glamorous, and commercial. The companies whose names are gently mocked probably don't object to the (free?) advertising. And, as with the first outing's Matrix parody, so there are obvious nods to other movies (Alien, for one) for the adults to enjoy. None of this can disguise the rather thin story or lack of verve in the action scenes, which tend to feature Shrek, Donkey et al running away to the strains of songs such as Pete Yorn's ear-bleeding cover of The Buzzcocks' Ever Fallen In Love. (You can't blame them.)

Still, it's made a mint in the States, where punters returned to watch it again and again. Perhaps they forgot they'd seen it all before...

Ratatouille

Brad Bird's 'Ratatouille' is so audacious you have to fall in love with its unlikely hero. If we are living in a golden age of animation — and we are — one of the reasons is writer-director Brad Bird. That's somewhat ironic, because as his new "Ratatouille" demonstrates, what makes Bird so unusual is that he doesn't really think of himself as an animator at all.

From his exceptional previous features ("The Iron Giant" and "The Incredibles") through this one, Bird has refused to ghettoize himself, refused to back off from his passion to make movies whose animated surface doesn't stop them from touching the same emotional bases as live-action fare. When Pixar executive producer John Lasseter says, "There's a level of depth, complexity and humor to this film that I don't think any Pixar film has had before," he's not giving in to hyperbole, he's getting at the heart of Bird's concerns.
The story of another creature that refuses to be ghettoized, in this case a rat — yes, a rat — with the palate of an epicure and a passion to be the greatest chef in the world, "Ratatouille" is as audacious as they come. It takes risks and goes places other films wouldn't dare, and it ends up putting rival imaginations in the shade.

Whereas the tendency in so much of today's animation is to be glib and on the surface, "Ratatouille" and its Pixar brethren have carved out a place for themselves by being genuinely smart and sophisticated in ways that please audiences as much as critics.

"Ratatouille" also takes full advantage of what the medium of computer animation offers. As much as story, director Bird and his team love great chases, wild rides and wacky adventures, and setting this film both in a breathtakingly beautiful Paris and the unnerving sewers beneath the city offers ample opportunity for all manner of visual play.

Although mice have been members in good standing of the animation community at least since Ub Iwerks drew Mickey Mouse in 1928, the idea (which started with animator Jan Pinkava, who shares a story credit) of making a rat the hero of a major motion picture is a lot nervier than having penguins or other cuddly folk in the first position.

And, to its credit, "Ratatouille" is surprisingly candid about letting rats be rats. Yes, our hero Remy walks on his hind legs (the better to keep his front paws clean for eating) and has a face as expressive as that of a Yiddish theater actor, but his fellow rats swarm in such realistic packs it is a real gut-check to see them scurrying about. And asking audiences to accept them as heroes is a riskier gambit still.

Yet this is exactly what Bird and his gang accomplish. They've made "Ratatouille" so imaginative, good spirited and funny that it not only blurs the line between reality and fantasy, it manages to blur it between species as well. And it does it all, an amusing "Quality Assurance Guarantee" boasts in the closing credits, with "100% Genuine Animation! No motion capture or any other performance shortcuts were used in the production of this film."

Of course, it doesn't hurt to have a character as endearing as Remy (winningly voiced by comic Patton Oswalt) as a protagonist. Someone with the soul of a poet as well as such a highly developed sense of taste and smell that his father uses him as a poison tester, Remy ignores his family's garbage-eating proclivities and insists, "If you are what you eat, I only want to eat good stuff."

Remy's hero is the legendary Parisian chef Auguste Gusteau, whose "anyone can cook" motto he takes to heart. Gusteau, sadly, is no longer among the living, done in by, among other things, the acid words of cadaverous food critic Anton Ego, a.k.a. "The Grim Eater," splendidly voiced by the man Bird wrote the part for, Peter O'Toole.

Several tricks of fate bring Remy not only to Paris, but to Gusteau's itself, now run by the villainous Skinner (Ian Holm), an entrepreneur more interested in selling over-hyped frozen food than running a great restaurant.

Also arriving at the same time is Linguini (Lou Romano), an awkward young man, the son of a former employee, who dreams of chefdom but who has no discernible talent in that area. Hired as a garbage boy, his chances of advancement are nil. Until he meets Remy.

One of the joys of "Ratatouille" is watching as these two discover that they need each other — Linguini can't cook without Remy's guidance, and Remy wouldn't be allowed to set foot in a kitchen without Linguini as a front man — and then painstakingly construct a Rube Goldberg system that allows them to work together without speaking the same language.

Making the whole thing stranger still is that Remy is in constant communication with a vision of the late great chef Gusteau (Brad Garrett of "Everybody Loves Raymond"), who doesn't let being a figment of Remy's imagination stop him from giving great advice.

Also sharing kitchen wisdom was real-life master chef Thomas Keller of Northern California's French Laundry, who contributed to "Ratatouille's" impressive accuracy about how restaurants operate. He designed the film's signature dish and even got to voice the part of an eager patron.

"Ratatouille's" plot offers numerous twists, turns and surprises, but perhaps none so impressive as its refusal to soft-pedal the ages-old antipathy between rats and people, the generations of mistrust and disgust on both sides. Getting a leopard to change its spots would be nothing compared with what the characters are asked to do here.

Beowulf

Beowulf

First things first: This is not the eighth-century epic poem you read in high school. Grendel's mum, that "monster of women," wasn't played by a purring Angelina Jolie even in the best-selling Seamus Heaney translation, nor were the human's and beasties' family trees entwined in ways worthy of a nighttime soap. Anonymous is doubtless rolling in his/her unmarked grave, but, hey, what's oral tradition if you can't improvise a little? Or a lot.
Second things second: "Beowulf" is director Robert Zemeckis's latest attempt to make a feature-length movie using digital motion-capture, a process in which actors' movements are tracked on film via sensors attached to their bodies, then "drawn over" using expensive computer-animation technology.

MOVIE TRAILER





In "The Polar Express," the result was a cast of zombie children and a creepy, soulless Tom Hanks. The good news is that the technology has improved and that the cast of "Beowulf" merely looks like they have the squints. Occasionally they lumber about woodenly, like Weebles with Actors' Equity cards, and the character of Queen Wealthow (voiced by Robin Wright Penn) does seem to be on loan from the DreamWorks Animation stable. At its worst, the movie suggests "Shrek" on steroids.
At its best, though, "Beowulf" dares to be absurd in ways that open the whole heroic-quest genre to weird, playful scrutiny, and it occasionally takes flight into the plain amazing. The screenwriters are the cult novelist/comics author Neil Gaiman and "Pulp Fiction" co-writer Roger Avary, neither the sort of man to do what he's told. This is good for the movie, if not for college Comp Lit courses.
The setting, at least, is still Denmark in the early sixth century, and Herot, the hall of aging King Hrothgar (Anthony Hopkins) is still plagued by a rampaging monster named Grendel. Already you sense Zemeckis and his writers are up to something: Hrothgar is a fat, deluded Dionysus with Hopkins's face plastered on, and Grendel, who resembles the Frankenstein monster with his innards on the outside, is voiced with piteous homicidal sympathy by Crispin Glover.
It's a bad-neighbor issue, I guess, since the deafening revels in Herot have driven the noise-sensitive Grendel mad with rage. The first assault is terrifying, with the monster rending Danes limb from digitized limb, and eyeballs and other body parts regularly tossed at the screen (since many theaters are showing "Beowulf" in 3-D, this falls under the heading of contractual requirement). Whoever rated the movie PG-13 should have their MPAA card revoked; I wouldn't let a child near the thing.
Then comes Beowulf, he of brawny demeanor, with a cadre of rough, tough Geats in his wake. The hero is voiced by Ray Winstone but drawn more or less like Sean Bean in "The Lord of the Rings," with additional blond highlights. He's a braggart but the real deal, even if Hrothgar's sniveling second-in-command Unferth (John Malkovich) doesn't trust him, and he quickly drops trou and prepares to battle Grendel in the nude.
Why? Well, it's in the story - "Cast off then his corselet of iron, helmet from head" and all that - but it also gives Zemeckis a way to goof on the posturings of sword-and-sandal movies. As Beowulf fights Grendel, scampering this way and that over the great hall, his private parts always obscured by a convenient sword (!) or piece of furniture, the audience I saw the movie with started snickering, then hooting. Is this "Austin Powers" gone medieval? Are we supposed to be laughing at the movie or with it?
"Beowulf" intriguingly splits the difference - it works as a ripsnorting yarn and as sardonic commentary on same - and if you can't handle dueling agendas, too bad for you. In its second hour, the movie brings on Jolie as a seductive water-nymphomaniac - Grendel's mom has got it going on - and the tale takes a darker turn. In its kitschy, pulp-epic way, "Beowulf" asks us to think about what happens to heroes the day after, and about what monstrous bargains are necessary to take and keep power. It suggests the beasts we battle are of our own making.
Actually, it comes right out and says it - subtlety isn't the movie's strong suit. But there's pleasure to be had in such popcorn philosophizing, and there's sheer wonderment in the aging Beowulf's climactic battle with a dragon, a rocketing action set-piece that soars over cliff and sea at the speed of massive, leathery wings.
"Beowulf" ends on a quiet note of stalemate, though, as if to give the action crowd something to think about as they file out. The movie's a genuine curiosity: an empty-headed techno-blockbuster of ideas. Like all sagas of valor and bloodletting, it asks the question put forth in "Gladiator": "Are you not entertained?" Then it has the nerve to ask "Why?"