Even a dog can shake hands

Noel posted on the A.V. Club blog a wonderful meditation on the Brad Bird worldview, as evidenced most recently in Ratatouille (and previously in The Incredibles and The Iron Giant).  (Warning: Spoilers lurk in his post, clearly marked.)  One of the things I appreciated about the rat-chef movie is that it takes ideas present in those previous films -- ideas that were disturbing precisely because you couldn't tell if they'd been thought through all the way -- and adds layers of nuance, consequence, and explanation that makes them much deeper.

Noel's contention is that Bird doesn't really believe in the movie's motto "Anyone Can Cook."  That egalitarian premise seems like an overt reaction to the charges of fascism leveled at The Incredibles, but nevertheless, the movie turns out to be about how "greatness can come from anywhere" -- not the same idea at all.  In the first, a roomful of people is a roomful of potential cooks (given enough hard work).  In the second, in a roomful of people any of them might be the one potential great cook, and we can't tell who it is from their appearance or background ... but the greatness is there lurking inside only a small subset of the population, not in everyone.

Here's what I wrote in response, stripped of the other 54 comments of context (I directly address one other commenter, hence the appearance of the silly moniker "Pooface Jackson" -- it is to these depths of absurdity that the internet drives us):

Fascinating reading of my favorite movie so far this year, and thanks to all the commenters for thoughtful responses.

I agree with Noel that the essential message is not "anyone can be great," which is what more ordinary populism would assert. But one of the strengths of the film is how much more nuanced Bird is able to make this (negative) assertion. Yes, Remy is born with the nose, the palate, the creativity. That's intrinsic talent. He and Gusteau have that in common (and no one else in the movie that we see).

But all that means is "Not everyone has the potential to be a great chef." And I think that's undeniable. We celebrate talent and the accomplishments of talented people -- like great filmmakers -- and rightly so, because they do things we can't do, and at their greatest, they open up that world of experience to us. (That's what's brilliant about the restaurant setting -- we can't create the food, but we can appreciate it. And if we're critics, we can express that appreciation in writing and communicate it to others. As Ego says at the end, that may not be as important a gift as that of the artist, but we occasionally have the opportunity to champion something new and defend it against the reflexive conservatism of the status quo, and that's when we can step up and make a contribution.)

But one of the things I love about Ratatouille is that it's smart and loving about its restaurant milieu. And that means there's a difference between a cook and a chef. Anyone can cook. Gusteau believes it, Bird believes it. By following in the steps of great creative people, we can participate in what they do. We can even help them do what they do (Remy can't run the restaurant alone). The rats at the end prove that anyone can cook, while Remy is proving that greatness can come from anywhere.

I'm not sure about Collette -- she's a slavish recipe follower to the detriment of her own gifts of discernment and judgment. But I'd have to see the movie again to know whether it suggests that she has other unique strengths to bring to the table (the way Linguini suddenly becomes a skilled waiter at the end). This is a movie about the expression of talent, sure -- but it's secondarily and very strongly a movie about the support talented people need to express themselves fully, celebrating the collaboration of a smoothly-functioning kitchen as much as it exalts the "great man." Gusteau's restaurant is not brilliant anymore because it lacks the spark of genius in the kitchen. But without the kitchen corps surrounding that spark and getting it out into the dining room, the brilliance is trivial.

Pooface Jackson, I'm no defender of the notion that one should stay in one's place. But I disagree that supporting a great artist is a menial accomplishment. Just look at those On The Lot directors. Is there a spark of genius in any of them that we've seen? Maybe one -- at most, and very charitably. But all of them "want to direct," because being somebody's DP or sound recordist, or (god help us) a screenwriter, is "support staff" -- not creative enough, not powerful enough. If you ask me, we could use a little Nietzsche in our aggressively egalitarian and therefore anti-intellectual, anti-art culture. Making a significant contribution where you can make it best isn't "staying in your place," but "knowing thyself."

Noel didn't mention it, but somewhere in the back of his mind, I'm sure, is that he and I have a dog in this fight.  Syndrome, the villain in The Incredibles, complains that when everyone is special, no one is special, and for all he's the bad guy, the movie tends to endorse a version of that view.  The attempt to make everyone the same dooms us all to mediocrity.  Archer is special, and not only in the sense of special education and the short bus.  Like many kids on the autistic spectrum, he has a few extraordinary gifts to go along with his obvious deficits.  Noel often wonders whether a "cure," or even some therapeutic interventions designed to bring him up to speed where he's lacking, would have the side effect of removing or reducing his special abilities.  

There's a side of the autism movement that wants to have autistic individuals simply recognized as different (the rest of us are called "neurotypical" rather than "normal"), and because we fiercely love Archer's outsized excellence, I think we're sympathetic to that (and hence to Bird) in some ways.  But the burdens of his inabilities are too obvious to simply call "different" -- the world will never remake itself enough to be as open to him as it is to his neurotypical classmates, and deficits of opportunity and options are the most devastating and consequential handicaps imaginable.  Maybe someday he'll get a choice about how special he wants to be.  I'm glad I don't have to choose between Archer as I know him, and the non-autistic Archer that he might become if cured.  In the meantime, like all parents, we lavish all our pride on his superpowers, and resist the levellers out of the sheer competitive instinct that seems to grip all of us in the rat race.

Posted: Tuesday - July 03, 2007 at 02:25 PM         |