Sometimes, I don’t know how I feel about Steven Spielberg.
From the beginning, the anxiety of the loss of family has been central to Pixar.
Both Henrik Ibsen and John Lasseter explore remarkably similar territory.
By muddying WALL-E’s motives, the movie suffers an uneven split once the spaceship of humans arrives into the picture.
One of Pixar’s greatest accomplishments is that their movies are more than just terrific mass entertainments.
Everybody has a place, a role, a value. The trick—with people, with food, with films, with life—is selection; that is, to have good taste.
The physical boundaries of Red’s Dream and Knick Knack would be transformed into a more metaphysical form for Toy Story.
Jack and Lester have no one that they care that much about and never consider what responsibilities they may have.
The question is always whether Pixar and the film’s designated director can make the journey worthwhile.
Is WALL-E better than you expected, a notable Pixar achievement, or is it just more of the same?
It’s not the computer itself which makes Pixar’s films good.
Narrative ingenuity aside, Toy Story 2 sparks to its own immaculate construction.
Pixar’s weak depiction of people is well illuminated by their anthropomorphism of inanimate objects.
Shane Acker’s 9 is a movie that succeeds in a lot of ways but fails in this simple notion.
It’s a funny thing about repetition.
Despite the outrageous prices and rude patrons, I still prefer to watch movies where they were intended to be seen: in the movie theater.
Among the certainties in the world of film criticism, there’s one that stands above all others.
Pixar has somehow gone from a well-liked animation studio to the last, best hope of the Hollywood studio system.
Pixar’s best flare like comets: beautiful, bright, unforgettable.
We are in a golden age of computer-generated animation.