The galaxy’s most charming trash compactor — lonely robot WALL*E goes on an interstellar journey to find its true love
Pixar's newest movie star is an adorable little mobile trash compactor. He can barely speak and has been doing the same repetitive job for the last 700 years. Despite these drawbacks, he is a fully developed and irresistible character from the start.
WALL*E (an acronym for Waste Allocation Load Lifter: Earth class) is the last robot still functioning on an ecologically devastated future Earth. The humans have long since vacated the premises, and little WALL*E was left behind to fulfil his programming, crushing litter into little cubes which are then stacked into sky-scraping towers of trash. Life is sparse on this world but not extinct; we see two living organisms in fairly close proximity. One is a freshly sprouted seedling and the other is a cockroach that WALL*E treats as a house pet. The roach isn't a talking, singing creature like one might find in other cartoons, but a simple, resilient insect that has learned to stay close to the robot that feeds it. WALL*E's attempts to teach the bug to “heel” are amusingly futile.
The robot's lonely routine is interrupted by the sudden appearance of a spaceship and a new robot named EVE. In short order, they are both whisked away to a human colony in space; a society as pristine and orderly as the Earth is soiled and chaotic, but just as baffling to our eyes. Both worlds are filled to bursting with so many cleverly designed details that several viewings will doubtlessly be needed to fully appreciate the sophistication of this film.
Lonely little WALL*E falls instantly in love with EVE, which is a bit unfortunate, as she is far too mechanical and aloof to be a suitable companion. In fact, her first instinct upon seeing WALL*E is to shoot him (her aim is a bit off, thank heavens) — WALL*E's affection seems to be primarily based upon his loneliness, rather than on any tenderness hidden within EVE's gleaming iPod-esque exterior. Nevertheless, over the course of the film, we see proof that all of the characters, both human and mechanical, are capable of rethinking the “directives” that keep them stuck in their ruts. WALL*E acts as a sort of catalyst for change in this stiflingly regulated society, and his amusingly disruptive presence proves beneficial.
Film is primarily a visual medium, as this movie delights in reminding us. Some viewers might be taken aback by the relative lack of dialogue in WALL*E, but it is the same style of brilliant and hilarious silent filmmaking that Pixar uses in its short films, particularly the seminal Luxo Jr. (1986), in which a pair of desk lamps interact beautifully without ever saying a word. These animators have a genius for endowing inanimate objects with human feeling, and WALL*E's “acting,” for lack of a better word, is superb. Every twitch, click and whir conveys emotion, and we always know exactly how the little guy feels.
Most modern animated features stick with the standard talking-animals-with-celebrity-voices shtick, and while there's absolutely nothing wrong with this formula (check out the delightful Kung Fu Panda, for example), WALL*E proves that it isn't the only way to go. A spectacular achievement, this is the kind of film that gets labelled a classic almost immediately.
