Plump and rubbery computer animation prefaced by a refreshingly retro (ca. 1960) two-dimensional title sequence. Safely recommendable to any child up to the age of five, and less safely as his age increases. The whole premise of a parallel universe of monsters making nightly forays into our own universe, bottling the screams of children for fuel, all the while shivering in terror of the children themselves, is insufferably condescending to monsters and truckling to children ("Kids these days, they just don't get scared like they used to"). And the "salute" to the master of stop-motion animation, Ray Harryhausen, in the form of Harryhausen's Sushi Bar, seems more an insult, a passing wave to the covered wagon from the window of the jetliner. The sheer industriousness of it all — the cranking-out of gags, the copious visual detail, the dam-bursting rush of the action — would be easier to applaud, easier to link up with old-time Looney Tunes, if the artwork were easier to look at. Instead of, for instance, a pop-eyed and beer-bellied Bigfoot dyed green with purple spots, a one-eyed pea with twiggy limbs, a Jabba the Hutt in a doorman's vest and bowtie. Only the slithering crossbreed of chameleon and mantis approaches the tolerable. And each of these, in any case, is overpowered by the overfamiliar speaking voice of John Goodman, Billy Crystal, James Coburn, and Steve Buscemi, respectively. Is there some inherent handicap in computer-animation programs to manacle the draftsman? Or is it simply the marketing necessity to co-ordinate efforts with the toy manufacturer? Directed by Pete Docter. (2001) — Duncan Shepherd
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