There’s a scene in Ratatouille in which a food critic is so overwhelmed by the food he eats that it alters his perception. It burrows deep in to his mind, finding a moment so personal and pure that the food itself becomes the embodiment of all life’s joys. Anyone watching Ratatouille, director Brad Bird’s follow-up to his first Pixar animated film The Incredibles, will undoubtedly react the same way the food critic did.

I loved Ratatouille. I loved its sharp and superlative animation. I loved its unexpected telling of a rather formulaic story. I loved the moments of slapstick humor and the darker moments of dread. In fact, it’s hard to find a part of this movie I didn’t love.

When we are first introduced to Remy (voiced by Patton Oswalt), a country rat with dreams of making great Parisian dishes and not of stealing scraps, the film doesn’t seem to have a leg to stand on. Yet, the paced progression of his adventure romances us in a ways rarely seen in most studio animations (none since Bird’s The Incredibles).

The moment Remy fixes a soup ruined by the garbage boy Linguini (Lou Romano), we are hooked into Ratatouille. The Remy/Linguini cooking team (Remy with the nose for cooking controls Linguini’s hands) ends up impressing food critics, the public, and a certain female cook with an eye for Linguini.

Of course, Head Chef Skinner (Ian Holm), who is set to inherit the famous restaurant in which Linguini works until he discovers Linguini is the rightful heir, doesn’t like the new guy getting attention. Likewise, the food critic Ego (Peter O’Toole), who brought the once five-star restaurant down a star, doesn’t want to see any revitalization. Just when Remy and Linguini are in a position to take on both Skinner and Ego, Remy’s lowbrow rat family, from which he was luckily separated, finds him and wants to bring him back to the colony.

Sometimes the hardest part of writing a review is describing the story because it often necessitates talking about plot points out of context. Until you see the moments I’ve described, you don’t really get the full picture of the amazing success that is Ratatouille. It’s an unlikely success to be sure, this easily unbelievable story about a rat using a man as a puppet, but Ratatouille works because it does exactly what great movies are supposed to do: it makes you want to believe.

Yes, there is magic in Ratatouille, but its magic cannot be credited to the Pixar brand. Even more so than The Incredibles, the humor and heart in this film singularly reflect what writer/director Bird has to offer audiences as a true auteur of animated film. While the appeal of Pixar’s sensibility has waned thanks to its last two non-Bird releases (Finding Nemo and Cars), Bird has been a refreshing individual voice who can reinvigorate and reinvent what Pixar has to offer. Ratatouille is the best example of this yet. And thanks to Bird, animation’s master storyteller, Ratatouille is also the best film so far this year, animated or otherwise.

There are underrated movies, dear readers, and then there are underrated movies, the kind that for some inexplicable reason have nimbly avoided working their way into the modern pop culture vernacular. Naturally, some of these so-called "misunderstood films" are entirely worthless, supported only by a feverish group of Internet fanboys who think their taste in cinema is so much cooler than those who spend way too much time munching popcorn alone in darkened theaters on sunny Saturday afternoons. It's okay to dismiss these clowns with a wave of your hand, but rest assured they're laughing hysterically behind your back as you waddle away.

Then there are films such as Phil Joanou's bizarre 1987 high school comedy Three O'Clock High, pictures that have been unfairly ignored by the public at large. And while you may initially consider tossing this admittedly pretentious review directly into the Fanboy Rant wastebasket on your wonky Windows Vista desktop, you simply cannot deny the fact that this truly underrated nerd fantasy remains an unheralded cinematic classic amongst those who worship blindly at the altar of John Hughes. Besides, Buddy Revell could literally mop the floor with John Bender any day of the work week.

Recognize, punk.

Casey Siemaszko stars as the hopelessly dopey Jerry Mitchell, school supply store manager and campus newspaper journalist extraordinaire. After waking up late to a buzzing alarm clock and an unexpected flat tire, Mitchell has the sneaking suspicion that it's just going to be one of those days. To further illustrate how bad a loser's luck can be during those tumultuous high school years, Jerry makes the unfortunate mistake of touching the intimidating Buddy Revell, a notoriously troubled student our hero is supposed to interview for the school paper.

Deeply offended by this unwelcomed physical exchange, Buddy challenges poor Jerry to an old fashioned fist fight in the parking lot after school. Weak, wimpy, and thoroughly overwhelmed, Mitchell keeps his eyes glued to the clock as he desperately searches for a way to resolve this deadly situation without getting his lights permanently punched out. Students hoping for a typical melodramatic high school outing should report immediately to the principal's office.

To those born during or after the decade of excess, Three O'Clock High may seem like a relic, one of those corny old movies your Devo-loving parents simply cannot get enough of. Everything about this film screams "I was made in 1987," be it the soundtrack, the clothes, or the hideously dated high school lingo. However, Richard Christian Matheson and Thomas E. Szollosi's super snazzy script has the rare ability to transcend generations if one can look past the awful hairstyles and the dodgy Tangerine Dream soundtrack. After all, brutal tales of bullies and their spineless victims are as ancient as that weird Jesus fellow and those trippy Romans guys. I read about them in a Holiday Inn once.

Phil Joanou has a natural gift for generating substantial tension, the kind that gradually works itself into a frothy uproar by the third act. It's a tactic that serves the film quite well in the long run. Without that palpable suspense, Three O'Clock High would have shattered into thousands of bite-sized pieces by the hour mark. Hoping that Jerry somehow manages to overcome this life-threatening dilemma is what keeps you glued to tube for the duration, though I will say the destination is just as enjoyable as the journey.

None of this goofy excitement would have been remotely possible, of course, had it not been for a pair of strong performances from victim Casey Siemaszko and bully Richard Tyson. Though pasty and whiny, Siemaszko manages to turn Jerry Mitchell into someone you can pull for, an anti-hero of sorts for the MMORPG-obsessed shut-ins of the world. Richard Tyson, on the other hand, has the distinct pleasure of portraying one of the greatest bullies in cinematic history. Smartly written and impeccably cast, Buddy Revell is the perfect Goliath to Jerry's David, an oddly intelligent fellow with an unhealthy predilection for physical violence. He may be the film's proverbial "bad guy," but he's certainly no villain.

The next time your friends attempt to shove one of those John Hughes confections down your unwilling throat, lovingly suggest they feast their retro-cool retinas upon a neglected copy of Three O'Clock High. This sorely overlooked tale of bullies, victims, and documentary filmmakers is sure to please those who genuinely appreciate the silly cinema this strange little decade had to offer. Those who actually grew up during the excessive '80s will surely find several tender nuggets of mind-numbing nostalgia tucked thoughtfully within this thoroughly enjoyable 90-minute time waster. And on top of everything else, it teaches those savvy enough to seek it out a very important life lesson:

Pain is temporary. Film is forever.