WALL-E

Who would've expected an animated feature with stretches of near-silence, a deeply intellectual and ecological bent, and a robot with relatively few bells and whistles to be profoundly moving and thought-provoking, yet still entertaining? WALL-E hits those marks, and how. Much of the credit is due to Andrew Stanton, who directed and co-wrote (with Jim Reardon) the movie, which takes Pixar's success in turning out animated hits to the next level. Gorgeously detailed and, more important, ambitiously challenging, WALL-E is cinematic art -- especially early on, when WALL-E, alone on Earth, plays with his trusty cockroach sidekick, or, later, courts a reluctant EVE. They interact as if in an intricately choreographed silent movie, or, yes, a musical: She's aloof, he's smitten; she's distant, he's bowled over. (Kudos to Ben Burtt for adding such emotion to WALL-E's squeaks and bleeps.)

Early scenes in which WALL-E wonders at the detritus of human life -- a velvet box holding a diamond, a rubber duckie, a spork -- are especially poignant, particularly when juxtaposed against the massive pile of waste he's meant to tame. The movie's pro-planet message is hardly subtle, but it feels refreshing to see an animated film take a stand about a political and social issue. The virtually dialogue-free first act may stretch a bit too long for younger audiences -- even though they'll benefit from being given a green lesson in such a lively, fun package -- but they'll get the animated action-adventure they crave soon enough. By the end, WALL-E feels less artsy and more like the typical Pixar film -- not that there's anything wrong with that.