Its DARK out there... and we seem to like it.

After going to a Maroon 5 / Counting Crows concert in Camden, NJ and watching The Dark Knight over the weekend - its seems that the world has definitely grown a liking for things dark: dark lyrics, dark themes.

Somewhere along the way we lost our innocence.

Here's a brief bio of Maroon5

Capturing their first of two Grammys as Best New Artist of 2005, and going on to sell more than ten million albums worldwide, Maroon 5 won plaudits with the hybrid rock/R&B sound they introduced on their debut album Songs About Jane. On May 22nd 2007, after four years and live shows alongside the likes of The Rolling Stones and Stevie Wonder, the quintet released their much-anticipated second album, It Won’t Be Soon Before Long (A&M/Octone Records) to rave reviews. Listeners can expect this sophomore outing to be “sexier,” “stronger” and even “lyrically darker” than Jane, according to vocalist/guitarist Adam Levine, who affirms that “it’s rooted in what we’ve always been, which is different.”

Adam Levine has incredible vocal range... and is fearless when wielding it.

The album, recorded in their home town of Los Angeles, was guided by producers Mike Elizondo (Fiona Apple, Eminem), Mark “Spike” Stent (Gwen Stefani, Bjork, Keane, Marilyn Manson), Mark Endert (Madonna, Fiona Apple) and Eric Valentine (Queens of the Stone Age, Nickel Creek). It also reflects the contributions of new drummer Matt Flynn, whose harder beats complement the evolved sound of Levine, guitarist James Valentine, bassist Mickey Madden and keyboardist Jesse Carmichael. “We’re all really happy with the finished product,” says Levine, crediting the label for welcoming new sounds and textures. “With Jane you could pick out our influences pretty easily, but now it sounds more like Maroon 5,” says Levine. “We’re becoming our own band, and I think this album will help change perceptions of who we really are.”

From first single, “Makes Me Wonder,” it is clear that Maroon 5 has once again captured all of the elements that create a universally popular pop rock song. The song segues from a bass heavy intro to an infectiously catchy melody that soon belies the sentiment, “Give me something to believe in because I don’t believe in you anymore.” Beneath the surface, it also incorporates what Adam Levine calls “an increasing dissatisfaction with the direction of the world” and its leaders, imparting a new layer of meaning to an otherwise upbeat breakup song. “If I Never See Your Face” offers brash honesty in the wake of a fling, its spare guitar over a steady beat tipping its hat to Quincy Jones. A burst of electronica opens “Wake Up Call,” whose hip-hop sensibility guides a dark story exploring the depths of betrayal and rage.

It Won’t Be Soon Before Long mines its share of hopefulness as well. In the hyperkinetic rock meets hip-hop of “A Little of Your Time” (which Levine calls “the most unique track on this album, with some of the best lyrics we’ve ever written”), a relationship must overcome the challenge of distrust and miscommunication to persevere, and the bass-pulsing “Won’t Go Home Without You” asks plaintively for “one more chance to make it right.”

High school mates in West L.A., Levine, Carmichael and Madden, first achieved recognition under the moniker Kara’s Flowers. Although the world seemed to open oyster-like for them – recording their first album with legendary producer Rob Cavallo (Green Day, Goo Goo Dolls) – their debut, The Fourth World, proved a commercial disappointment. Kara’s Flowers was given a release from the label, and its members mulled their collective future. College became the intermediate answer, and while Madden stayed in Los Angeles to study at UCLA, Levine and Carmichael headed east to State University of New York.

The SUNY dorms yielded an epiphany. “The halls were blasting gospel music and people were listening to stuff we’d never actually listened to, like Biggie Smalls, Missy Elliot and Jay-Z,” recalls Levine. “The Aaliyah record had come out around then, and we were just blown away.” Until then, his songwriting influences had been The Beatles, Bob Dylan, Simon & Garfunkel and other artists he’d grown up with. But now his musical landscape had experienced a tectonic shift. Levine began to actively listen to Stevie Wonder and embraced a new singing style. Carmichael started playing keyboards. And the future suddenly looked bright again, in a very different light.
When the duo hooked back up with Madden in L.A., they were reinvigorated by adding an R&B, groove-based tint to their explosive rock & roll. With the new musical frame of mind came a new name, Maroon 5, and a fifth member, guitarist James Valentine. “James came along right as we were deciding on the name,” says Levine. “We clearly weren’t Kara’s Flowers anymore, with the addition of James and an entirely new approach to music.”

Fortified with a new attitude, a new sound and a new name, Maroon 5 quickly attracted attention from labels. Octone Records, then a new indie label based in New York, signed the group, and in 2001 Maroon 5 entered the studio with producer Matt Wallace (The Replacements, Faith No More). Melding their rock roots with their newfound love of R&B, the result was Songs About Jane. Released in June 2002, it featured pop rhythms and classic soul melodies co-habiting with searing guitars and a powerful rock undercurrent. On top of it all, Levine’s expressive voice belted out tale after tale of an ex-girlfriend.

The album yielded a four chart-topping singles. One of them, “This Love,” earned Maroon 5 a Best New Artist Moon Man at the 2004 MTV Video Music Awards; went #1 at Top 40, VH1 and MTV simultaneously; and became the first song certified as a platinum download. The other, “She Will Be Loved,” scored a Grammy nomination for Best Pop Performance by a Duo or Group With Vocal. The other two singles from Jane, “Harder to Breathe” and “Sunday Morning,” reached the Billboard Top 20 and Top 40 respectively. The band also snagged a Grammy nomination for Best New Artist, which it went on to win. Between singles, Maroon 5 held serve for ten weeks in 2004, dominating the Modern Adult Contemporary, Hot AC and Adult Top 40 charts. To date Jane, has been certified quadruple platinum in the U.S. and has reached gold or platinum status in over 35 countries.

Maroon 5 toured alongside scores of artists, from The Rolling Stones to Stevie Wonder (at the close of Live 8 in Philadelphia). They performed on virtually every TV show that features musical guests, including “Saturday Night Live,” “The Late Show with David Letterman,” “The Tonight Show with Jay Leno,” “The Ellen DeGeneres Show,” “Jimmy Kimmel Live,” “The Today Show” and many others.Following up with Acoustic (2004), a collection of unplugged songs, and Live – Friday, the 13th (2005), Maroon 5 earned a second Grammy for Best Pop Performance by a Duo or Group with Vocal for the 2006 live recording of their international hit single “This Love.”

Also known for their commitment to the environment, Maroon 5 was honored at the 2006 Environmental Media Awards and recently pledged their time and energy toward Global Cool, a newly launched initiative to fight global warming by motivating a billion people worldwide to reduce their personal energy use. For more information, please visit www.maroon5.com.

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Here's a review of The Dark Knight

from nytimes.com
July 18, 2008
Showdown in Gotham Town
By MANOHLA DARGIS
Published: July 18, 2008

Dark as night and nearly as long, Christopher Nolan’s new Batman movie feels like a beginning and something of an end. Pitched at the divide between art and industry, poetry and entertainment, it goes darker and deeper than any Hollywood movie of its comic-book kind — including “Batman Begins,” Mr. Nolan’s 2005 pleasurably moody resurrection of the series — largely by embracing an ambivalence that at first glance might be mistaken for pessimism. But no work filled with such thrilling moments of pure cinema can be rightly branded pessimistic, even a postheroic superhero movie like “The Dark Knight.”

Apparently, truth, justice and the American way don’t cut it anymore. That may not fully explain why the last Superman took a nose dive (“Superman Returns,” if not for long), but I think it helps get at why, like other recent ambiguous American heroes, both supermen and super-spies, the new Batman soared. Talent played a considerable part in Mr. Nolan’s Bat restoration, naturally, as did his seriousness of purpose. He brought a gravitas to the superhero that wiped away the camp and kitsch that had shrouded Batman in cobwebs. It helped that Christian Bale, a reluctant smiler whose sharply planed face looks as if it had been carved with a chisel, slid into Bruce Wayne’s insouciance as easily as he did Batman’s suit.

The new Batman movie isn’t a radical overhaul like its predecessor, which is to be expected of a film with a large price tag (well north of $100 million) and major studio expectations (worldwide domination or bust). Instead, like other filmmakers who’ve successfully reworked genre staples, Mr. Nolan has found a way to make Batman relevant to his time — meaning, to ours — investing him with shadows that remind you of the character’s troubled beginning but without lingering mustiness. That’s nothing new, but what is surprising, actually startling, is that in “The Dark Knight,” which picks up the story after the first film ends, Mr. Nolan has turned Batman (again played by the sturdy, stoic Mr. Bale) into a villain’s sidekick.

That would be the Joker, of course, a demonic creation and three-ring circus of one wholly inhabited by Heath Ledger. Mr. Ledger died in January at age 28 from an accidental overdose, after principal photography ended, and his death might have cast a paralyzing pall over the film if the performance were not so alive. But his Joker is a creature of such ghastly life, and the performance is so visceral, creepy and insistently present that the characterization pulls you in almost at once. When the Joker enters one fray with a murderous flourish and that sawed-off smile, his morbid grin a mirror of the Black Dahlia’s ear-to-ear grimace, your nervous laughter will die in your throat.

A self-described agent of chaos, the Joker arrives in Gotham abruptly, as if he’d been hiding up someone’s sleeve. He quickly seizes control of the city’s crime syndicate and Batman’s attention with no rhyme and less reason. Mr. Ledger, his body tightly wound but limbs jangling, all but disappears under the character’s white mask and red leer. Licking and chewing his sloppy, smeared lips, his tongue darting in and out of his mouth like a jittery animal, he turns the Joker into a tease who taunts criminals (Eric Roberts’s bad guy, among them) and the police (Gary Oldman’s good cop), giggling while he-he-he (ha-ha-ha) tries to burn the world down. He isn’t fighting for anything or anyone. He isn’t a terrorist, just terrifying.

Mr. Nolan is playing with fire here, but partly because he’s a showman. Even before the Joker goes wild, the director lets loose with some comic horror that owes something to Michael Mann’s “Heat,” something to Cirque de Soleil, and quickly sets a tense, coiled mood that he sustains for two fast-moving hours of freakish mischief, vigilante justice, philosophical asides and the usual trinkets and toys, before a final half-hour pileup of gunfire and explosions. This big-bang finish — which includes a topsy-turvy image that poignantly suggests the world has been turned on its axis for good — is sloppy, at times visually incoherent, yet touching. Mr. Nolan, you learn, likes to linger in the dark, but he doesn’t want to live there.

Though entranced by the Joker, Mr. Nolan, working from a script he wrote with his brother Jonathan Nolan, does make room for romance and tears and even an occasional (nonlethal) joke. There are several new characters, notably Harvey Dent (a charismatic Aaron Eckhart), a crusading district attorney and Bruce Wayne’s rival for the affection of his longtime friend, Rachel Dawes (Maggie Gyllenhaal, a happy improvement over Katie Holmes). Like almost every other character in the film, Batman and Bruce included, Harvey and Rachel live and work in (literal) glass houses. The Gotham they inhabit is shinier and brighter than the antiqued dystopia of “Batman Begins”: theirs is the emblematic modern megalopolis (in truth, a cleverly disguised Chicago), soulless, anonymous, a city of distorting and shattering mirrors.

From certain angles, the city the Joker threatens looks like New York, but it would be reductive to read the film too directly through the prism of 9/11 and its aftermath. You may flash on that day when a building collapses here in a cloud of dust, or when firemen douse some flames, but those resemblances belong more rightly to our memories than to what we see unfolding on screen. Like any number of small- and big-screen thrillers, the film’s engagement with 9/11 is diffuse, more a matter of inference and ideas (chaos, fear, death) than of direct assertion. Still, that a spectacle like this even glances in that direction confirms that American movies have entered a new era of ambivalence when it comes to their heroes — or maybe just superness.

In and out of his black carapace and on the restless move, Batman remains, perhaps not surprisingly then, a recessive, almost elusive figure. Part of this has to do with the costume, which has created complications for every actor who wears it. With his eyes dimmed and voice technologically obscured, Mr. Bale, who’s suited up from the start, doesn’t have access to an actor’s most expressive tools. (There are only so many ways to eyeball an enemy.) Mr. Nolan, having already told Batman’s origin story in the first film, initially doesn’t appear motivated to advance the character. Yet by giving him rivals in love and war, he has also shifted Batman’s demons from inside his head to the outside world.

That change in emphasis leaches the melodrama from Mr. Nolan’s original conception, but it gives the story tension and interest beyond one man’s personal struggle. This is a darker Batman, less obviously human, more strangely other. When he perches over Gotham on the edge of a skyscraper roof, he looks more like a gargoyle than a savior. There’s a touch of demon in his stealthy menace. During a crucial scene, one of the film’s saner characters asserts that this isn’t a time for heroes, the implication being that the moment belongs to villains and madmen. Which is why, when Batman takes flight in this film, his wings stretching across the sky like webbed hands, it’s as if he were trying to possess the world as much as save it.

In its grim intensity, “The Dark Knight” can feel closer to David Fincher’s “Zodiac” than Tim Burton’s playfully gothic “Batman,” which means it’s also closer to Bob Kane’s original comic and Frank Miller’s 1986 reinterpretation. That makes it heavy, at times almost pop-Wagnerian, but Mr. Ledger’s performance and the film’s visual beauty are transporting. (In Imax, it’s even more operatic.) No matter how cynical you feel about Hollywood, it is hard not to fall for a film that makes room for a shot of the Joker leaning out the window of a stolen police car and laughing into the wind, the city’s colored lights gleaming behind him like jewels. He’s just a clown in black velvet, but he’s also some kind of masterpiece.

“The Dark Knight” is rated PG-13 (Parents strongly cautioned). Consistently violent but not bloody.
THE DARK KNIGHT
Opens on Friday nationwide.
Directed by Christopher Nolan; written by Jonathan Nolan and Christopher Nolan, based on a story by Christopher Nolan and David S. Goyer; Batman character created by Bob Kane; Batman and other characters from the DC comic books; director of photography, Wally Pfister; edited by Lee Smith; music by Hans Zimmer and James Newton Howard; production designer, Nathan Crowley; produced by Charles Roven, Emma Thomas and Christopher Nolan; released by Warner Brothers Pictures. Running time: 2 hours 32 minutes.
WITH: Christian Bale (Bruce Wayne/Batman), Michael Caine (Alfred), Heath Ledger (the Joker), Gary Oldman (James Gordon), Aaron Eckhart (Harvey Dent), Maggie Gyllenhaal (Rachel Dawes) and Morgan Freeman (Lucius Fox).

The Darjeeling Limited

Film Review
from http://www.nytimes.com/

By A. O. SCOTT
Published: September 28, 2007
To call “The Darjeeling Limited” precious is less a critical judgment than a simple statement of fact, equivalent to saying that the movie is in color, that it’s set in India or that it’s 91 minutes long. It’s synonymous with saying the movie was directed by Wes Anderson. By now — “The Darjeeling Limited” is his fifth feature film — Mr. Anderson’s methods and preoccupations are as familiar as the arguments for and against them. (See an essay in the current issue of The Atlantic Monthly for the prosecution and a profile in this week’s New York magazine for the defense.) His frames are, once again, stuffed with carefully placed curiosities, both human and inanimate; his story wanders from whimsy to melancholy; his taste in music, clothes, cars and accessories remains eccentric and impeccable.

pic by James Hamilton

And like his other recent films, “The Royal Tenenbaums” and “The Life Aquatic With Steve Zissou,” this new one celebrates a sensibility at once cliquish and inclusive. It reflects the aesthetic obsessions of a tiny coterie that anyone with the price of a ticket is free to join. (Charter members include Owen Wilson, one of the film’s three leading men, and his co-star Jason Schwartzman, who wrote the script with Mr. Anderson and Roman Coppola.)

Precious, in any case, is a word with two meanings, which both might apply to “The Darjeeling Limited.” This shaggy-dog road trip, in which three semi-estranged brothers travel by rail across India, is unstintingly fussy, vain and self-regarding. But it is also a treasure: an odd, flawed, but nonetheless beautifully handmade object as apt to win affection as to provoke annoyance. You might say that it has sentimental value.

Whether sentimental value can be willed into being and marketed with movie studio money is an interesting question. What is beyond doubt is that Mr. Anderson’s main characters and creative collaborators share with him a passion for collecting rare objects and unusual experiences, all of which they handle with exquisite, jealous care.

The fraternal trio in “The Darjeeling Limited” — Francis, Jack and Peter Whitman — express, and perhaps construct, their personalities largely through their attachment to things. Francis (Mr. Wilson) has an expensive leather belt, which he tentatively offers as a gift to Peter (Adrien Brody), who cherishes a pair of sunglasses that once belonged to their father. The third brother, Jack (Mr. Schwartzman), is a bit less of a commodity fetishist, though he does have a thing for the savory snacks served on Indian trains (and for the women who serve them).

Francis, Peter and Jack share a huge set of luggage, like those sunglasses a legacy of the father whose death hangs over their journey like a mournful mist. All those grips and valises, piled onto railways cars, buses, donkey carts and other conveyances, can be taken as a metaphor, a kind of visual pun on the emotional baggage these brothers are clearly carrying around. (By the way, this matched, monogrammed set of symbols, we learn in the credits, was designed by Marc Jacobs for Louis Vuitton, with “suitcase wildlife drawings” by Eric Anderson.)

The trip has been planned by Francis, with compulsive attention to detail (perhaps a bit of self-satire on the director’s part) and with an explicit therapeutic purpose. He wants them all to bond, to be “brothers like we used to be,” to “say yes to everything.”

Mostly he expects Peter and Jack to assent to his control-freak instructions, and the friction that arises from their resistance gives “The Darjeeling Limited” its off-kilter comic texture. The movie may be designed within an inch of its life, but there is life in it all the same, an open, relaxed narrative rhythm that cuts against the tight visual arrangements.

Part of the pleasure of watching it comes from never knowing quite what will happen next. Not that everything that happens is pleasant. Wes Anderson’s world may be a place of wonder and caprice, but it is also a realm of melancholy and frustration, as if all the cool, exotic bric-a-brac had been amassed to compensate for a persistent feeling of emptiness. The Whitman boys may seem happy-go-lucky, but on closer inspection they don’t look very happy at all.

And even when we learn bits and pieces of their history — their father is dead; their mother (Anjelica Huston) ran off to become a nun; they have been variously disappointed in love and friendship — the sorrow is never traced to its source. Nor is it ever entirely banished. (Some of that sadness drifts in from beyond the screen; it is hard to look at Mr. Wilson’s bruised, bandaged face and weary eyes without being reminded of his recent suicide attempt.)

Mr. Anderson is clumsiest when he tries to confront intense emotion directly. The death of an Indian child, for instance, is less a dramatic crisis than an aesthetic opportunity, a chance for the brothers (and the filmmakers) to explore another aspect of the beauty and mystery of India.
“The Darjeeling Limited” amounts finally to a high-end, high-toned tourist adventure. I don’t mean this dismissively; it would be hypocritical of me to deny the delights of luxury travel to faraway lands. And Mr. Anderson’s eye for local color — the red-orange-yellow end of the spectrum in particular — is meticulous and admiring.

But humanism lies either beyond his grasp or outside the range of his interests. His stated debt to “The River,” Jean Renoir’s film about Indian village life, and his use of music from the films of Satyajit Ray represent both an earnest tribute to those filmmakers and an admission of his own limitations. They were great directors because they extended the capacity of the art form to comprehend the world that exists. He is an intriguing and amusing director because he tirelessly elaborates on a world of his own making.

It is certainly a world worth visiting, though a short stay may be preferable to an extended sojourn. At the New York Film Festival — where it will be shown as the opening-night selection this evening — “The Darjeeling Limited” will be preceded by a short, written and directed by Mr. Anderson, called “Hotel Chevalier.”

That film, which visits Jack Whitman (Natalie Portman visits him too) at some point before the events chronicled in the feature, will accompany “Darjeeling” on DVD, but not when it opens in New York theaters tomorrow. It is worth seeking out, not only because it fleshes out part of the story of the Whitman brothers but also because, on its own, it is an almost perfect distillation of Mr. Anderson’s vexing and intriguing talents, enigmatic, affecting and wry. “The Darjeeling Limited” is an overstuffed suitcase. “Hotel Chevalier” is a small gem.
“The Darjeeling Limited” is rated R (Under 17 requires accompanying parent or adult guardian) for sex, drug use and profanity.

THE DARJEELING LIMITED
Directed by Wes Anderson; written by Mr. Anderson, Roman Coppola and Jason Schwartzman; director of photography, Robert Yeoman; edited by Andrew Weisblum; music from the films of Satyajit Ray and Merchant Ivory; production designer, Mark Friedberg; produced by Mr. Anderson, Scott Rudin, Mr. Coppola and Lydia Dean Pilcher; released by Fox Searchlight Pictures. Running time: 91 minutes.
WITH: Owen Wilson (Francis), Adrien Brody (Peter), Jason Schwartzman (Jack), Anjelica Huston (Patricia), Amara Karan (Rita), Camilla Rutherford (Alice) and Irrfan Khan (Village Father).

I thought this movie was fantastic. It was 3 white guys, brothers, on a trip through rural India. It was "Sideways" with culture shock. It was hilarious, tragic and ultimately uplifting. Themes were: Humor, Delicious Cinematography, Acting, Agoraphobia, Claustrophobia, Abusive relationships, Trust, Baggage - expensive baggage at that - both metaphorically and physically, Sibling love and rivalry, Spirituality, Emptiness, Abandonment, Joy, Freedom, Birth, Death, Cultures, Customs, Acting. Wow. Wes Anderson is very talented and most movie critics tend to write poor reviews of this work - not sure why.

Wall-E!

from www.nytimes.com

July 6, 2008
Op-Ed Columnist
Wall-E for President
By FRANK RICH

SO much for a July Fourth week spent in idyllic celebration of our country’s birthday. This year’s festivities were marked instead by a debate — childish, not constitutional — over who is and isn’t patriotic. The fireworks were sparked by a verbally maladroit retired general, fueled by two increasingly fatuous presidential campaigns, and heated to a boil by a 24/7 news culture that inflates any passing tit for tat into a war of the worlds.

Let oil soar above $140 a barrel. Let layoffs and foreclosures proliferate like California’s fires. Let someone else worry about the stock market’s steepest June drop since the Great Depression. In our political culture, only one question mattered: What was Wesley Clark saying about John McCain and how loudly would every politician and bloviator in the land react?
Unable to take another minute of this din, I did what any sensible person might do and fled to the movies. More specifically, to an animated movie in the middle of a weekday afternoon. What escape could be more complete?

Among its other attributes, this particular G-rated film, “Wall-E,” is a rare economic bright spot. Its enormous box-office gross last weekend swelled a total Hollywood take that was up 20 percent from a year ago. (You know America’s economy is cooked when everyone flocks to the movies.) The “Wall-E” crowds were primed by the track record of its creator, Pixar Animation Studios, and the ecstatic reviews. But if anything, this movie may exceed its audience’s expectations. It did mine.

As it happened, “Wall-E” opened the same summer weekend as the hot-button movie of the 2004 campaign year, Michael Moore’s “Fahrenheit 9/11.” Ah, the good old days. Oil was $38 a barrel, our fatalities in Iraq had not hit 900, and only 57 percent of Americans thought their country was on the wrong track. (Now more than 80 percent do.) “Wall-E,” a fictional film playing to a far larger audience, may touch a more universal chord in this far gloomier time.
Indeed, sitting among rapt children mostly under 12, I felt as if I’d stepped through a looking glass. This movie seemed more realistically in touch with what troubles America this year than either the substance or the players of the political food fight beyond the multiplex’s walls.
While the real-life grown-ups on TV were again rebooting Vietnam, the kids at “Wall-E” were in deep contemplation of a world in peril — and of the future that is theirs to make what they will of it. Compare any 10 minutes of the movie with 10 minutes of any cable-news channel, and you’ll soon be asking: Exactly who are the adults in our country and who are the cartoon characters?
Almost any description of this beautiful film makes it sound juvenile or didactic, and it is neither. So I’ll keep to the minimum. “Wall-E” is a robot-meets-robot love story, as simple (and often as silent) as a Keaton or Chaplin fable, set largely in a smoldering and abandoned Earth, circa 2700, where the only remaining signs of life are a cockroach and a single green sprout.

The robot of the title is a battered mobile trash compactor whose sole knowledge of human civilization and intimacy comes from the avalanche of detritus the former inhabitants left behind — a Rubik’s Cube, an engagement ring and, most strangely, a single stuttering VCR tape of “Hello, Dolly!,” a candied Hollywood musical from 1969. Wall-E keeps rewinding to the song that finds the young lovers pledging their devotion until “time runs out.”

Pixar is not Stanley Kubrick. Though “Wall-E” is laced with visual and musical allusions to “2001: A Space Odyssey,” its vision of apocalypse now is not as dark as Kubrick’s then. The new film speaks to the anxieties of 2008 as specifically as “2001” did to the more explosive tumult of its (election) year, 1968. That’s more than upsetting enough.

Humanity is not dead in “Wall-E,” but it is in peril. The world’s population cruises the heavens ceaselessly on a mammoth luxury spaceship that it boarded in the early 22nd century after the planet became uninhabitable. For government, there is a global corporation called Buy N Large, which keeps the public wired to umpteenth-generation iPods and addicted to a diet of supersized liquefied fast food and instantly obsolete products. The people are too bloated to walk — they float around on motorized Barcaloungers — but they are happy shoppers. A billboard on the moon heralds a Buy N Large outlet mall “coming soon,” not far from that spot where back in the day of “Hello, Dolly!” idealistic Americans once placed a flag.

And yet these rabid consumers, like us, are haunted by what paradise might have been lost. How can they reclaim what matters? How can Earth be recolonized? These questions are rarely spoken in “Wall-E,” but are omnipresent, like half-forgotten dreams. In this movie, a fleeting green memory of the extinct miracle of photosynthesis is as dazzling and elusive as the emerald city of Oz.

One of the great things about art, including popular art, is that it can hit audiences at a profound level beyond words. That includes children. The kids at “Wall-E” were never restless, despite the movie’s often melancholy mood and few belly laughs. They seemed to instinctually understand what “Wall-E” was saying; they didn’t pepper their chaperones with questions along the way. At the end they clapped their small hands. What they applauded was not some banal cartoonish triumph of good over evil but a gentle, if unmistakable, summons to remake the world before time runs out.

You have to wonder what these same kids make of the political show their parents watch on TV at home. The fierce urgency of now that drives “Wall-E” and its yearning for change is absent in both the Barack Obama and McCain campaigns these days.

For me, Mr. Obama showed signs of jumping the shark two weeks back, when he appeared at a podium affixed with his own pompous faux-presidential seal. It could have been a Pixar sight gag. In fact, it is a gag in “Wall-E,” where, in a flashback, we see that the original do-nothing chief executive of Buy N Large (prone to pronouncements like “stay the course”) boasted his own ersatz presidential podium.

For all the hyperventilation on the left about Mr. Obama’s rush to the center — some warranted, some not — what’s more alarming is how small-bore and defensive his campaign has become. Whether he’s reaffirming his long-held belief in faith-based programs or fudging his core convictions about government snooping, he is drifting away from the leadership he promised and into the focus-group-tested calculation patented by Mark Penn in his disastrous campaign for Hillary Clinton. Mr. Obama’s Wednesday address calling for renewed public service is unassailable in principle but inadequate to the daunting size of the serious American crisis at hand. The speech could have been — and has been — delivered by any candidate of either party in any election year since 1960.

What Mr. Obama has going for him during this tailspin is that his opponent seems mortifyingly out-to-lunch. Mr. McCain is a man who aspires to lead the largest economy in the world and yet recently admitted that he doesn’t know how to use a computer, the one modern tool shared by everyone from the post-industrial American work force to Middle Eastern terrorists to Pixar animators. Getting shot down over Vietnam may not be a qualification for president in 2008, but surely a rudimentary facility with a laptop is. What Mr. McCain has going for him is a press corps that often ignores or covers up such embarrassments.

The Republican’s digital ignorance is not a function of his age but of his intellectual inflexibility and his isolation from his country’s reality. To prove the point last week, he took a superfluous, if picturesque, tour of Colombia and Mexico, with occasional timeouts for him and his surrogates to respond like crybabies to General Clark’s supposed slur on his patriotism.

For connoisseurs of McCainian cluelessness, the high point was his Wednesday morning appearance on ABC’s “Good Morning America.” The anchor, Robin Roberts, asked the only important question: Why in heaven’s name was Mr. McCain in Latin America when “the U.S. economy is really at the forefront of voters’ minds”?

“I know Americans are hurting very badly right now,” he explained, channeling the first George Bush’s “Message: I care.” As he spoke, those hurting Americans could feast on the gorgeous flora and fauna of the Cartagena, Colombia, tourist vista serving as his backdrop. “It’s really lovely here,” Mr. McCain said. Since he can’t drop us an e-mail, a video postcard will have to do.
Mr. McCain should be required to see “Wall-E” to learn just how far adrift he is from an America whose economic fears cannot be remedied by his flip-flop embrace of the Bush tax cuts (for the wealthy) and his sham gas-tax holiday (for everyone else). Mr. Obama should see it to be reminded of just how bold his vision of change had been before he settled into a front-runner’s complacency. Americans should see it to appreciate just how much things are out of joint on an Independence Day when a cartoon robot evokes America’s patriotic ideals with more conviction than either of the men who would be president.

Wow - Frank Rich is either bored out of his mind or this is one hell of a movie. Gonna go see it tonight.