Pete Docter
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There are lives that flow parallel regardless of everything.

The first couple I know and refer to here is that of my grandparents Olga and Sergio, 57 years of marriage and up to 65 years of absolute sharing of life's events.

There are pairs of lives now ended that, seen at the feet of one of the first, of many, future coffins that have appeared before my eyes blurred by tears, have the bitter taste of extinction, of the unrepeatable.

I watched this animated feature film a few days after the most feared of medical diagnoses placed the inevitable before me, before us.

Today, my grandfather is alone, he feels more alone than ever, try explaining to him that I am still here, that there are still many of us here waiting in line, after all.
Try explaining anything to him, you, boy of this damn 2000, to someone who has seen and heard bombs fall on his head and bureaucracy, the law, becoming explicit terror; to someone who has seen and heard so much and now, suddenly, no longer wants anything.

And I went to explain it to him, to steal another glimmer of life from his eyes never so tired.

I promised my grandfather that this weekend his grandchildren will sit once again next to him and his grumblings, will sit next to him, inexplicable as always, as is obvious, and will try to tell him what cinema (animated or not) explains better than many words:

"It's not over yet."

I have it said by the old, grumpy bachelor Fredriksen, by a polychrome ostrich, a sweetened great-nephew of that damn Road Runner (go Willie run you can make it!!) and by a technologized dog (the latter deserving an Oscar for best supporting actor, ed).

I have it said by a magnificent soundscape, by the light, sad, bitter chimes of a touching piano and by the liberating flights of violins whose strings vibrate especially for children and their young hearts.

I have it said by the most beautiful "animated film" I've seen lately and perhaps ever.

Art lies in the eyes of the beholder they say, so a silly Pixar feature film could become, thanks to chance and a bit of imagination, a splendid metaphor... or even a glimpse of reality.

Dear grandparents, fortunately, I still have an immense desire to listen to distant music and watch images follow each other in the most unlikely of ways, but undeniably, incontestably, you are still the greatest work of art I have ever seen, regardless of everything.

have a good fall (in) paradise dear grandma and...

come on, grandpa, come on! ;)