It’s become almost a cliché online: someone dislikes a restaurant review and swiftly types, “How Anton Ego of you.” This comparison to the notoriously harsh, scarf-clad food critic from Pixar’s Ratatouille—a film celebrating a rat’s culinary rise in Paris—is often meant as an insult. Ego, in the animated world, initially appears as the ultimate obstacle, a looming threat to any chef daring enough to create. But is this reading of Anton Ego accurate? Far from being a simple antagonist, the food critic in Ratatouille is actually one of the film’s most compelling and ultimately heroic figures.
The quickness to label any critical voice as “Ego-esque” reflects a broader trend of dismissing critics, particularly in the arts and food industries. Celebrities and online commentators alike frequently push back against negative reviews, often echoing snippets of Ego’s own words, ironically missing the depth of his character arc. Even fellow food writers have used “Anton Ego” as a pejorative, questioning the cynicism of serious restaurant criticism. However, reducing Ego to a mere villain ignores his crucial role in the narrative and the film’s nuanced perspective on the purpose of criticism itself. Being likened to Anton Ego, especially for a food critic, shouldn’t be seen as a condemnation, but rather a recognition of a complex and ultimately admirable figure.
Hollywood often portrays food critics as shallow antagonists. In Chef, a food blogger is depicted as petty and insensitive. Burnt features a critic who seems almost gleeful in her power to destroy restaurants. Even in My Best Friend’s Wedding, a food critic is used to symbolize a character’s judgmental and unsympathetic nature. These portrayals paint a picture of critics as obstacles, standing in the way of the protagonists’ culinary or personal journeys. They become easy villains, foils for the chefs and “good guys” of the story.
Anton Ego initially embodies this negative stereotype perfectly. Voiced with chilling elegance by Peter O’Toole, Ego is introduced as a figure of dread. His review of Gusteau’s restaurant is so scathing it is implied to contribute to the chef’s demise. He is visually designed to be intimidating, his office resembling a coffin, his demeanor severe. His early pronouncements are delivered with cutting precision: “I don’t like food, I love it. If I don’t love it, I don’t swallow.” This sets him up as the quintessential villain-critic. However, Ratatouille cleverly subverts this expectation.
The turning point arrives, of course, with a single dish: Remy’s ratatouille. This humble peasant dish, prepared with extraordinary care and passion, evokes a powerful childhood memory in Ego, melting his icy exterior. It’s not just the taste; it’s the emotional resonance, the story told through the food. This experience leads to Ego’s now-famous, transformative review. He begins by acknowledging the inherent power imbalance in criticism: “In many ways, the work of a critic is easy. We risk very little yet enjoy a position over those who offer up their work and their selves to our judgment.” He even admits the allure of negativity: “We thrive on negative criticism, which is fun to write and to read.”
However, Ego doesn’t stop there. He continues, revealing a deeper understanding of criticism’s true potential: “But the bitter truth we critics must face, is that in the grand scheme of things, the average piece of junk is probably more meaningful than our criticism designating it so.” This self-awareness is crucial. Ego is questioning the very foundation of his profession, acknowledging its limitations and potential for triviality. He then pivots to celebrate the true value of criticism: “But there are times when a critic truly risks something, and that is in the discovery and defense of the new.” This is the essence of his heroism. He understands that the critic’s highest calling is not to tear down, but to discover and champion innovation, especially from unexpected sources.
Ego’s review becomes a powerful endorsement of Gusteau’s and, more importantly, of Remy’s extraordinary talent. He dismantles his previous disdain for Gusteau’s motto, “Anyone can cook,” realizing its profound truth: “Not everyone can become a great artist; but a great artist can come from anywhere.” He concludes by declaring Remy, “nothing less than the finest chef in France.” This is not just a positive review; it’s a revolutionary statement, challenging the elitism of the fine dining world and celebrating meritocracy and unexpected genius.
This transformative view of criticism aligns with the perspectives of noted critics like Roger Ebert. Ebert argued that a good critic is “a teacher,” not just a judge. They guide audiences, helping them understand and appreciate art more deeply. Ratatouille embodies this idea. Remy, in a poignant scene, educates his fellow rat about the nuances of flavor, demonstrating that even the most basic palate can be refined with guidance. Similarly, Ego’s review serves as education for the film’s audience and the wider culinary world. He moves beyond simple judgment to provide context, insight, and a new framework for understanding culinary excellence.
A.O. Scott, in Better Living Through Criticism, further explores the parallel between Remy and Ego. Both characters are dedicated to an “intense appreciation” of food, something often taken for granted. They elevate the everyday, revealing the extraordinary within the seemingly ordinary. Ego’s final review, therefore, is not just about saving a restaurant; it’s about democratizing taste, celebrating innovation, and understanding that true artistry can emerge from anywhere, even the most “humble origins.”
Ratatouille was remarkably prescient in its themes. Released during a time when meat-heavy, chef-centric cuisine dominated, it championed a simple vegetable dish as the pinnacle of culinary achievement. It also subtly addressed issues of culinary credit, with the owner of Gusteau’s deflecting praise to the unseen cook. This foreshadowed later discussions about who gets recognition and profit in the restaurant industry. In this sense, Ratatouille can be seen as contributing to a shift away from the “Gods of Food” mentality towards a greater appreciation for the often-unseen individuals behind the dishes we enjoy. While Anthony Bourdain’s Kitchen Confidential offered a similar, more adult perspective, Ratatouille delivered these complex ideas in a way accessible to everyone.
Ultimately, the film argues for a more thoughtful and less superficial engagement with criticism. In a world saturated with quick, context-free reviews, Ego’s meticulously crafted and deeply insightful review stands as a powerful counterpoint. It demonstrates the potential of criticism to be more than just a thumbs-up or thumbs-down, but a force for positive change, for the discovery of new talent, and for a more democratic and dynamic culinary landscape. Anton Ego, therefore, is not just a food critic in Ratatouille; he is the film’s unlikely hero, championing the transformative power of thoughtful criticism itself. He embodies the idea that true criticism, like great art, can come from unexpected places and have a profound impact.
