Anyone Can Cook: Why Ratatouille's Exceptionalism Works (and The Incredibles' Doesn't)
I have complex feelings about exceptionalism narratives. I’ve experienced both the isolation of ability that doesn’t fit standard frameworks and the violence of being told I don’t need support. So why does Ratatouille make me cry while The Incredibles makes me uncomfortable? The answer lies in how each film positions giftedness in relation to others.
The Rat Under the Hat
Remy’s talent creates problems, not superiority. His hypersensitive smell and taste make him unable to eat garbage with his family or participate in normal rat life. He also can’t walk into Gusteau’s and apply for a job. His gifts trap him between worlds.
Many neurodivergent people have abilities that society values in the abstract but can’t be accessed without accommodation or masking heavily.
Remy needs Linguini as much as Linguini needs him. Without Linguini, Remy’s talent remains inaccessible due to systemic biases against his species. Without Remy, Linguini continues his trajectory as a garbage boy. Together, they create something neither could achieve alone, though the film acknowledges that Linguini’s ability to help stems partly from unearned privilege, his access to the kitchen secured through his father’s legacy rather than his own merit.
Colette and Different Infrastructure Needs
Colette reminds us that Remy isn’t the only one needing accommodation. As the sole woman in Gusteau’s kitchen, she must be better than every man just to be able to access that setting. Her monologue about having to be twice as good, her rigid adherence to Gusteau’s recipes as protection against scrutiny - this is self-protection in a hostile environment.
Every character requires different infrastructure: Remy needs physical access, Linguini needs guidance, and Colette needs respect in a sexist industry.
When Everyone’s Super, Nobody Is
The Incredibles promotes hierarchical exceptionalism. The Parr family aren’t selfish - they genuinely want to help people, and the film celebrates their altruism. But it can only imagine helping within a framework of superiority. They help down, not across.
Syndrome is villainous for his murder spree, not his ideology. But the film conflates his revenge killings with his plan to democratize superpowers, treating both as equally threatening. “When everyone’s super, no one will be” frames distributed power as horror - not loss of uniqueness, but loss of the hierarchical advantage that makes heroism possible as the film understands it.
Consider Syndrome’s arc again. Child Buddy is altruistic - he wants to help, idolizes heroes, and seeks access to a world that excludes him by birth. Mr. Incredible’s response is cruelty: rejection, dismissal, “fly home.” You’re not one of us because you weren’t born to this.
Adult Syndrome is corrupted by that rejection into wanting domination rather than collaboration. The film’s implicit logic: the rejection was correct because look what he became. But he became that in part because of the rejection. The Incredibles presents power achieved rather than inherited as inherently corrupting. .
This is aristocratic ideology in a cape. Birthright power is benevolent by nature; acquired power will be misused. Those born to rule will rule well. Those who grasp for power they weren’t born into become tyrants. The film never interrogates Mr. Incredible’s casual cruelty to a child, nor examines whether “natural-born” heroes actually use power more responsibly - Bob’s rage and collateral damage go unexamined.
The film positions powered and non-powered people in opposition rather than interdependence. Bob’s depression stems partly from being unable to use his gifts - but also from contempt for “ordinary” life. His inability to celebrate his son’s 4th grade graduation without derision shows how the film struggles to imagine super-people finding meaning in a world that doesn’t center their exceptionalism. Though the movie embraces the interdependence of the Parr family through giving them powers that are supported by others, the need for mutual accommodation in the larger world is unacknowledged. The movie treats this as Bob’s flaw, yet can’t offer him a path forward except returning to super-heroism. The film cannot conceive of a path where his strength serves a community he genuinely sees as his peers, because it never frames that community as containing peers.
“Not Everyone Can Be a Great Artist”
Anton Ego begins as gatekeeper, determining who may cook “real” French cuisine. His transformation matters: from close-minded critic to recognizing unexpected greatness. His review contains Ratatouille’s thesis: “Not everyone can become a great artist, but a great artist can come from anywhere.”
This is about recognizing that talent emerges unpredictably and needs support to flourish. Ego’s arc shows even the most rigid gatekeepers can learn that greatness doesn’t follow predicted patterns.
The Infrastructure of Ability
What Ratatouille understands that The Incredibles doesn’t: all ability requires infrastructure. Remy’s talent needs Linguini’s hands, the kitchen space, and ingredient access.
The Incredibles pretends exceptional people emerge fully formed, constrained only by others’ jealousy or by government suppression forcing conformity. The film treats both democratized power and forced suppression as threats, but can’t imagine a third option: interdependence that doesn’t require hierarchy. The superiority the Parrs possess depends on infrastructure - their home and their resources. Dash’s subplot makes the ideology explicit. Forced to hide his speed, told “everyone’s special” (which Dash correctly identifies as meaning “no one is”). The film treats everyone having inherent worth as functionally equivalent to asking a hero to hide who he is. These are not the same, but the narrative treats it as such because the film needs hierarchy to have stakes, needs some people to matter more for the story to function. Exceptionalism is capital, and the solution offered to crises isn’t radical acceptance and interdependence - it’s letting exceptional people be visibly exceptional again. The problem isn’t hierarchy; it’s that hierarchy was temporarily flattened.
The film does show one non-powered person treated as peer: Edna Mode. But she’s the exception who reinforces the pattern - she’s valued specifically for serving super needs. Her genius is recognized insofar as it enables their heroism, and Edna expressed contempt for non-super-humans. The film can imagine non-powered excellence, but frames that excellence as most meaningful when directed toward super-people. Even the character who most demonstrates cross-ability respect instead validates the film’s core premise: exceptional people are worth more.
Why This Matters
I am a person who has abilities I can’t access without support. I need technology that allows me to write without a pencil. I need medication that manages my chronic illness enough to think clearly.
My “Linguinis” aren’t in service to my greatness - they’re individuals who make my participation possible through mutual aid. I also sometimes serve as people’s Linguini, providing support so others can thrive, or at least exist more comfortably.
The Radical Proposal
Ratatouille suggests something The Incredibles can’t imagine: everyone benefits from accommodation, and accommodation is not a zero-sum game. Ability requires infrastructure, collaboration, and support.
The rat chef makes me cry because he shows exceptional gifts as difference requiring accommodation rather than superiority demanding freedom. In showing Remy needing Linguini as much as Linguini needs him, the film rejects hierarchy for interdependence and mutual aid.
Anyone can cook doesn’t mean everyone will be great chefs. It means greatness can emerge when we build kitchens where rats can reach the stove.