There was a specific moment when I knew that Up was going to be something special. And it so happens that the moment I'm talking about is representative of what makes an astonishing 3/4-or-so of Pixar movies special -- and helpful in explaining why so much of its current competition is also-rans. (Here's an alternative -- or perhaps complementary -- explanation I'm also fond of.) If you haven't seen Up, I recommend returning to this post after you have. Reasonable people might consider it spoler-y, though I don't give away any plot details beyond the film's first twenty minutes.

The moment I'm talking about -- and jeepers, I wish I could find a screenshot, but there's just no way to do it without piracy -- comes toward the end of the lovely, rightfully-praised-everywhere montage that opens the film. The montage lyrically flutters through the marriage of Carl and Ellie Fredericksen, from their wedding as eager, ambitious young 'uns, through loving years of dreams deferred as one then another then another practical concern gets in their way, and to Ellie's eventual death of natural causes, with Carl by her side. (The movie's gentle but considered approach to aging and death blew me away -- what other ostensibly children's movie has ever genuinely struggled with this subject?)

As Ellie grows old and becomes frail, she and Carl attempt to go on with their lives like before, but it's hard. At one point, they attempt to picnic in their favorite spot, a nice grassy knoll in the middle of a peaceful meadow. And here's the moment that so moved me: Ellie can't make it up the hill. When Carl -- who has gone on ahead -- realizes this, he dashes to her aid, trying to catch her before she crumbles to the ground. As he runs, the breeze catches the hat on his head, which goes flying, and he ignores it.

It's a brief scene, lasting no more than 10 seconds and one shot, from a distance. But there's so much love and beauty and sadness in it. It's simple, but it says so much about Carl and Ellie and their relationship -- and Carl's motivation for the rest of the film. And here's the key: it's not necessary. It's not crucial to the plot. It's not a joke. It's not a funny sight gag. It's just a lovely, truthful moment, and it adds so much.

That this scene is in Up's final cut is part of the answer to the question of what makes Pixar movies special year-in and year-out. It's one way in which Pixar films are similar to those of Hayao Miyazaki. They allow these seemingly trivial, non-essential character-centric moments -- and Up has a bunch more of them -- that cumulatively paint a beautiful, resonant picture. When was the last time that a Dreamworks Animation release allowed even one?