Inside Out

Have you ever won­dered what scenes might unfold if your brain func­tions were anthro­po­mor­phised? What if instead of bio­log­i­cal synaps­es con­trol­ling your state of mind, emo­tions – voiced by pop­u­lar US actors – were con­stant­ly nego­ti­at­ing with each for dom­i­nance over your feel­ings? Which of your emo­tions would be the most vocal? What philo­soph­i­cal rea­son­ing would it use to jus­ti­fy tak­ing con­trol? Which one would wear glasses?

In Pixar’s grow­ing pains dra­ma, an 11-year-old girl’s mind is ani­mat­ed with the same visu­al florid­i­ty as seen in 1971’s Willy Won­ka and the Choco­late Fac­to­ry. The inno­va­tion of chat­ty, colour-cod­ed emo­tions may sound like a child-court­ing flight of fan­cy, but the sophis­ti­ca­tion and thought that has gone into map­ping out and evok­ing the mind speaks to any adult with an inter­est in psy­chol­o­gy. Inside Out has the pow­er to pro­vide an alter­na­tive to the aca­d­e­m­ic lex­i­con for talk­ing about inter­nal processes.

The 11-year-old is called Riley (Kait­lyn Dias) and a task-force of admin­is­tra­tors pop­u­late her head­space, each try­ing to pro­tect their host in dif­fer­ent ways. Key emo­tions that dwell in head­quar­ters, frown­ing over a con­trol pan­el. Whichev­er one is in the dri­ving seat at any giv­en moment colours Riley’s expe­ri­ence and also, cru­cial­ly, her mem­o­ries. Mem­o­ry islands sur­round HQ – each one defined by one of Riley’s key inter­ests (Hock­ey Island, Fam­i­ly Island). There is the sub­con­scious where trou­ble­mak­ers are sent, the longterm mem­o­ry depart­ment where jad­ed bureau­crats hoover up old phone num­bers and a train of thought, which is prone to sud­den­ly stop­ping. Inter­con­nect­ed inter­nal struc­tures are neat­ly labelled and meta­phys­i­cal­ly mocked (“These facts and opin­ions look so similar!”).

The sharp wit of the writ­ing and detailed imagery of the world-build­ing com­bine in a way that pro­vides end­less sur­face delights and chuck­les. Yet Pete Doc­ter and Ronal­do del Carmen’s film goes deep­er and fur­ther, trav­el­ling in a focused arc from the brain’s well-lit cen­tre to its dark­est reach­es. Inside Out is about grow­ing up and let­ting go of the sim­ple joys of child­hood. Mem­o­ries in this film are, of course, pal­pa­ble objects, tak­ing the form of iri­des­cent crys­tal ball-like orbs filled with images of Riley, her fam­i­ly and friends. They are colour-cod­ed accord­ing to the over­rid­ing emo­tion they con­tain. Joy (Amy Poehler) is for­ev­er tick­ing off Sad­ness (Phyl­lis Smith) for touch­ing yel­low hap­py mem­o­ries and turn­ing them blue and sad. The emo­tion­al bick­er­ing is hilar­i­ous but the weight of a mem­o­ry chang­ing colour is imme­di­ate­ly felt by Riley.

Like a con­stant­ly dip­ping and corkscewing roller­coast­er, the nar­ra­tive inhab­its the world that Riley and her par­ents (Diane Lane and Kyle MacLach­lan) move through as eas­i­ly as the world with­in. At times it seems like she is at the mer­cy of her emo­tions and at oth­ers it’s vice ver­sa (to namecheck the film’s work­ing title). Her sto­ry unfolds at a time of tran­si­tion. The fam­i­ly have exchanged Min­neso­ta, the site of Riley’s hap­py child­hood, for San Fran­cis­co where her increas­ing­ly dis­tract­ed father has been relo­cat­ed for work.

When the film begins, before the move, Joy is head of the con­trol pan­el and her yel­low is all over the mar­ble run-like mem­o­ry bank. Sad­ness, Fear (Bill Had­er), Anger (Lewis Black) and Dis­gust (Mindy Kaling) co-habit Head­quar­ters with Joy who – in a des­per­ate attempt to reverse the hav­oc that Sad­ness has begun wreak­ing on mem­o­ries – goes on a mis­sion through the mind to save hap­py mem­o­ries from destruc­tion. The irony is that in doing so she leaves the oth­er emo­tions to nav­i­gate Riley in her new life in her new town.

Part fan­tas­ti­cal quest, part emo­tion­al explo­ration and part sen­so­ry over­load of ani­mat­ed bril­liance, Inside Out’s only weak­ness is that it deals in arche­types. Riley is less a per­son and more an aggre­ga­tion of child­hood norms. To wit, Riley’s biggest fears are clowns and broc­coli. Her imag­i­nary boyfriend is flop­py-haired teen heartthrob.

But this quib­ble bare­ly has time to reg­is­ter because the mar­vel­lous exis­ten­tial fac­to­ry is in the process of being demol­ished and rebuilt – isn’t it always? The poignant sight of mem­o­ry islands crum­bling leaves Riley in a state of flux. There is no sen­ti­men­tal cush­ion­ing to this ani­mat­ed evo­ca­tion of what it means to roll with the times. Inside Out is equal­ly firm when it comes to pro­vid­ing a com­plex end­ing that gives hope but only with­in this new­ly expand­ed inte­ri­or context.

It’s also worth men­tion­ing that dur­ing a bril­liant coda, the film goes inside the mind of a cat, pro­vid­ing the best inter­pre­ta­tion of the feline psy­che that this writer has ever seen.