WALL-E, the new Pixar animated film, is as much revered as, or perhaps more revered than, any of its predecessors. It has components of classical “family entertainment”—breezy, (somewhat) optimistic spectacle with charming, hand-holding lovers, skillful importation of elements from more “grown-up” sources, and, of course, a “wholesome” message—and uses them in a way that’s seldom cloyingly square or irksomely “adult” (like Shrek). But WALL-E, beyond the strength of its narrative, the detail of its execution and the genuineness behind its homily, is also a bit of a thermometer—and the weather isn’t entirely sunny.

As my brother-in-law put it, WALL-E is “the ‘liberal’ media at its best.” (It’s important to note that he’s skeptical of both the media and the specious accusation that it’s thoroughly “liberal.”) WALL-E plops us down in the dingy 28th century—on a post-human Earth. WALL-E is a wheeling trash-compactor unaware that his creators had turned their entire planet into a dump and subsequently jetted away from it on cosmic luxury liners. Everything in this lonely landscape bears the logo of an apparently all-encompassing, Wal Mart-inspired conglomerate; if the filmmakers had dwelt on this monopoly any more than they have (rather than leave their evidence in the background), the movie would’ve become a chilling modern update of 1984. But this is a kids’ movie, right? Whatever one’s age, one is typically more inclined to be more absorbed by the good-natured scavenger (whose treasures comprise what appears to be the world’s last surviving plant and a V.H.S. copy of cheery Hello, Dolly!, which teaches the machine the virtues of naïve love), and his longing for Eve—a hovering, next-generation iPod deposited on Earth to scout for evidence of photosynthesis—than one is by undertones about corporate oligarchy. The robots’ relationship starts to bloom, and the bashful box-bot shows Eve his plant; but she (I assume WALL-E’s a “he” and Eve’s a “she,” unless this movie’s also into promoting gay rights) immediately enters hibernation mode and dispatches her mother ship.

WALL-E, following Eve, hitchhikes on his beloved’s space pod and eventually becomes a stranger in a strange land: one of the luxury liners, a gargantuan, interstellar shopping mall peopled by self-absorbed blobs on mobile recliners. The ship, christened knowingly by the filmmakers as the Axiom, is in perpetual Disney-cruise mode, and its inhabitants are all coddled to such a degree that they seem to lack self-knowledge or even free will. The same mega-corporation that has littered the Earth into a consumerist trash-heap seems to have sponsored the Axiom, but the company’s employees are long gone—their vocations replaced, it appears, by legions of nifty robots that pamper the portly people. Even the captain (voiced by Jeff Garlin) seems to be occupying a superfluous post; in one of the film’s cleverest bits of satire, we are treated to a wall of captains’ portraits whose subjects got successively fatter as time went by. Eve delivers the little plant to the captain, and it activates an ancient company directive to return the vessel to port—if flora can subsist on Earth, it should be safe now for fauna, too.

Unfortunately, WALL-E, Eve, and the captain are confronted by robots programmed with a secret counter-directive: The conglomerate eventually determined that Earth was no longer salvageable, so the villainous robots (one of which has HAL-9000’s red camera-eye) are compelled to maintain the status quo—to keep the humans pigs in space. (The bad guys’ actions seem to have been inspired by those of the malevolent android played by Ian Holm in Alien. In both movies, a corporate commandments make both human life and liberty secondary.) But here’s where the pedagoguery kicks in: The captain, upon learning about the plant, has caught learning fever! He’s sick of being a complacent blob and wants to try new things like, say, self-determination. In taking a stand against the mutinous machines, he literally takes a stand—lifts his ass up off his floating wheelchair. Apparently, his idealism is unanimously echoed by all of his passengers. (For creatures seeking control of their destinies, they’re rather indistinct as individuals, and almost creepily willing to follow their captain’s lead.) Thanks to the help of WALL-E and Eve, the day is saved; the Axiom lands on barren Earth and the human pioneers have suddenly metamorphosed from insular consumers to agrarians more willing to be self-sustaining than a commune of hippies. And, of course, WALL-E’s wish is fulfilled: like the lovers in Hello, Dolly!, he and Eve finally hold hands.

It’s cute; it’s sweet; it’s impressive. But, its being children’s fare makes WALL-E—unconsciously, I assume—more manipulative than many movies marketed to adults. Even if the global warming warning is valid—and even admirable—the filmmakers’ presumptions are a little unsettling. This is the only kids’ movie I can think of that’s post-apocalyptic, and the issues that have led this world to its demise are far from child’s play—it’s the future as seen by left-wing alarmists. Though it’s too loaded and pretentious to say that the filmmakers actually believe that we’ll necessarily get to a point at which a neo-fascist Earth will have to be evacuated, and that our descendants will be a population of obese sheep, one must admit that the notion that a kids’ movie envisions such a future is staggering. Because WALL-E is so neatly, innocuously packaged, because it’s good enough to put its characters before its patronizing, it’s hard to see how truly frightening it’s scenario is. This isn’t just FernGully, the 1992 animated feature in which a construction company put a forest at stake; the whole world has already been ruined and derelict for 500 years. The movie is, I think, morally in the right in presenting global warming as a problem. There’s something fishy, however, in making such a doomsday prognosis for kiddie eyes and ears. Obviously, adults are in attendance, too—and, so far as I can tell, very happily so—but they are so media-literate that they think WALL-E is transparent. Not so—not to kids.

What’s also rather alarming—or perhaps comforting?—is that this movie, a summer family blockbuster, is parodying itself and its parent. Well, grandparent: Walt Disney. Pixar, the film’s biological mother/father, has never had too comfortable a relationship with its retainer, Disney, whose grip over the animation studio has become gradually weaker but is yet the co-producer and distributor of this picture. If you want to see a monopoly, look at Hannah Montana or the Jonas Brothers, and how the pre-teen market is virtually cornered by these agents for Mickey Mouse. If you want to see monopoly, walk into the nearest Wal Mart (I’m sure it’s not far), and look at the toy aisle lined with WALL-E paraphernalia. Or, to a lesser extent, look at Apple Computers, which corners the market for the graphics software required for this kind of movie to be made—and to which this picture lovingly, and repeatedly, references in its production design and sound bites. When “the Establishment” finally gets hip to an issue like global warming it may wish to prove its capability to be “humane”; but when a movie spouts anti-materialist sentiments and yet is part of a long tradition of merchandising, merchandising, merchandising, is it just blindly chasing its own tail?

WALL-E is a movie so humanly warm and compassionate that it heroizes not only of humans, but also of robots like WALL-E and Eve—byproducts of a treacherous system and yet existential heroes who surmount it. The movie unflinchingly gives its robots free will and elevates them to almost-human status, which is especially meaningful as the humans are also given almost-human status until they decide to take up farming, and unshackle themselves from technologies like WALL-E and Eve. (Perhaps the notion of having automaton protagonists was by attrition: Disney’s normal repertory of bunnies, fawns, mice, and mermaids are extinct by WALL-E’s time.) But, hey, it’s just a kids’ movie, right?