And so we have the first grand film of 2009. I use the word “grand” because the reviewer’s usual fallback, “great,” is tossed around so carelessly these days as to lose all meaning. Up is no masterpiece, but it provides what most moviegoers secretly want: an unabashedly emotional experience. The high point hits early and lasts about five minutes. It comes in the form of a flowing montage of moments in the marriage of a pixie-ish redheaded girl named Ellie and a diffident, square-faced balloon seller named Carl Fredrickson, who will become the hero of the story. Set to a shamelessly heart-tugging Michael Giacchino score, it lands an emotional blow akin to an Acme-sized anvil drop. Movies are in a unique position to do this sort of thing, to compress and distill, “turning the accomplishment of many years into an hourglass,” to quote an obscure English playwright. It’s refreshing to see a mainstream movie—a family movie—step back and consider the long view of life.    

After its knockout prologue, Up transitions into the whimsical flight of Carl to South America in a house carried by a multitude of vibrantly colored balloons. By taking this journey, he’s keeping a promise to his wife, who always longed for adventure but never could seem to break free from life’s vagaries. (Echoes of It’s a Wonderful Life resonate throughout.) Shortly after takeoff, Carl becomes involved with a plump boy scout (adorably voiced by Jordan Nagai) who has snuck aboard, a smooth-plumed bird on the endangered species list, a goodhearted and deeply conflicted dog (another of Pixar’s plushy triumphs), and, in a rich portrayal by Christopher Plummer, a forgotten explorer shriveled by age and corruption into a villain.

I would have been perfectly content to stay with Carl and his stowaway in the floating house for the full 90 minutes, but, in meeting the needs of a conventional narrative, director Pete Docter and co-director and screenwriter Bob Peterson allow the film to progress in a more mechanical, predictable, and, well, unadventurous manner. I guess I have to admit that I wanted something a little more daring and a little less commercially viable. But look at the wealth of imagination that’s left: an army of obedient attack dogs all speaking in unison through a mechanical device that allows their thoughts to be bluntly translated; the spacious interior of an art deco zeppelin replete with museum and dining hall; a mid-air battle sequence that culminates in one of the most beautifully ironic death scenes in recent cinema (I won’t spoil it by going into particulars, but you’ll know it when you see it); several opportune jokes both visual and verbal. And then there’s the touching conclusion that fulfills the promise of the early scenes and affirms that marriage is in fact the greatest adventure of all. Pixar may be accused of sentimentality, but sentimentality with the artistic scruples to back it up becomes something entirely different. It becomes sublime.