Super

I went out last night with some friends to see The Incredibles for a second time. It was just as good as the first time. I think it may even supplant Toy Story as my favourite Pixar film, due in no small part to the fabulous 1962-tiki-loungesque soundtrack. In the scene where Bob is cruising towards the island in his private aquajet, eating prawns and drinking mimosas, the lounge music so smooth and frictionless it could have been coated in Teflon.

And then there are Bob's stylin' cars. I want them all. The Batman-inspired convert-o-car with the turbines in the sides. His mid-life crisismobile which looked like the product of a night of steamy passion between an 1961 E-Type Jaguar and a 1954 Mercedes Benz 300SL. I'd even have room in my garage for the tiny blue one with rocket-shaped rear indicators and run-on issues.

Oh, and a private monorail system with those little egg-shaped bubblecars, please. That's a given.

I could gush about the film in general - the exquisite animation, the rich and complicated characterisations, the Frank Lloyd Wright-inspired design aesthetic - but that would get tedious (if it hasn't already). I'll just note one other thing. I was sitting next to a girl I didn't really know, and the principal thing I remember about her is that every time Edna Mode came on screen, she would laugh her head off. And we're talking Hearty Guffaw, not Girlish Titter. Edna didn't even have to do anything; her very appearance in a scene was enough to set this person off. It was sort of heartwarming, and also that kind of laughter is infectious.

So today when I drove into the carpark at work, and leaned out the window to swipe my card through the boom gate scanner, I had an overwhelming urge to announce "EDNA. MODE. And guest" at it, then snigger uncontrollably and wait for a security canon to pop out of the shubbery. What a sad little fanboy am I.