Planes: Fire & Rescue

It turns out that the cars and planes of Cars and Planes can kiss. Deep into Planes: Fire & Rescue, a time-killing kid-flick whose title is an exact summary of its plot, the filmmakers introduce us to two creaky old Winnebagos, a husband and wife revisiting the national park where they shared their first kiss years before. They're warmly loving, immediately likable, throwbacks to the Pixar films of once upon a time, the ones that indulged in niceties like theme and feeling and whatever is the opposite of pointlessness.

They meet some planes. After that there's a fire. And a rescue. And lots of static, TV-quality scenes that drably cut from one car or plane to another as they sit in garages and discuss the importance of believing in yourself. But none of that's as interesting as the questions suggested by the idea of motor homes feeling nostalgic for the way they used to make out. A first kiss suggests later ones, that steel-and-plastic RVs not only possess lips and tongues but also the nerve endings that stir sensations of pleasure. When two Winnebagos love each other very much, how far do they go?

The idea of cars, trucks, helicopters, and airplanes savoring eros deserves a more serious film than this one. Not since the hot fueling action of Dr. Strangelove has it been fruitfully examined: How intimate is it for a truck to tow a car? When Dusty (Dane Cook), a crop duster turned race plane turned firefighter, discovers that his old gearbox is giving way, and that he can never penetrate the heavens as he once did, are we supposed to think about the prostate?