WALL-E: how Pixar found its shiny metal soul

Buzz Lightyear, Nemo, Mr Incredible … we've loved them all. Now WALL-E, a robot rubbish-collector, is set to win over audiences' hearts. On a tour of Pixar's California HQ, Sam Leith finds out how they do it. Plus, the six most useful automatons - and what it's like to live with a cuddly one

When you clear security and step onto the Pixar campus, three-quarters of an hour out of San Francisco, the wattage of the sunshine seems to go up. There is an overwhelming and delicious smell of freshly mown grass. Among trim shrubs is a wide black tarmac path unblemished by chewing gum and, along it, bronzed paragons of healthy Californian youth, wearing T-shirts and cargo pants, fly past on little silver scooters.

WALL-E, star of Pixar's latest animation

Purpose-built at the behest of Pixar's former chairman Steve Jobs, the main offices of the world's foremost animation company are housed in a two-storey, red-brick warehouse-style building, set around an enormous atrium. Light streams in through glass louvres in the roof and the plate-glass front wall, and spills across a vast blond-wood floor. On one side is a hip café-style canteen. On the other is an employee break room and play area. There's a large room of wooden pigeon-holes where staff collect their mail. Dangling from its door is a sheaf of morale-boosting fan-mail forwarded from the 'Pixar Planet' fan forum. On one wall, a bank of games consoles is running demos of Pixar games for passers-by to play with. Nearby are a pool table, air-hockey, table football and, folded against a wall, a ping-pong table.

And in the middle, sitting on a wooden bench looking comfortable in a shaft of sunlight, are the two most important people in the building: WALL-E and Eve. I say 'people'; they're robots. And I say 'robots'; they're actually cardboard simulacra of imaginary cartoon robots. But it is on the personal charms of these two - the stars of Pixar's ninth animated feature - that everything depends. Down both sides of the room run slick, mock-art-deco advertising banners. One of them shows WALL-E's plaintive binocular eyes gazing out at you. 'WALL-E,' proclaims the legend: 'A Brighter Future.' When WALL-E opens next month, the smart money says the future will indeed become even brighter for Pixar.

The company is, on the face of it, a quintessential flowering of that particular West Coast new-media business culture that replaced sharp suits and imported Scotch with frappuccinos and games of Hacky Sack. Even the corporation guy, WALL-E's grey-haired, suit-wearing producer Jim Morris, peppers round-table press interviews with 'cool', 'sucks', 'neat', 'I will tellya' and 'It's kind of, like, oh my gosh'.

Being given a tour by Randy Nelson - the dean of Pixar university - feels like being inducted into a cult. He makes theatrical gestures with his hands and articulates slowly and clearly like an inexperienced carer attempting to convey solicitousness to those with learning difficulties. His smile is unwavering, and he utters gloopy catchphrases in a swooping, sing-song voice: 'Thank you for helping us to tell our stories'; 'Membership is one of the first things you have to feel'; 'One of the jobs we have as managers is to make sure that people go home at the end of the day.'

Andrew Stanton, front, and Ben Burtt with models of WALL-E and Eve

At one end of the building, there is that glass front wall; at the other, the screening room: 'It's like a funnel, so all the outside world comes in here and all the good stuff goes through into the theatre,' says Nelson. He explains that the purpose of the building's design - which forces employees to visit the communal area every time they want to get something to eat, take a break or even go to the loo - is to make sure that everyone bumps into everyone else as often as possible. The reason? 'We're doing art... as a team sport,' is a catchphrase that Nelson pronounces more than once, with much meaningful eye contact. Half-an-hour with him may be enough to make you think twice about sampling the grape-flavoured Kool-Aid, but he has a point. 'Art as a team sport' is exactly what Pixar does. And it works.

The roll-call of Pixar's successes in the 13 years that it has been making animated features has been extraordinary: Toy Story, A Bug's Life, Monsters, Inc, Finding Nemo, The Incredibles, Cars, Ratatouille... And the roll-call of its flops? None. Not one. Cars -deemed by some as something of a disappointment - grossed nearly half-a-billion dollars. As a journalist, therefore, you want to dislike Pixar; or at least find its dark side. Where's the story in 'happy people make brilliant films, get well paid for it, love their work'? But all the evidence points to that being the case. I watched the first half-hour of WALL-E in Pixar's screening room with film hacks. And I swear that, when the section we were allowed to see came to an end, there was a sigh of disappointment.

WALL-E tells the story of the last creature left on earth: an indefatigable solar-powered rubbish-compactor. Humans, having made a complete mess of Earth, have taken off into space and left this 'Waste Allocation Load Lifter Earth-Class' to clear it up. The opening shot pans down through WALL-E's world: valleys of rust and dust, scoured by a gritty wind and surmounted by mile-high ziggurats made of cubes of rubbish.