There’s a scene in this movie, Disney’s Planes, in which a group of international superstar propeller-driven racing planes come together for a massive race round the world. One of the planes is from Mexico, wears a luchador mask and calls himself El Chupacabra. We watch as he spies a sultry, well-painted, French-speaking plane. She’s Rochelle, the rally champion from Canada. He falls in love and must serenade her with a mariachi version of The Miracles’ 1976 hit “Love Machine.” Heavy emphasis on the “chhhh” sound in “machine.” As you might imagine, this wins her interest and they fall head over heels for each other, a love that involves lipstick marks on his wings and pet names between them such as “Chalupa” and “Chimichanga.” In a movie so haphazard with its horrible stereotype-driven character creation, this is actually one of the less offensive moments. And that’s pretty bad. Because as we discover within 30-seconds of Planes, this is the laziest brand of kid’s film: the kind created by a bunch of marketing executives in a 90th floor boardroom. It’s sad to see it pillaging the strong, if flawed brand built by Pixar’s Cars.