Toy Story 3

Toy Story 3 (2010), Lee Unkrich

Toy Story 3 is impossibly close to being a truly perfect film; but the minor quibbles I hold for it do not prevent it from being yet another amazing achievement from the ever-impressive Pixar. Director Lee Unkrich, along with fellow writers and Pixar veterans John Lasseter and Andrew Stanton, have crafted a surprisingly dense closing to one of the more consistently satisfying film series (and also a pretty dense one, for a kid's film).

With an explosive, kinetic opening in which Sheriff Woody (Tom Hanks), with the help of Jessie (Joan Cusack), Bullseye the horse, and Buzz Lightyear (Tim Allen) are engaged in a Western-style chase involving runaway trains, exploding bridges, a pig-shaped spaceship, and death by monkeys, that closely follows the opening (pretend) scene in the 1995 original. Alas, as it was then, this scene is all a scenario concocted by the hyperactive imagination of Andy (Charlie Bright as a child; John Morris as a teenager). We then watch Andy grow up via his mother's video recordings, the hero toys in tow. In seemingly no time at all, though, Andy has grown into a 17-year-old ready to head off to college and consistently being hassled by his mother not only to pack up, but also to decide which of his toys he wants to throw out, which will be stored in the attic, which are going to be donated to the local Sunnyside Day Care, and which will be going with him to college. Through a mix-up, the hero toys (sans Woody, who was chosen to be taken to college) wind up on the curb to be thrown out. After a close call with a trash compactor, the hero toys then wind up being donated to Sunnyside Day Care and greeted by the multitude of toys there, led by the genteel, Southern-lulling Lotso-Huggin' Bear (played fittingly by Ned Beatty), where the plot takes on a decidedly darker tone.

That's not to imply the film is too dark to enjoy, as its darkness is balanced out by its affable and buoyant charm and mostly genuine emotion. And, for the most part, the darkness present is not so much out of a desire to purely raise the stakes for the sake of raising them (again, for the most part), but instead to illustrate many of the resonant themes present therein. The film is "dark" due to its honesty and openness in regards to certain unavoidable and inevitable aspects of life. Some friends grow apart. Others, for one reason or another, leave forever. Children move out...and on. For whatever reason, one way or another, we may be forgotten by those we once loved. Faith can be lost. Change is painful and unavoidable and necessary; but sometimes, it can also be a beautiful thing. That's a lot for a children's summer movie to ask its mostly young audience to consider.

The theme of faith, however, remains the most prominent in the film, and there are three main instances in which it shines brightest. Early in the film, Woody and the gang concoct a scheme to get Andy to play with them: they steal his cell phone and store it in the toy chest (where they are kept), and then call it using the house phone; when he comes to retrieve it, they hope he'll remember to play with them upon seeing them. Instead, he simply pulls Rex off the cell phone and walks away. Alone again, the toys are excited that he at least looked at them, and Rex is beyond ecstatic to have been picked up by him. Here, the act of just being looked at and picked up (even momentarily) is a joyous, exciting event (which makes the final scene that much more poignant).

Lotso's back-story, meanwhile, is rooted in the idea of loss of faith, and a resentment towards a world in which that loss is permitted. His history reflects Jessie's back-story, but whereas she remains (initially) broken, Lostso turns that pain inward, becoming a menacing force of control and dictation, overbearing and resentful. When he tells Woody, "We're just pieces of plastic. We're meant to be thrown out," he speaks not just about the plight of fictional toys: the world is not governed by kind, benevolent masters, but rather is a cold, methodical system (much like the ojne he created in Sunnyside) that objectifies every single person. In such a place, everyone and everything is easily replaceable, and the kind, benevolent master is an easily-destroyed illusion. In the end, everything is just a thing.

(***SPOILER***) Which leads to the final set-piece. Whoa. With a single motion (all the hero toys holding hands), the film forced the audience to confront the very motion of mortality. Without getting into the specifics as to how, the hero toys eventually find themselves at a landfill incinerator and without any way of escaping. And in a silent instant, just looking at each other, they decided to actively accept their fates. Perhaps they are just pieces of plastic, and perhaps that's all they've ever been, but there's still no avoiding the unavoidable. Fighting the inevitable is a far less brave notion than facing up to it. Sure, there is a literal deus ex machina that emerges at the nick of time ("The Claw!"), but it is still a scene in which the heroes lose faith and instead accept their fates, even if their fate is death (***NO MORE SPOILER!***)

It is through that trust in faith, ultimately, that reunites them with Andy. The reunion is brief, as Andy ultimately gives the toys to Bonnie, a young neighbor who briefly had Woody in her possession following his escape from Sunnyside. When Andy introduces Bonnie to each of his toys, highlighting their personalities, and ultimately playing with them one last time before driving off to college, it's clear that beyond the frozen stares and blank faces, the toys are beyond ecstatic, but will never be able to tell him that. As much as the toys and Andy need each other, they'll never be able to truly connect in the ways that each needed, nor to communicate that need. Even Andy's final goodbye ("Thanks, guys.") is whispered as he's already in his car. The closest the toys ever get to actually communicating with Andy is when Woody writes Bonnie's name and address on a post-it note for Andy to see. The reliance each feels for the other can never be communicated, but in the end, once change truly occurs and the toys find a new home, everyone is able to move on. Change occurs, and then life goes on. C'est la vie.

Technically, the film is beautiful, with rich, lush colors and impressive use of lighting and depth of field for an animated film (a bit more impressive in 3D). The entire voice cast was great, with Beatty's Lotso emulating Strother Martin or a lucid Slim Pickens, among others, for a decidedly grandfatherly, droll performance. Bonnie's toy, though appearing only briefly, were great fun, with what I felt was a decidedly meta casting choice in Timothy Dalton as the thespian, always-in-character stuffed porcupine, Mr. Pricklepants. The action in this film was also pretty inspired, from the opening Western action scene, to Woody's escape from Sunnyside, to Mr. Potato Head's surreal escape from a sandbox, to Woody and Slinky Dog's battle with the watch-guard,

My minor quibbles with the film involve Andy, for the most part. First off, for three full films the toys get lost or otherwise disappear, only to wind up in the most obvious place possible, despite us seeing Andy and his mother having looked all over multiple times. Hey! The toys happened to be in this box we just happened to have finished packing this second, and neither of us can remember putting them in there! Isn't that weird? Ah, screw it! Something should have given away the fact that something...weird...has been going on this whole time. I mean, really, who else could have written Bonnie's name and address on the box if the only three people in the house were all in the hallway? Second, it appears Andy has no friends at all, which makes him kind of...creepy. In the "growing up" montage, Andy is shown with his toys only....watching movies. Having a birthday party. Having a slumber party. There is no other child present. The absolute pristine quality of all the hero toys (no smudges, cracks, chipped paint, faded stickers, etc.) suggests Andy has WAAAAAYYYY too much time on his hands.

But, now that I think of it, Andy comes from a single-parent home. There is no father in any of the films. Perhaps the hero toys (the ones to survive this installment, with the exception of Bullseye, Mrs. Potato Head, the Pizza Planet aliens, Buzz, and Jessie) were given to him by his father, and that is why they mean so much to him (especially Woody. If Toy Story 2 is to be taken into account, it makes sense that Woody belonged to Andy's father and was passed down to his son: what boy in 1995 would own the last surviving Sheriff Woody doll from the 1950's, unless it was owned by someone close?) Actually, looking at it that way, it makes sense.

But I wasn't too much of a fan of Randy Newman's score, which seemed too sickly, syrupy sweet. (*SPOILER*) And the near-death of the toys just slightly felt tacked on to make the final denouement that much more satisfying, but just felt like too much unneeded melodrama for the characters to face (and how could Slinky drop down from the magnet on the conveyor? His entire middle section is still metal, and the magnet wasn't turned off, as the toys actively jumped down...whatever (*END SPOILERY PART*)

Anyway, the point is, this film is a fitting finale to a great series (if finale it indeed be). While this summer has been mostly dreary and full of comparatively dismal excuses for films (Hello Eclipse and Marmaduke! I see you!), this truly is one of the best films out this summer, and near the top for the year. Pixar just keeps on doing it, and God bless them, I hope they never stop.

If you do see this, see it in 3D. This time, the 3D is worth it.