[Ed. Note: After reading Charles’ insightful and convincing defense of “Wall-E” I asked him if he would do the same with each Pixar film. Themes are what give a story its emotional center and heft and are always the most fascinating part of any film discussion.]
There’s a lesson in Toy Story for James Cameron: cool technology does not a story make. It is the story that makes a legacy and Toy Story tells the story of Andy’s toys. And what a story it is! Jealousy! Betrayal! Redemption! It’s heady stuff, but it’s the stuff of great stories. (I hope Hollywood took notes.)
As every child can tell you, the story of toys is as limitless as the imagination, but all children wonder, “just what sorts of lives do the toys lead when I’m not around?”
Pixar’s real genius, then, was to depict the toys in a novel way. They couldn’t lie flat like the cartoons (or is it ghosts?) of Disney past. They had to appear entirely real. They had to create the world anew and populate it with souls.
One of those souls is Woody (Tom Hanks), who is equal parts sheriff and cowboy. He corrals a community of toys – a neurotic dinosaur Rex, a cynical Piggy Bank, Bo Beep and her sheep, a barrel of monkeys – into a real community where he is their uncontested leader, strong and true.
The genius of Toy Story‘s writing is that the toys don’t conform to the stereotypes you would expect. Mr. Potato Head is a villain; the T-Rex is neurotic and the cowboy, while honest and true, harbors a darker nature. While there may be a snake in his boot, there’s a green-eyed monster in his heart. Woody fears being replaced by Andy’s new toy, Buzz Lightyear (Tim Allen). Buzz’s catchphrase “To infinity and beyond” represents the extent to which Woody would like Buzz removed from his life. He hatches a plan to leave Buzz behind before Andy’s family moves across town. Alas, his plan is botched and he knocks Buzz out the window.
Like any leader, Woody learns that when he loses his morals, he loses his flock. Branded a murderer, he sets about trying to bring Buzz back. It’s a rescue mission, but it’s also a redemption tale. The silent question asked is, “Are you your brother’s keeper?”
Toy Story, to its credit, answers quickly in the affirmative, but Woody still doesn’t take the blame for his actions.
Woody: This is a perfect time to panic! I’m lost, Andy is gone, they’re gonna move to their new house in two days, AND IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT!
Laying the blame on Buzz is too easy. Buzz’s character doesn’t change. By trying to pull him down, Woody makes himself look petty and endangers them both. Thanks to Woody, they find themselves at the home of Sid Phillips, a toy torturer.
This psycho is everything that Andy is not. Indeed, Sid Phillips isn’t just a villain; he’s a nihilist on par with the Joker. While Andy loves his toys, Sid destroys and mutilates them. He proves that in every suburban neighborhood there lurks a sadist. Sid wasn’t raised poorly. Sid’s sister, Hannah, has none of his pathologies, and he seems to be raised by two parents – something that seems to elude Andy. Nature, not nurture, explains his evil – a subtle dig, perhaps, at the Hollywood establishment that would have us believe that
Woody, then, is savable because his fundamental nature is good, but his relationships with others need nurturing and cultivation. His foibles are serious, but human. Who hasn’t felt rejected or spurned? Who hasn’t wanted more attention from others?
We know this, and we understand this, but we still can’t bring ourselves to be second place. That way lies disappointment. Only by accepting Buzz as a friend and relinquishing his insecurity can he lead the two of them back to Andy.
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