Toy Story is unquestionably the crown jewel of Pixar’s library. The original movie was not only the first feature film for the studio, but the first of its kind. It was an incredible leap for the then-trepid interest of computer animation. Now it has the timeless appeal that so many, lesser animation studios *ahem* can only wish to capture. It will be hailed as the birth of modern animation for decades to come. Grand and prodigious as all that may be, let’s not underscore the true miracle that this franchise accomplished. It was a Pixar property…with sequels that didn’t suck.

Toy Story 1:

Ok, if you haven’t seen Toy Story in a while, do you remember THIS? Good Lord, Andy’s model in Toy Story 1 is full-on nightmare fuel! Thank God this movie was about toys, or Pixar would’ve bombed straight into bankruptcy.

Anyway I’m a writer, not an animator. Why am I talking about this? Let’s get into the premise of the story.

You got the rootin’-tootin’ cowboy, Woody, Commander and Chief of Andy’s room. The fair, buts arbitrary love interest of Bo Peep, Rex the unterrifying dinosaur, the cynical, aggressive, but highly cultured Mr. Potato Head. Hamm the plastic ham, and Slinky.

Everything’s fine and dandy until Andy has an early birthday party. Nearly every toy in the bedroom is afraid of being replaced by better versions of themselves, which, my god, that’s a big fat mood if ever there was one. Well, every toy except Woody, who, being the calm, confident, collected leader, insists everything will be just fine.

This magic right here is a killer opening. You got your characters, your stakes, your personality clashes, your scene, and now a potential underlying theme. All of that is bundled into an ergonomic, five minute run time. Plus, we’ve got a distinction of Woody’s relationship with Andy compared to everyone else.

So Andy opens up his presents, the gifts he gets all seem safe enough from replacing anybody, and everything is good right? WRONG! Buzz Lightyear burst into the room in Andy’s hand and plunks the cowboy straight from his spot on Andy’s bed. You know the rest. Buzz starts getting idolized by all the toys, Andy’s room gets submerged in Buzz’s image, he starts vying for Woody’s spot as #1 toy.

Woody gets supremely jealous, and by pure happenstance Buzz falls stylishly out the window, and they wind up in the great, harrowing world of suburbia, where neither Andy nor his toys will be coming to save them. The pair of them begrudging work together, powering through a myriad of obstacles, such as Buzz coming to grips with his real identity as a toy. Eventually, they overcome the odds, and Sid, to get back home safely, just as the moving truck is on the road to the great unknown. The last scene takes place in the new house at Christmas time, where Andy is once again opening presents. However, the cast’s anxiety is tonally shifted more in optimism and anticipation than the dread they felt before.

And then the credits roll.

The scope of the narrative is intimate, but not necessarily limited. In retrospect, Toy Story 1 is the weakest of the series in terms of worldbuilding. The story did little to flesh out much of the personalities for toys that lived outside of Andy’s room. Pizza planet? Awesome location, but the only toys present there are the green alien things. They are fun, but largely unimpactful otherwise. Then we’ve got several toys in Sid’s room, all of whom Woody needs to escape Sid’s house, but not a single one is even voiced, let alone has character to them.

The plot contrivance of Andy’s toys being a barrier for Woody is fine, really, but for it to last the entire length of the film is a bit much. I mean, come on, guys! If you can’t see Buzz out on the road here at this moment, then how the hell is Woody driving RC? A literal bump in the road could’ve knocked Woody off this truck and it wouldn’t have been half as aggravating to watch!

Nevertheless, for many people this is the best movie in the bunch, but I doubt it. It’s a solid movie, with amazing characters and a magnificent concept. But let’s be honest, it only scratched the surface of what Toy Story’s potential is. And despite being a pioneer in terms of animation, the CG didn’t age well whatsoever.

Though I will say that if there’s one bit Toy Story 1 did best, it’s Buzz. While I can say four movies later I still don’t understand why his is the only toy brand that isn’t self-aware out of the box, he is the best character in this entire film. He’s completely oblivious to what’s going on, self-assured to a fault, and idolized for doing absolutely nothing. In a word, he’s the perfect contrast to Woody. He’s grandiose. From the get-go, he’s got energy before he has his identity crisis, which only further cements the satisfaction of Woody-Buzz coming together by the end to make it back to Andy.

Now onto the real juggernaut of this franchise: Toy Story 2.

Toy Story 2:

Toy Story 2 is without exaggeration the perfect sequel—one of maybe three animated films in existence to earn that title. Everything that made Toy Story engaging, funny, and delightful in Toy Story 1 is double-stacked in the second movie. We have more characters, more locations, more worldbuilding, more conflict, more problems, more moving parts, more action.

We’ve got Buzz Lightyear’s video game, an origin story for Woody with his old TV show, the supporting cast on a quest with Buzz to rescue Woody after a forty-some year old guy pockets him during a garage sale. It turns out he’s a collector hoarding rare toys in boxes, psychologically traumatizing said toys in the process, because naturally that’s the next question you would want answered in a world with talking toys. It’s a perfect blend of new and old, and what’s great is the collector dude isn’t even the focal antagonist unlike Sid in the first film. It’s more so Stinky Pete and Jessie for wanting Woody to stay so they can be taken to a better living situation inside a museum in Japan. This shakes Woody to his foundation, where he’s tangled up in an ugly dilemma. Does he stay with the Roundup Gang and save them from a lifetime of being cooped up in storage? Cut away from Andy and his toys because of its ephemeral nature? Or does he turn a blind eye to the suffering of his long lost family? Pretend that what he has with Andy is permanent until the fateful day when it isn’t?

By the time he is finally able to make his own choice he picks the Roundup gang, not out of a place of sympathy, but fear. This is where the subtle connections between seemingly innocuous events at the beginning of the film really shine in Pixar’s story crafting. Remember one of the first scenes in the movie, where Andy tears a seam from Woody’s arm before summer camp? This is basically the toy equivalent of facing mortality for the first time. The blowback from that definitely has Woody shook for a majority of the film, to the point that he would rather sit in a glass box with complete strangers than go back to his friends and risk being thrown away. However, Buzz manages to knock some sense into him by reciprocating Woody’s own lesson to Buzz that bringing joy to a child is integral to being a toy.

Toy Story 2’s existentially-minded themes were so damn juicy, the writers came back for seconds (TS3 banner) and thirds (TS4 banner). But they came off more as imitating rather than expanding and enhancing qualities like this movie did with OG Toy Story. It’s a fully-realized concept of sentient toys and embracing the specialized problems that they would deal with.

There are so many iconic scenes that have stayed with me over the years from this movie. The Buzz Lightyear video game opening, the cleaner coming in to mend Woody’s arm, Buzz and Co crossing the road under traffic cones, and, of course, the entire airport sequence. Also what a neat touch with the post credit scenes to animate “bloopers”, like a live action movie. For an adult it’s a fun silly thing to watch, and for a kid it really enhances the magic of the story.

Toy Story 3:

3 is the middle child of the Toy Story family, overshadowed by its two older brothers, but hey, at least it’s still part of the family proper. 4 is basically a step child—more on that later.

So, 3 dresses itself a bit like 2. Andy’s toys have shrunken substantially, as he’s heading off to college in a few weeks or something. Bit of a jarring time skip, but whatever, I’m game. The group is obviously disgruntled and demoralized from being stuck in the toy chest for years without being played with. Here’s where the curtain kinda gets drawn back for me. Like, at this point I can’t help but feel baited when they try and trick him to play with him here. SPEAK, Woody! You have nothing to lose! You did it to Sid in Toy Story, what’s stopping you now! You think a college kid would outgrow toys if they talked to him like actual humans? I know this has never been the style of Toy Story, but then again don’t tease me with this picture right here.

See this whole barrier between toy and human interaction escalates from a mere ‘that’s weird, but I’ll allow it’ to a Grade A plot hole with Toy Story’s 3 premise. At least address it, because it can’t just be me that this pisses off.  A simple line like ‘It’s not the right thing to do,’ or ‘Andy shouldn’t need to feel weighed down by us’ would’ve sufficed.

Our inciting incident comes in the form of everyone except Woody being stuffed in a trash bag and confused for being actual trash. Who could’ve seen this unfortunate turn of events? See in Toy Story 2, Al actively tried to steal Woody from the garage sale. Conflict arising via negligence instead of intent is a weaker springboard into the film for me. Especially since, after that, Andy’s toys then misunderstand Andy’s mom’s misunderstanding, and then now they want to be donated to the daycare that Molly’s toys are going to.

Woody tries to point out the innocent error, but of course the toys don’t believe a word of it. Because when has Woody been crucially misunderstood in a debacle with the rest of the room where not believing him has led them to make stupid decisions before?

Well, consequences be damned, we’re going to Sunnyside Daycare. The place initially appears to be a toy utopia—new kids always come flooding in to replace the older ones, there is every toy under the sun there, the bear in charge, Lotso, kind and welcoming, and of course, the legend himself Ken…

*Clears throat* Anyway, um, everyone seems so happy, and it’s wonderful, and yeah they walked straight into a prison.

The kids they’re assigned to first are far too young and rough to tolerate. When they send Buzz as an ambassador he gets reset to factory settings and comes back to stuff them in cells. Unfortunately, Woody is too busy being kidnapped by Bonnie to say ‘I told you so’ again. When he gets back he organizes a prison escape plan, that takes place for the next thirty minutes of the runtime. I’m not saying this is not thoroughly entertaining and fun, it’s kinda meaningless. In Toy Story 1 this block of time in film was devoted to the external and internal obstacles Woody has to overcome to first tolerate, than actively cooperate with Buzz. Toy Story 2 has Woody experimenting with his place in the Roundup Gang, and trying to accept them and the fragile nature of life and its many cruel changes. See a pattern? There’s confusion and indecision laced into each and every strategy he incorporates until he finally gets it right.

In contrast, Toy Story 3’s character focus is as binary as a light switch. We’re Andy toys, we stay with him until the end. Oh my god, Andy just threw us away screw him! We’re going to daycare. Andy didn’t mean to throw us away? Uh, we didn’t mean what we said; let’s go home. Even with Buzz’s subplot with Jessie. First he’s too shy to express his feelings, and then a literal freaking switch is flicked to bring out his sassy, salsa self and no problemo, amigo! Besides these two plot points, and Ken, the rest is just fluff. Shut up and wait your turn, step-child!

Things get a little more rich once they’ve reached the dump, but then they get shuffled into an incinerator, and good lord—is this Toy Story still or have we accidentally swapped scripts with Die Hard? Now they have to find a way to escape the inferno. They kinda do, but Lotso peaces out on them, and then all hope is lost.

Here we’ve got a semi-touching scene where they all hold hands and wait to be burned alive, but then probably the single stupidest thing happens. [Green aliens saying the claw]

Do I need to even say anything to that?

Everyone always says the ending is perfect, but people ignore this tonally deaf bullshit that’s stuffed in before Andy’s sendoff, and how empty the middle is of any serious internal weight. However, I’m not heartless. Andy giving his toys away and playing with them one last time with Bonnie is absolutely heartfelt, momentous, bittersweet, and hey! HEY! Who’s chopping onions in here?

Toy Story 4

Oh… oh, are we onto that one already? Sigh.

Look, Toy Story 4 isn’t by any means bad. It’s just a bobcat in a lion’s den—at a glance, appropriately catalogued, but taking a second look at it shatters the illusion of uniformity.

The animation is at its highest, no one can deny, but the story is so inconsistent with the rest of the narrative these films has set up. The entire supportive cast has had their legs chopped off. Woody, despite being loved by Bonnie enough in the third movie to be  scoped up from the ground, is one of the only toys she doesn’t play with. That is, at home. At kindergarten, she’s struggling to meet friends and adjust. This part is actually cool. Toy Story 1, 2, and 3 never really covered being a toy to a kindergarten kid, and seeing Woody compare it to when Andy’s sister was that age is fresh and exciting.

Well don’t blink, because we don’t stay there very long. Bonnie makes a toy named Forky out of a spork, and arbitrary crafting materials, and he’s existentially threatened by being put together into a toy and tries to throw himself away for the next third of the movie.

Woody has this unshakable belief that Forky needs to stay for Bonnie’s sake and watches over him 24/7. Buzz and the rest of the original crew try to lend a hand, but Woody is stubborn on it being his responsibility alone.

Eventually he slips up when Bonnie and her parents are on road trip. Forky chucks himself out the window (yeet) of their RV and Woody just jumps out after him without any deliberation from anyone else.

After picking up Forky and dragging him back to the motel, Woody finds Bo’s lamp in an antique shop and goes in on the off chance he might find her there. Instead he runs into Gabby Gabby and a bunch of Vincent dolls who want to steal his voice box. He gets out, but loses Forky. Now surely he goes back to the van to enlist some extra toys to help him out?

Oh, not so fast! Bo’s here! The two of them have a cute moment or two as they catchup, then plan a way to get Forky out of the antique store. Meanwhile at the RV, having to deal with the mess Woody left behind for jumping out of the RV without any deliberation from anyone else, Buzz decides to jump out of the RV without any deliberation from anyone else.

In this moment if you squint hard enough on this exact frame, you can see a Disney exec telling Pixar that they only get to bring Woody and Buzz back to prominence because they can’t spin a profit on old toys.

(Laughs) That just got me thinking, I wonder if there’s an actual Forky toy. (Google search it, find page. Beat.) Disney, you shameless, stingy, greedy fuck.

So anyway, he comes across generic plush toy one and two, who, I’ll admit, are good comic relief. But they’re nothing else. They do nothing else, they want nothing else. They’re purpose with the group is about as substantial as the green aliens in prior films, except instead of leaving them in the trunk Pixar lets the plush toys ride shotgun in this film.

Once they all band together, they try and save Forky, but it doesn’t work out. Buzz and new Co are all puckered out about this and are ready to throw in the towel. Woody is stubborn about going back in there.

Maybe if they, oh I don’t know, ENLISTED SOME HELP! You know, the arsenal of toys that is sitting in the RV twiddling their thumbs? Jesus, it’s no wonder saving people is so damn difficult when they just run off and try to fix everything on their own.

Literally no one considers this. We are 4 movies in, and every toy might as well have spun their character back to the beginning. Everyone dismisses Woody, and Woody keeps to his stubborn ways. Mediation be damned. Time for round 3 with Gabby and Vincent.

This is where the mediocre turns to absolutely asinine. Woody is cornered by the Vincents and Gabby, and Gabby tries once again to use her leverage to get his voice box only this time it works simply because she feels that it’s the only way to get a kid to love her. Woody finally relents, sacrificing his voice box for Forky. This is the equivalent of Woody taking off with the Roundup Gang to Japan in Toy Story 2. Worse yet, because they didn’t do anything to force his hand (except Stinky Pete, but he was the villain). From this point on the movie tries everything in its power to showcase Gabby as a redeemable character, but I’m never won over. It’s a fine line between sympathy and manipulation and all I see in this movie is manipulation. It’s conveniently only after she gets what she wants that she becomes more likable. Plus, she never removes her leverage from Woody before he agrees to it.

Woody sees his job to protect Bonnie, and Bonnie’s favorite toy is Forky, ergo, he has to be literally cut open and robbed of a significant part of himself for their sake. That’s despicable. Maybe it can work in a darker story with a clean palette, but Toy Story 4 is not exactly a clean palette. If the whole message is Woody doesn’t owe Bonnie the loyalty that he used to have with Andy, then why did he do this for her? It sure as hell isn’t for Forky, because he can’t be taken seriously for five seconds, despite being shoehorned in as the catalyst of the story.

And then there’s that sloppy ending, which I’m still salty about. This movie individually may have set up Woody leaving Bonnie, Buzz, and the gang for Bo, but at the cost of so much janky retconning that this may as well be, as I said earlier, a step child in the Toy Story family.

Toy Story 1, 2, and even 3 has a core group that, while bumbling and foolish more often than not, has time and time again proven to be inseparable. They band together in a crisis. In 4 they get overshadowed by a smaller, and stupider cast. Their only utility in 4 is to panic and stall the RV, after Woody and Buzz make enough stupid decisions on their own to run out the clock. Each ending in Toy Story is uniform, accentuating a poignant message of sticking together through change and adversity in life and figuring things out together. Each ending, except 4.

This entire movie is constructed from rebellious teenage angst, spawning resolutions purely for the adrenaline of shock value. While Bo may be the most important one to Woody, she has never been an important character in Toy Story. Woody left Andy—ANDY—to stay with the rest of the toys at the end of three. Are you telling me Bo is more important to Woody than Andy?

No, because that’s patently untrue. The real reason is when writing this script, Pixar remembered only that all the important toys from 3—sorry, Ken—were now with Bonnie. They forgot everything else about how they set that up. I’m not saying Bo should’ve gone with them either. That’s the issue—the ending has no satisfying options to it. This movie fails on a conceptual level, because it digs up pavement laid down by previous movies. Constantly, incessantly.

It’s fun, maybe memorable because of the twist, but it’s intended only to be watched half a decade after all the other movies. Otherwise it stands out as a hot mess that tramples on the single phenomenal thing Toy Story 3 had to its name—an ending. If Toy Story 4 has to exist, it should’ve answered lingering questions, not scratched out the answers to the resolved ones. Movies nowadays are too carelessly serialized past their natural ending, and Pixar put a little too much faith in their creative team to spin it. It’s flashy, it’s funny, it has some important messages of independence and finding your own purpose sprinkled in there, but can we really say, at the end of the day, it belongs here?

Only time will tell if we see another Toy Story movie on the horizon. While most would scoff at it as they did for 4, I’m more receptive to Toy Story 5 than I was for 4 and I’m pretty mad about that. The only reason being is because the place they left off is at the least satisfying resolution point ever in between each movie.

You can argue that it encourages Disney to bully Pixar to make it a cash grab series—that every new movie will just tear the series further from its iconic roots and you would be right. But let’s be real. If a franchise is built to last, no amount of corporate greed and abysmal writing can kill its following.

How am I so sure of that?

Star Wars.