There are probably not too many college professors who can say that they have seen Toy Story 3 twice – especially since it’s only been open for four days – and fewer still who would boast about it. And when you discount those professors who mostly went in order to take a child or grandchild to it and just count the ones who went for themselves, I’m sure it becomes a still shorter list. But I’m not the least bit embarrassed to admit it, even if its cast consists almost entirely of computer-generated toys. Not all great films have to be Citizen Kane or Schindler’s List. And make no mistake about it: this is a great film.
But beyond that, this film and its two predecessors are important to me. That might seem like a strange thing to say about a movie but I can’t think of a better way to put it. It’s amazing how these films speak to the inner child in all of us – and evoke such potent memories of our most cherished playthings – and reawaken in us that sense of imaginative play that is what separates us most dramatically from the sea slug. And I think one reason these films have spoken so powerfully to me and so much of the planet is precisely because they are not live-action films but rather computer- generated cartoons. I think there’s something about that which leaves us with our emotional and mental defenses down, which in turn allows these movies and their stories to touch us so profoundly.
It also doesn’t hurt that these films are so darn clever, hilariously funny, and – from time to time – downright frightening. There is a sequence in this latest film where Woody and Buzz and the gang come perilously close to being incinerated, just moments after nearly being ground to bits in the metallic jaws of the local landfill’s giant shredder. Both Marshall and Kathy will tell you – perhaps with a slight roll of the eyes – that I nearly climbed into the screen at that point to rescue them myself! There are also scenes that are as emotionally shattering as anything ever filmed. I don’t remember any tears gushing during the first film, but in the second. . .o boy! In that sequel, we meet a cowgirl doll named Jessie, and she tells the story of being given up by her owner through an exquisite Sarah McGlauglin song called “When Somebody Loved Me.” As that song was sung, we saw images from years earlier when Jessie and the girl who owned her were inseparable. But then we see the girl growing up and her room taking on the appearance of the typical teenager who, among other things, grows out of having dolls. As the song ends, the girl has scooped Jessie up from under the bed where she was gathering dust- and as Jessie lays next to her in the car, she is sure that she will never be forgotten again. But then in a moment nearly as heartbreaking as Sophie’s Choice, Jessie realizes that her owner has dropped her off at some sort of donation center, leaving her essentially abandoned in a cardboard box for whoever might come along to claim her- if someone comes along to claim her. That moment was heartbreaking not so much for who we saw on the screen- a fictional girl with her fictional doll- but more for how it revealed the pain we leave in our wake when we grow up and move on as all of us do . . . as all of us must.
That’s really the heart and soul of this last Toy Story movie. Andy, the owner of all of these toys, whom we’ve come to know in the previous movies, is about to leave home for college – – – and the question as he cleans out his room is what he should do with his old toys, which he has scarcely touched or thought about in years. Should any of them come along with him to college? Should they go up into the attic into storage? Should they be donated? Or should they be thrown out with the trash? Misunderstandings and misadventures ensue (of course) but all of it feels so incredibly authentic. . . and believable. How absurd is that? We’re talking about the movie populated by walking, talking toys! And yet it all feels so real, so human. . . much more so, in fact, than the typical live action kids’ movies that are made nowadays. And the firmest confirmation of that is when the movie reaches its astonishing emotional climax, as Andy is reunited at last with his toys and once and for all must decide what to do with them. The first time I saw this movie, I bawled my eyes out through the last ten minutes. And the second time I saw this movie, I bawled my eyes out through the last ten minutes. And when I see it a third and fourth and fifth time, I absolutely guarantee that I will . . you guessed it . . . . bawl my eyes out through the last ten minutes. And I’m not even a parent with a kid about to go off to college, for pete’s sake! I guess it’s enough that I was once that kid going off to college, and only now am I realizing what that moment meant for my mom and dad (and maybe even for my siblings, to a much lesser extent), let alone for me.
But this movie is about more than the inevitability of the past slipping away from us – and us from it. It’s also the story of friendship and loyalty and sticking together through thick and thin. It’s about the importance of play. On some level, it’s even about taking care of our toys. . . something which the Berg kids were monumentally lousy at. Above all, it’s a movie about US – who we are – and how we became who we are . . . and of how we remain who we are even as our hair turns gray and our joints gets creaky, and we’re more apt to go to bed with a hot water bottle than with our favorite stuffed toy.
Because the truth of the matter is, we never outgrow our toys as much as we think we do. And we never completely leave home, either.
Thank God.