God and Toy Story 3

From my understanding, Toy Story 2 was originally conceived as a direct-to-DVD sequel in which there is a worldwide Buzz Lightyear recall and all the toys team up to rescue their pal from exile in Asia.

Pixar didn't want to do a sequel. However, Disney gave Pixar an ultimatum. Either you do it or we do it. One way or another, it's gonna be made.

And we all know what happened there.

Pixar managed to touch on many of the eternal elements we all must come to grips with that made J. M. Barrie's Peter Pan the classic (and, as far as I'm concerned, THIS side of divinely inspired) that it is. Toy Story 2 ends with Woody and Buzz accepting the fact that someday Andy will grow up and the gang will all be thrown away. But at least they'll have LIVED. They'll be together in the landfill. And what a ride it will have been, huh? As Peter would say, "an awfully big adventure."

Fortunately, Pixar spared us the torture of witnessing Woody and Buzz tumbling into the landfill.

But then Disney told Pixar to make a third.

And a cathartic, melancholy masterpiece--a truly painful moviegoing experience as far as I'm concerned--was created.

We all must grow up. We all must put our childhoods behind us. And, just as our toys go to the landfill, someday, so will we.

But no one wants to SEE that HAPPEN.

Unfortunately, that's what Toy Story 3 is all about.

Last summer, my generation was forced to look their mortality in the face when Michael Jackson suddenly died. 30-somethings all over New York sat in coffee shops, living rooms, wherever, in a state of shock. Michael Jackson. Thriller. Bad. But it wasn't the weirdo entertainer who may or may not have had the Elephant Man's remains stuffed inside his hall closet. (I'm not sure where they ever settled on that one...) that we wept for.

It was what his music REPRESENTED. It wasn't just a record or a tape or CD. It was an ERA of our lives. An era that many of us never realized had LONG since passed us by.

And here we are. Suddenly realizing that we AREN'T kids anymore. We're not even "guys" and "girls". We're MEN and WOMEN now. We're freakin' ADULTS. And we ALL know what comes after that.

It's not that Woody is just a THING. Yeah, he's just a cowboy doll. But it's what Woody REPRESENTS in Andy's fatherless life (anybody else notice that?) that makes Toy Story 3 feel vaguely like a funeral. Like, a really SAD funeral.

And while I'm tempted to say Pixar went too far with this (my complete disbelief of the climactic scene was eclipsed when I was JUST able to choke down a torrent of tears over the *gotcha* ending), there's something a little bit healthy about remembering that permanence is an illusion.

Inevitably, all good things must come to an end. As Mr. Darling says of his children to Nana in the Disney version of Peter Pan, "They're not puppies, they're people. And sooner or later, Nana, people have to grow up."


*SPOILER ALERT*


At the beginning of the film, Andy has decided to put all his favorite old toys in the attic. Unfortunately, through a terrible mix-up, they wind up on the curb and narrowly miss being consumed by the monstrous garbage truck.

Woody, who is the only one to have missed this episode, tries to convince the other toys of Andy's steadfast love.

"Oh yeah?" says Jessie the cowgirl, "If Andy really LOVES us SO MUCH, how come he just THREW US AWAY?"

"Yeah, I know it LOOKS bad," says Woody, "But I promise Andy wants to SAVE us."

"No, Woody. It's over. We're LEAVING."

In the same way that this movie, perhaps unwittingly, wound up being one of my favorite film examples of what happens when we fall into temptation and the frightening consequences of opening doors we KNOW should remain closed, Toy Story 3--somehow or other--is a story about faithfulness.

Sure, the Andy=God, toys=humanity metaphor isn't ENTIRELY consistent (So is Bonnie the Holy Spirit?), but when it's on... golly bob-howdy. It yanked a couple of tears out of these baby blues.

Consider the toys arrival at Sunnyside Daycare. During their tour of this supposed paradise, Lotso the Bear explains to them that, "Here WE are masters of our destiny." They are free from questioning the whims of their fickle masters--THEY are in charge.

"Andy doesn't love you. Children never REALLY love their toys."

And though they are presented with an opportunity to escape and return to their master, the gang is convinced. Andy can't be trusted. This is their home now.

However, it quickly becomes apparent that Buzz and Jessie and the gang's decision to stay on in this new "paradise" was the wrong one. The promises of this world are revealed to be a lie. As one of the Sunnyside old-timers observes, our Toy Story friends "won't last a week" before they are completely savaged by the daycare toddlers and thrown into the dumpster.

Suddenly, a battered Mrs. Potato Head (whose other eye was lost in Andy's room at the beginning of the film) receives a vision. She sees Andy through her lost eye.

"It's Andy!" she cries. "He looks upset. Why--He's LOOKING for us!" (cue tears)

The reality of the situation slams them like a hyperactive one-year-old. The filthy, battered toys, doubting the goodness faithfulness of their owner, have willfully walked into a prison of their own choosing.

As I mentioned before, I almost question the tastefulness of the final climactic set piece--it's a bit TOO shocking--but when salvation comes, well. It's a pretty freakin' vivid example of what happens to us when WE obtain salvation. Plucked out of a sinking world...

Sorry. I can't help but see these things. I'll let you watch the rest of the movie yourself. Just bring a couple of hankies.