Post by Goats on Dec 21, 2010 19:47:07 GMT -5
Toy Story
What's Toy Story really about, if not childhood joy? You might have missed it, if you're one of those "young-at-heart" geeks who hate when parents gush over their larvae, who avoid kids like they're ticks with Lyme disease, and/or who inexplicably complain about sharing a Pixar screening with its target audience. The fact is, Toy Story movies are about parental angst. Full stop. That's what drives them - moms and dads fretting that Junior doesn't think they're cool anymore. The first film put reasonable effort toward embedding the theme inside its whimsical premise. The second film pretty much dick-slapped us with a middle-age identity crisis. With Toy Story 3, Pixar gave us an empty-nest Dirty Sanchez and then held out its ring so we could kiss it. (And you did, too. Don't even pretend you didn't.)
Fine, that's obvious to the rest of us. What people often miss, though, are the specific thematic statements that the movies make. We're talking about the original Toy Story here, so let's dive in and examine Pixar 1995's view on parental issues.
Pop quiz: What's missing in Andy's life? Answer: a father. That's because Woody is the father figure, the coolest guy in the child's whole world. (It's also because father issues are every screenwriter's security blanket, but that's a snark for another day.) The story is about a father whose son no longer thinks he's the niftiest bloke on the block. He's old and worn, the interloper is new and glamorous, they clash, blah blah blah. Okay, that's a workable setup. Though perhaps it bears observing that during their rivalry, neither of these self-absorbed goobs really cares about what Andy thinks. In fact, despite all Woody's lip service, they both literally clam up and stop talking if he so much as enters the room. Emotional distance is a required element in daddy dramas, you see. But I'm not going to dwell on the kid.
I'm more interested in Mom.
There's some freaky subtext going on here. What sort of father is Woody supposed to represent? Is he still metaphorically married to Mom? If so, does that mean Buzz is horning in on Dad's turf? Is Mom's eye wandering toward a younger man? She's the one who pulls Buzz out of the closet, after all, and presents him to her son. And then Buzz usurps Woody's "spot on the bed." Oh dear. No, Mother, you'll wreck the family!
Or maybe Woody represents a father who's divorced and living in a different house (hence never interacting with Mom). Does that make Buzz Mom's new beau? And Woody is trying to get rid of his son's potential stepfather? Either way it's a pretty ugly scenario. I keep picturing Mom as a dolled-up cougar seducing some young turk prettyboy. He's brimming with good looks and gadgets and he makes her feel young, but his clue tank sits on Empty. I'm also guessing her wine humidor is well-stocked of late, and why not; her new lover's a space cadet and Andy's father is a controlling, vindictive jerkoff who can't stand the thought of another man actually mattering to the boy.
That's not even getting into the subtext of Mom replacing Woody, with his floppy physique and empty holster, with battery-powered Buzz. I'm not going there. I do have some pride, packed away in a box someplace.
So the two father figures compete like selfish idiots through the first half of the movie. Eventually they get sucked into one of Buzz's immature fantasies, which lands them at Sid's house. Let's examine Sid's house, shall we?
Sid's an intelligent, imaginative boy several years older than Andy. His little sister is several years older than Andy's little sister. There's a mother we never see. And there's a dad. The setup is pretty clear - this is Andy's life a couple of years later, after Buzz's childish fantasy worldview wins out. (There's even an adult dog to match the puppy Andy gets at the end of the film.) But something's gone horribly wrong. Andy's now a sadistic, probably neglected little bastard. Dad (Buzz) is a lazy slob watching kids' TV and sleeping in the middle of the day. This is not a happy-fantasy household. This is the point at which Buzz realizes how naive he's been all along, and even more humiliating, when he tries to fly back to his Space Ranger delusion, he winds up domesticated and emasculated as "Mrs. Nesbit."
Dang, that's some grim pickin's for a kid movie. Who am I supposed to root for here? Buzz, who's destined to ruin Andy's life, or Woody, whose selfish insecurity started the whole mess? Lasseter solves the dilemma when both men renounce their psychological weaknesses and work together to escape this terrible fate. Or rather Woody works to escape it, because Buzz can't. He's duct-taped to his destiny. And it's going to kill him. Man, let's just call it: Buzz Lightyear is one pathetic character.
Luckily Woody understands how this father thing works. He accepts and dignifies the horrible creations of his son's immature imagination. This allows them to escape a miserable life - the horrible creation of Buzz's immature imagination. Because dreams are for kids, you see. Adults only ruin things by dreaming.
Ahh, doesn't Pixar make you feel young again?
I can't wrap up my commentary on Toy Story without mentioning the famous enduring question: What exactly are the rules about toys interacting with humans? The movie would have us believe that toys voluntarily stop animating when people are around. That's why Woody and the mutants were able to chase off Sid, right, because they chose to break the rules? But I don't buy it. For one thing Buzz doesn't know he's a toy, yet he still collapses on cue. More compellingly, even imminent death is not enough to motivate a toy to break character. This is borne out several times during the film. Based on the evidence, I'm convinced it's an entirely involuntary phenomenon.
So how do we explain the scene where animated toys scare away Sid? That's an interesting question. Look at it from the toys' perspective. Any time a human can see them, they lose all bodily control. They have no choice; it's biological. Now put yourself in Woody's position as Buzz awaits his gruesome execution. Woody blames himself, but there's not a damn thing he can do to stop it. He'll never give up though, even when he's already failed. His mind races so fast that the wheels come off. He concocts a plan that hinges on something flat-out impossible – animating in the presence of a human. As he thinks it through, he realizes it will only work if escaping the house, a goal so unattainable moments before, suddenly becomes quick work. But none of that matters now. If the only plan left is utterly insane, why he'll just go insane. So he does.
Yes, the end of the movie is "An Occurrence At Owl Creek Bridge." It's Brazil performed by plastic toys. It's Woody's mad refusal to accept the inevitable. Remember that the next time you see the final scene, with Woody and Buzz and the gang gathered on that idyllic Christmas morning. When Andy yells "A puppy!" on the baby monitor, maybe it's a David Lynch-style reconnection to the awful real world. Maybe Woody and Buzz's sheepish grins are the final crack in the merciful delusion. Maybe it's a gift that we cut to black right then, and not two seconds later when reality snaps back into place with a *bang*.
Merry Christmas!
What's Toy Story really about, if not childhood joy? You might have missed it, if you're one of those "young-at-heart" geeks who hate when parents gush over their larvae, who avoid kids like they're ticks with Lyme disease, and/or who inexplicably complain about sharing a Pixar screening with its target audience. The fact is, Toy Story movies are about parental angst. Full stop. That's what drives them - moms and dads fretting that Junior doesn't think they're cool anymore. The first film put reasonable effort toward embedding the theme inside its whimsical premise. The second film pretty much dick-slapped us with a middle-age identity crisis. With Toy Story 3, Pixar gave us an empty-nest Dirty Sanchez and then held out its ring so we could kiss it. (And you did, too. Don't even pretend you didn't.)
Fine, that's obvious to the rest of us. What people often miss, though, are the specific thematic statements that the movies make. We're talking about the original Toy Story here, so let's dive in and examine Pixar 1995's view on parental issues.
Pop quiz: What's missing in Andy's life? Answer: a father. That's because Woody is the father figure, the coolest guy in the child's whole world. (It's also because father issues are every screenwriter's security blanket, but that's a snark for another day.) The story is about a father whose son no longer thinks he's the niftiest bloke on the block. He's old and worn, the interloper is new and glamorous, they clash, blah blah blah. Okay, that's a workable setup. Though perhaps it bears observing that during their rivalry, neither of these self-absorbed goobs really cares about what Andy thinks. In fact, despite all Woody's lip service, they both literally clam up and stop talking if he so much as enters the room. Emotional distance is a required element in daddy dramas, you see. But I'm not going to dwell on the kid.
I'm more interested in Mom.
There's some freaky subtext going on here. What sort of father is Woody supposed to represent? Is he still metaphorically married to Mom? If so, does that mean Buzz is horning in on Dad's turf? Is Mom's eye wandering toward a younger man? She's the one who pulls Buzz out of the closet, after all, and presents him to her son. And then Buzz usurps Woody's "spot on the bed." Oh dear. No, Mother, you'll wreck the family!
Or maybe Woody represents a father who's divorced and living in a different house (hence never interacting with Mom). Does that make Buzz Mom's new beau? And Woody is trying to get rid of his son's potential stepfather? Either way it's a pretty ugly scenario. I keep picturing Mom as a dolled-up cougar seducing some young turk prettyboy. He's brimming with good looks and gadgets and he makes her feel young, but his clue tank sits on Empty. I'm also guessing her wine humidor is well-stocked of late, and why not; her new lover's a space cadet and Andy's father is a controlling, vindictive jerkoff who can't stand the thought of another man actually mattering to the boy.
That's not even getting into the subtext of Mom replacing Woody, with his floppy physique and empty holster, with battery-powered Buzz. I'm not going there. I do have some pride, packed away in a box someplace.
So the two father figures compete like selfish idiots through the first half of the movie. Eventually they get sucked into one of Buzz's immature fantasies, which lands them at Sid's house. Let's examine Sid's house, shall we?
Sid's an intelligent, imaginative boy several years older than Andy. His little sister is several years older than Andy's little sister. There's a mother we never see. And there's a dad. The setup is pretty clear - this is Andy's life a couple of years later, after Buzz's childish fantasy worldview wins out. (There's even an adult dog to match the puppy Andy gets at the end of the film.) But something's gone horribly wrong. Andy's now a sadistic, probably neglected little bastard. Dad (Buzz) is a lazy slob watching kids' TV and sleeping in the middle of the day. This is not a happy-fantasy household. This is the point at which Buzz realizes how naive he's been all along, and even more humiliating, when he tries to fly back to his Space Ranger delusion, he winds up domesticated and emasculated as "Mrs. Nesbit."
Dang, that's some grim pickin's for a kid movie. Who am I supposed to root for here? Buzz, who's destined to ruin Andy's life, or Woody, whose selfish insecurity started the whole mess? Lasseter solves the dilemma when both men renounce their psychological weaknesses and work together to escape this terrible fate. Or rather Woody works to escape it, because Buzz can't. He's duct-taped to his destiny. And it's going to kill him. Man, let's just call it: Buzz Lightyear is one pathetic character.
Luckily Woody understands how this father thing works. He accepts and dignifies the horrible creations of his son's immature imagination. This allows them to escape a miserable life - the horrible creation of Buzz's immature imagination. Because dreams are for kids, you see. Adults only ruin things by dreaming.
Ahh, doesn't Pixar make you feel young again?
I can't wrap up my commentary on Toy Story without mentioning the famous enduring question: What exactly are the rules about toys interacting with humans? The movie would have us believe that toys voluntarily stop animating when people are around. That's why Woody and the mutants were able to chase off Sid, right, because they chose to break the rules? But I don't buy it. For one thing Buzz doesn't know he's a toy, yet he still collapses on cue. More compellingly, even imminent death is not enough to motivate a toy to break character. This is borne out several times during the film. Based on the evidence, I'm convinced it's an entirely involuntary phenomenon.
So how do we explain the scene where animated toys scare away Sid? That's an interesting question. Look at it from the toys' perspective. Any time a human can see them, they lose all bodily control. They have no choice; it's biological. Now put yourself in Woody's position as Buzz awaits his gruesome execution. Woody blames himself, but there's not a damn thing he can do to stop it. He'll never give up though, even when he's already failed. His mind races so fast that the wheels come off. He concocts a plan that hinges on something flat-out impossible – animating in the presence of a human. As he thinks it through, he realizes it will only work if escaping the house, a goal so unattainable moments before, suddenly becomes quick work. But none of that matters now. If the only plan left is utterly insane, why he'll just go insane. So he does.
Yes, the end of the movie is "An Occurrence At Owl Creek Bridge." It's Brazil performed by plastic toys. It's Woody's mad refusal to accept the inevitable. Remember that the next time you see the final scene, with Woody and Buzz and the gang gathered on that idyllic Christmas morning. When Andy yells "A puppy!" on the baby monitor, maybe it's a David Lynch-style reconnection to the awful real world. Maybe Woody and Buzz's sheepish grins are the final crack in the merciful delusion. Maybe it's a gift that we cut to black right then, and not two seconds later when reality snaps back into place with a *bang*.
Merry Christmas!
