Toy Story 4

Cast: (voiced by) Tom Hanks, Tim Allen, Annie Potts, Tony Hale, Keegan-Michael Key, Jordan Peele, Madeleine McGraw, Christina Hendricks, Keanu Reeves, Ally Maki, Jay Hernandez, Lori Alan, Joan Cusack

Director: Josh Cooley

Writers: Stephany Folsom, Andrew Stanton

In the three films that made up its near-perfect trilogy, Toy Story told what was more or less a complete story about the life cycle of a sentient toy. What started off as a pretty cute idea (what if your toys came to life whenever you left the room?) grew into something richer and more compelling by virtue of having so many characters just teeming with personality, thoughts and feelings. Over the course of the years-long span of these three movies we’ve seen Woody and the gang confront such weighty themes as growth, identity, parenthood, trauma, abandonment, mortality and transient love. It concluded with a grown-up Andy passing the toys on to another child so that their calling in life, to belong to a child and be played with, may never come to an end. It is as moving and powerful an ending as any Pixar could have dreamed up and to say that it left me satisfied would be an understatement. Thus, when I heard that a fourth movie was on its way, my reaction was apprehension and dread. Why mess with something that already ended perfectly? Why not leave well enough alone? Where else can they even possibly go with the story? Perhaps it’s the desperate move of a once fresh and dynamic company that’s struggling to offer its audience something new (of the ten films Pixar has released since Toy Story 3, six have been sequels and prequels). If there is indeed some anxiety within Pixar about the fear of becoming obsolete, irrelevant and forgotten, they’ve baked it into the very DNA of this film.

After having spent three movies exploring the emotional challenges and harsh realities of life as a toy, an immortal life of child-like dependence and parent-like nurturing that inevitably ends in relinquishment, the fourth instalment takes things a step further by delving into the theme of their very existence. What does it actually mean to be a toy? Enter Forky, a plastic spork with googly eyes, pipe cleaner arms and popsicle stick feet brought to life by Bonnie’s imagination and desire for a friend at her new school. Forky’s defining trait as a character is his existential crisis. He was created for the sole purpose of becoming trash and keeps trying to break away from Bonnie and make for the nearest bin so that his purpose might be fulfilled. Woody however thwarts him at every turn. Forky is a toy now; he has been endowed with a consciousness and a soul by a five-year-old girl’s desperate need for a companion during a scary time in her life and Woody tries his darndest to press onto the panicky spork that it is now his duty to be there for her. Throughout this whole series all the toys we have met, both good and bad, have shared a single motivation compelling their actions at every point, the desire for a child’s love. Through Forky we are given the greatest illustration yet of how that love isn’t just what these toys yearn and strive for, it is essentially what gives them life.

That desire to be loved carries with it a desire to be needed and since being given away by Andy to Bonnie, Woody has found himself relegated to the sidelines. He clearly cares for the kid and is as determined as ever to look out for his friends, but his heroics and leadership aren’t really called for in this safe, cushy gig that they’ve landed and he’s no longer the playtime favourite. Jessie is now Bonnie’s sheriff of choice; the old cowboy tends to be left stranded in the closet most days. When Woody elects himself to join the shy, nervous Bonnie on her first day at kindergarten, it’s like he’s a grandparent intervening in his granddaughter’s life in some minor, nominal way because he misses having a small child depend on him. He means well, but it’s still more about making himself feel useful than it is about helping Bonnie. Woody is essentially a weathered old hand on the verge of retirement and he’s simply not ready to be discarded and forgotten (a fate that befalls every toy sooner or later). For an immortal being, this is as close to death as it gets short of being incinerated (as they all very nearly were in Toy Story 3). Thus, with Forky’s creation, Woody finds some purpose for himself as the self-appointed guardian of Bonnie’s new favourite but even that can only keep him busy for so long. When Woody is later reunited with Bo Peep, whose departure we see in the opening scene, and learns of the life she’s built for herself since, it’s then that he starts to wonder whether there is more to being a toy than having a kid’s name written on the sole of your foot.

It’s a tough question that Woody struggles to answer because he and so many of the other toys he’s encountered over the years have been conditioned to believe that a toy’s existence is meaningless without the love of a child. The dark side of this desire is presented in Gabby Gabby, a 1950s pullstring doll hidden away in an antiques shop. Her voicebox is broken, a manufacturing defect, and so she was rejected and stored away, left to sit and gather dust for all these decades. It’s a cruel lesson that the Toy Story films taught us before back when Woody tore his arm in the second film, that the adolescent love and adoration these toys all crave is conditional. Since no child wants to play with a pullstring doll that cannot speak, Gabby sets her sights on Woody’s voicebox when he Forky happen to wander into the shop in search of a friend. What makes Gabby a great antagonist (apart from being voiced by Christina Hendricks) is that she isn’t an outright villain in the way that Sid and Lotso were. She isn’t in herself a bad person but the years of neglect she’s suffered and the harsh belief that only true perfection will make her worthy of the affection she so despondently pines for compels her to act out in harmful ways. In meeting her Woody is treated to a dark reflection, a warning of who he might become if he allows his desire to be needed to consume him.

All of this talk about existential crises, moral dilemmas and empty futures makes Toy Story 4 sound like it could have been directed by David Lynch or Werner Herzog (either of which, incidentally, I would absolutely love to see happen). I should therefore take this chance to stress that the movie is in fact a delight to watch in all the ways Toy Story has always been. The movie is a visual splendour from beginning to end, not only in the wonderful designs it conjures up from the dark, sinister antiques shop that Gabby dominates with her ventriloquist dummy stooges (the scariest things in the film) to the colourfully resplendent fairground just across the road or in the seamless fluidity of the movements and action but also in the character animation. So many of the film’s most touching moments hit all the harder because the animators always know the exact right expression to go for to complement the performance, just as writers Stanton and Folsom and director Cooley know when to stop for a moment so that the audience has some time to take it in. Pixar remains one of the modern masters of visual storytelling and Toy Story 4 is yet another testament to them. The movie is also incredibly funny, thanks in no small part to the inclusion of such new characters as a pair of conjoined plush dolls voiced by Keegan Michael-Key and Jordan Peele and a Canadian Evel Knievel knock-off as voiced by Keanu Reeves.

It shouldn’t be possible for a movie to be this funny and entertaining while still being this loaded with philosophy and metaphor and yet Toy Story makes it look almost childishly simple. Part of the reason it works as well as it does is due to how freely flexible so much of the subtext is. The movie is loaded with images and ideas that can be a hundred different things to a hundred different people, all of whom can impart their own feelings onto the text of the film and read it all of their subtly different ways without the movie ever seeming like it’s at odds with itself. Woody is a character so rich in personality, history and mythology that he can be whichever character the individual viewer needs him to be. When Toy Story 3 came along nine years ago and delivered not only the perfect ending to its own story but also the ending that my seventeen-year-old self needed to see at that age, I was adamant that Pixar had no business revisiting this franchise and tarnishing its legacy. Having now watched Toy Story 4 I still believe that this is a movie that didn’t need to exist, but I’m glad that it does all the same. That the 1995 animated classic grew into such a magnificent blockbuster series and has against all odds proven itself capable of evolving and reinventing itself across generations is a feat worthy of celebration. Now please Pixar, for the love of God and all that is holy, stop making these films!



Finding Dory

Cast: Ellen DeGeneres, Albert Brooks, Hayden Rolence, Ed O’Neill, Kaitlin Olson, Ty Burrell, Diane Keaton, Eugene Levy

Director: Andrew Stanton

Writers: Andrew Stanton, Victoria Strouse

Pixar (and Disney in general for that matter) doesn’t have a great track record with non-Toy Story sequels and prequels. Neither Cars 2 nor Monsters University were able to attain that level of creativity, wonder and heart that usually makes Pixar’s movies so astonishing. Finding Nemo is such a movie. The tale of an anxious clownfish scouring the depths of the ocean in search of his son is one that captured my imagination and filled me with pure delight as a child. The film contains some of the best comedy in any Pixar movie, stunning animation, and a touching (if predictable) message about family and trust. Dory was easily the most entertaining character in the film with her scattered brain, idiosyncratic personality and perfectly cast voice. If a sequel did indeed have to be made, then putting her character at the helm was certainly a wise move.

One year after helping Marlin rescue Nemo, Dory accompanies Nemo’s class on a field trip when an incident triggers a memory of her parents. Realising that she has an actual family, she sets out to resume her search for them with her friends’ help. The only thing she remembers is that they lived at the Jewel of Morro Bay, so they venture there and find a Marine Life Institute. Dory is caught and taken into the Quarantine section where she meets a seven-legged octopus named Hank. He agrees to help Dory find the section of the Institute where she believes her parents might be found if she agrees to help sneak him onto a truck bound for an aquarium in Chicago. Meanwhile Marlin and Nemo need to find a way inside the Institute so that they can rescue Dory. As Dory gets closer to her home, she receives additional flashbacks that help to fill in the blanks over who her parents were and how she got separated from them.

My biggest worry going into this film was that it would end up being a “here we go again” type of sequel. I was afraid that this movie would merely set itself on following the same formula as the original and hitting the same beats without any real variance, resulting in a stale imitation. And that’s actually how it plays out for the first 10-15 minutes. Immediately after Dory, Marlin and Nemo set out on their adventure, they encounter a predatory squid and must avoid it, just like with the sharks, the anglerfish, and the jellyfish in the first movie. However, once the setting is moved to the Marine Life Institute, it becomes its own movie. The film places a strong emphasis on Dory’s personal struggle in the story, stressing the anxiety and frustration that come with Dory’s disability. There’s a good sequence where Dory is trying to navigate a maze of pipes and gets lost as she is unable to remember the directions she received just moments before. This insight into Dory’s inner-turmoil coupled with the flashbacks of her childhood allowed for a deep, personal investment in her journey.

The animation is also as stunning as ever. The character of Hank, the seven-legged octopus that can camouflage itself to its surroundings, allowed the Pixar team to have a field day with all of the shapes and colours at their disposal. The film was also able to experiment with new ideas as in one scene near the end where we see Dory following her own footprints (so to speak). The comedy is also pretty strong, in large part due to many of the new characters that are introduced. These include Destiny, a near-sighted whale shark, Becky, a clueless common loon, and also an incredibly lonely clam. The film certainly doesn’t lack for imagination in the kind of scenarios it is willing to conjure up, as in a bit in the climax that features a truck and Louis Armstrong. It is a bizarre, completely over the top scene but, what the hell, I went along with it. Once a movie has you properly engaged and invested, it’s amazing the kind of places you’ll be willing to follow it.

With Finding Dory Pixar has broken its sequel/prequel trend. While it’s not the equal of Finding Nemo, it succeeds splendidly as a movie on its own terms and delivers an adventure that is funny, exciting and moving all at once. Dory’s journey as a character is a compelling one and it broke my heart to see what an obstacle her short-term memory loss was to realising an objective that meant so very much to her. I re-watched Finding Nemo not long after seeing this film and saw the character in an entirely new light. Before I simply saw her as a potent source of comic relief. Now I see her as a layered and sympathetic character who is undergoing a great struggle, even when she isn’t realising it. If a sequel or a prequel can make me look at the original movie in an entirely new light, then it has definitely done something right. Finding Dory is a far better film that I dared to hope and is worthy of the Pixar name.