Life, Death and Toy Story

It was asserted to me that the reason the Toy Story series has performed so well is because it resonated so strongly with children who have grown up with that movie. However, the resonance with adult audiences disagrees with this. It is the emotional impact of the toys, especially Woody, that is a greater vehicle for “tugging at human” emotions, and not just childhood emotions. If this was just a nostalgic remembrance of playing make-believe with our action figures, it wouldn’t have nearly the same impact.

This is most significant in the first Toy Story, Woody is confronted with significant change in his life. His position of power and friendship is severely challenged by the arrival of the new kid on the block, Buzz Lightyear. Everything he has worked for, everything that he has done, his time and commitment to the betterment of his community are all cast aside for the newest flavor of the month. This is most obviously seen in Woody’s treatment by the other toys, which is more importantly (or even most importantly) a reflection of his treatment from Andy. He is obsolete, shut out, and cast aside. That’s a very real and very scary thought for adults. Most especially for adults who brought their kids to see this animated “kids” movie. Parents relate directly, and almost completely to Woody, who acts as a brilliant stand-in for their parent-child relationship. Eventually, something shiny, new, and “awesome” is going to come along and that child’s world, which revolved almost exclusively around their parent, is going to expand and shift. Once that happens, parents find themselves less and less the focus of involvement. This is equated, right or wrong, to the amount of love the child has, which is exactly how Woody sees himself, and why he tries to remove Buzz from the scene. When Woody is trying to console Buzz, he suddenly understands all of this, “As a matter of fact you're too cool. I mean, I mean what chance does a toy like me have against a Buzz Lightyear action figure? . . . Why would Andy ever want to play with me, when he's got you?” In place of Buzz’s name, we could just as easily insert “teenage friends” or “current pop band” or “girlfriend/boyfriend” and the realization is the same. But Woody actually already has the keys to the kingdom, he just didn’t use them before, when he said, “It doesn't matter how much we're played with. What matters is that we're here for Andy when he needs us. That's what we're made for.” Parents especially can empathize with both Woody’s diminished role, and his bit of impromptu wisdom that will take confronting his own crisis to understand.

Toy Story 2 and Toy Story 3 take our empathy through the course of life, where first Woody confronts his own mortality and the diminished role of not just himself, but of an ever decreasing circle of friends. This is heavily emphasize in the beginning of the Toy Story 3, where the toys go out of their way to make a phone call to Andy in the hopes that he might remember them and play with them. Worse than dying, for almost all parents, is the realization that you’ve been forgotten. Perhaps that’s what makes Toy Story 3 so dark, and at times very frightening. When we parallel what the toys are going through, how Woody has lost his romantic significant other Bo Peep, and pauses over her name, we adults also consider the loss of our own significant others. As the toys consider going into the attic for storage, with the hope that when Andy has kids they might be brought out again, we can see ourselves being wheeled into a retirement home, and only wheeled out to visit with the grandchildren. Even more frightening is the further parallel of an elderly care facility and Sunnyside, the name of which even sounds like one of those bright and cheery places in contrast to the horrors that go on there, real or imagined.

While the action and silliness of the toys flopping around on the screen is aimed at children, there are some extremely adult themes and issues taken into consideration and viewed at in frightening detail. From the initial joy of playing with our own children, to confronting the loss of loved ones and our own mortality, the Toy Story series really doesn’t pull any punches. That might be why I didn’t like/enjoy the third movie as much as the first two. The first two end with Woody and the gang back with Andy, happy and playing as if even the bad stuff was just a rough patch and all is well again. The third movie ends with Andy saying goodbye to his toys, and while they are certainly thrilled to be played with again, what they’ve gone through to get to this point is more than just a rough patch; they’ve lost Andy forever.

Being a parent has changed my world perspective, and when I consider the future for my sons, I also have to take into consideration the future for my own parents, as well as the future for myself as a parent. Right now, my oldest son (2 ½) loves and adores playing with me. But soon, like Woody and his friends, I’ll start being replaced by newer, shiny distractions, and my role in his life will steadily decrease. I can only hope, as all parents hope, that I will still be an important part of his life, no matter how small my role will eventually become.