But that was never deterred, as they reworked the film from scratch, steering it closer to the vision THEY saw as best for the film, and in 1995, their hard work paid off, as their debut feature became a smash hit with audiences, soon forming one of the most beloved franchises of all time. As Pixar has evolved, however, it's easy to take for granted just what an achievement this movie was. I know I've taken it for granted, but upon revisiting it, there's just no denying what a magnificent movie this is, and through sheer virtue of its power, it still remains superior to every imitator that comes its way.
Sheriff doll Woody (Tom Hanks) is the favorite toy of young boy Andy (John Morris), operating as patriarch and voice of reason to the other toys of Andy's room (including Don Rickle's Mr. Potato Head, Jim Varney's Slinky Dog, and Wallace Shawn's Rex), and feeling generally comfortable with his position. But when flashier space toy Buzz Lightyear of Star Command (Tim Allen) arrives, convinced he is the actual Lightyear, Woody gradually grows more jealous as he's pushed aside. After getting themselves lost amidst infighting, and finding themselves captives of neighbor Sid (Erik von Detten), the two will have to work together to make it back to Andy before he moves, and find common ground to forge a friendship.
It'd be easy enough to give the film all due credit for its technical achievement. With computer animation on the rise, but still finding its footing following Jurassic Park, the feat that the animation team at Pixar pulled off is no easy one. While slightly dated by today's standards, including and especially for much of the "organic" models, it's remarkable just how well the visual look of the film has held up over twenty years later. The toys in particular still look incredibly impressive to this day, built to host a wide range of expressive physical attributes, notably their varied and often hilarious facial ticks (Woody's stoic blink at Buzz "choking" for life will never not be funny), and has such a beautiful array of color throughout.
Even with such an intimate focus, the scale of the film is incredible. With most of the film shot at about 6 inches off the ground, it's impressive just how massive they manage to make the perspective of a toy feel, wherein so many minor and insignificant environments to a human's eyes, can feel imposing and dangerous to that of an action figure. Sid's dog Scud probably feels like a non-issue to human eyes, but from our plasticine height, that dog feels absolutely terrifying. This atmosphere is further emphasized by Gary Rydstrom's sound work, where most of the sights and sounds make use of a heightened reverb and bass, to make them feel larger than life and intimidating.
But impressive as that achievement is, it wouldn't have been anything if not for a well matched story. Audiences may have flocked to Toy Story because of the animation, but they stayed for the story and the characters. Honestly, the animation almost feels like an afterthought next to the writing. The beauty is that despite the scale, at the end of the day it's a very intimate, relatable sibling rivalry story.
Starting off with our main character Woody, the level-headed voice of reason and guiding light for the other toys, forced to come to grips with the natural ebb and flow of attention offered by his child owner. Having been the favorite for a long time, he's grown increasingly comfortable with the alpha position handed to him, to the point that when he feels he's starting to lose it, we gradually see how his superiority complex has affected him. At first he's not a gracious loser, intending to keep his position by any means necessary, which directly jumpstarts the main conflict of the film, and so a huge component of his arc is in overcoming the power that's gone to his head. But it's absolutely vital that even in those stretches of the film, he still remains a likable protagonist, and the film achieves that with flying colors. Thanks largely to Tom Hanks' warm and invisible voiceover, there's never a moment where we aren't rooting for Woody, or that he feels cynical for the things he does. If not condoning his bad decisions along the way, he's still so affable that we want to see him make up for the things he did, and make it home at the end of the day.
As for the towering force that upsets his natural order, Buzz Lightyear is both a figure of flashy savoir faire, balanced out by some occasionally tragic comedy. Existing in the form of a toy feels to be one of existential confusion in this world, as while the other toys are fully aware of their purpose for existing, Buzz is completely oblivious to the fact that his Star Command fantasy is simply that: a fantasy. As such, a great deal of comedy is mined from how seriously he takes his status, but as the second half takes shape, and his true heritage takes center stage, it also becomes heartbreaking to see him confront his identity, and almost lose his reason for being because of it. But the character's humor and innate sincerity helps carry him through, even at his most self-pitying sucking down Darjeeling as Mrs. Nesbitt, and with Tim Allen giving it his all in a terrific double act with Hanks, it makes him an endearing figure to watch.
Through the movie, that budding friendship becomes a huge beating heart. The notion of cowboys being usurped by spacemen becomes more than just a hilarious anecdote, as well as a slight satirical jab at the ebb and flow of fads, specifically those targeted towards children, but its old vs new match up speaks to a much greater meditation of fear of neglect and abandonment. Whether by a best friend gravitating towards new faces, or the fear of parents showing more affection for younger siblings, that fear of losing those things closest to us, and the inadequacy we feel because of that, aren't danced around, but confronted in all their unpleasant detail. Of course, the film mines some great comedy out of that competition - perhaps in part to co-writer Joss Whedon's contributions, but it never downplays or over simplifies those topics, and holds on to a genuine emotional center.
Anyone can feel inadequate next to the shiny new thing, but just because a new face comes in to take some focus, doesn't mean that those already established bonds have to end. In fact, by embracing that wider social circle, it can actually be more fulfilling. I suppose that's why we gravitate so much to our toys as children, not simply because of how fun and imaginative they can be, but because they can offer us a sense of escapism, and become an effective tool to shape us into the individuals we become.
Now, that doesn't always mean we're so kind to our toys, as while Andy feels representative of the toy lovers that we are as an adult, Sid feels much closer to the toy lover we actually are as a kid. (Admit it. You either knew a kid like him, or you were a kid like him.) But it can still be effective in our development. We may not realize it, but those can be some of our most cherished memories, and that childlike innocence brought to the film is infectious to behold.
Elsewhere, we also have some other great characters and voice actors, with some of the scene stealing bits belonging to the late Don Rickles as Mr. Potato Head with his hilarious quips and confrontational attitude. We also have the late Jim Varney as the optimistic, but perhaps naively loyal Slinky Dog, Wallace Shawn as the not so fearsome Rex, and Pixar staple John Ratzenberger as the overly observant and candid Hamm.
We also have some wonderful musical contributions from Randy Newman, bringing an old-fashioned and playful spirit to his accompanying score, and a number of instantly recognizable melodies, particularly those borrowed from his original songs, which become great defining storytelling tools, especially the amazing "You've Got a Friend in Me" that I dare anyone not to love.
So while Pixar eventually went on to hone their craft as a filmmaking force, it's no surprise why a great number of people still consider this to be one of their greatest - if not their greatest achievement. If it were just a cheap technical novelty, I highly doubt it would have stayed in the public consciousness this long, but that assured vision and sense of storytelling is a huge reason it's endured where other imitators have sunk.
Even at a slim and compact 80 minutes, this movie doesn't feel hasty or bloated, and revisiting it in all its glory made me realize what a perfect movie it is. As innovative and progressive to computer animation as Snow White was to hand-drawn, but also more fully defined as a story. It's a movie that's downright impossible not to enjoy on at least some level, and even being so intently familiar with it by this point, it can still feel as surprising or as rousing as it was to see Buzz and Woody soaring in the sky for the first time.
And it truly does fly: "To infinity and beyond!"
***** / *****
Next week, the toys are back in town in Toy Story 2.
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