"I believe that a filmmaker's entire work is contained within his first film; not that it can all be foreseen, but that it can afterwards be verified." – Francois Truffaut (The Films In My Life)
Buzz Lightyear, a glossy action figure with a sexy sheen, is not a mere toy. He's a Space Ranger, tasked with protecting the universe from the evil Emperor Zurg! His life has meaning, he is unique, his existence has grand purpose!
Woody, a dated cowboy doll, thinks otherwise. He was once a youthful and exuberant toy, the favourite plaything of his owner Andy, but years of existence have shown him the truth: everyone is just a toy, soon to be forgotten and discarded. No one is unique. There is no grand purpose. No universe to save. Better to be a realist, seeing the world without its fake plastic facade and tacky ipod veneer.
Of course Buzz thinks Woody is just a crazy old timer. Doesn't Woody realise that Buzz is a genuine Space Ranger?! That he's a member of the Elite Universe Protection Unit! That he alone has information that reveals Emperor Zurg's weakness! That stupid fool!
Naturally, we the audience identify with Woody. Buzz seems like an idiot, brainwashed and in desperate need of identity and purpose. The Elite Universe Protection Unit merely elevates believers into a position of exaggerated importance. This is an idle fantasy, an other-worldly hope adopted by those who can't face the dour reality that is the "real world of toys".
Midway in the film, our heroes stumble across a horde of green alien toys. These aliens worship a giant claw, a mechanical God which they believe will descend and pluck the "chosen ones", taking them to some kind of toy heaven. In reality, the claw chooses only deluded souls, and offers them to the devilish Cid Phillips, a sadistic child who mutilates toys. "Nirvana is coming!" the aliens whisper, watching as the "chosen ones" are airlifted to their deaths.
Buzz Lightyear faces a similar scenario later in the film. Having witnessed a television commercial which advertises a vast range of Buzz Lightyear action figures, Buzz must confront the fact that he really is "just an ordinary toy" who "can not fly". "Flying" thus becomes a sort of Nietzschean metaphor, the ability to transcend the "flesh" (in this case, injection moulded plastic) and become "something more".
Buzz's first reaction upon seeing the commercial is to seek refuge in denial. "I am not a toy!" he says to himself, before climbing to the top of a staircase. Seeking to validate himself by flying, by defying the laws of toy-dom, he takes a giant jump – a literal leap of faith – and of course falls promptly to the ground. He can't fly.
Cue the fastest existential crisis ever seen in a children's film, Buzz Lightyear promptly falling into a deep depression, his faith completely destroyed. His entire existence was based on a lie, a social framework which indoctrinated him into believing that the fate of the whole universe depended on his actions. How can he continue living? Why do anything? What's the point? And more importantly, how the hell did this become a kid's franchise? It's like a demented cartoon by Philip K. Dick ("Do Plastic Toys Dream of Suicide Switches?").
Then comes the message of the film. Woody tells Buzz that being a Space Ranger doesn't define who he is. His value, status and worth can only be found within the community of toys, on ground level, and not "up in the skies". There is no purpose beyond ground zero and our importance lies solely in our ability to bring good to those immediately around us.
Buzz heeds Woody's words and quickly gets over his loss of faith. He stages a daring rescue mission, straps a rocket to his back and flies spectacularly in the air, his newfound love for the "greater good of his family" quite literally giving him wings.
In true Zarathustran fashion, Buzz becomes a pint sized Ubermensch figure, a superman who reaches for the sky but is then brought depressingly back down to Earth. If he would just lower his sights, Woody then says, Buzz would find enough reasons to live. Set free of the "moral code" imprinted on him by his makers, Buzz thus adopts a new code which, though it puts limits upon him, negating some of his wild ambitions and reducing him, in an existential sense, to a chunk of plastic, still allows for a Nietzschean war cry. This cry, which Buzz yells every time he jumps across that dark abyss, sums up humanity best: "To Infinity and Beyond!"
8.9/10 – With its revolutionary visuals, consistent humour, genuine sense of adventure, memorable characters, slick camera work and a couple action/adventure scenes worthy of George Lucas, "Toy Story" is a milestone in cinema, and one of the most influential animated films since "Snow White".
Most interesting, though, is in observing how Brad Bird reverses Lasseter's themes here with his first Pixar feature, "The Incredibles". Brad Bird seems to be the bad boy of Pixar, subverting them from within. Viva la Resistance. Worth multiple viewings.
Buzz Lightyear, a glossy action figure with a sexy sheen, is not a mere toy. He's a Space Ranger, tasked with protecting the universe from the evil Emperor Zurg! His life has meaning, he is unique, his existence has grand purpose!
Woody, a dated cowboy doll, thinks otherwise. He was once a youthful and exuberant toy, the favourite plaything of his owner Andy, but years of existence have shown him the truth: everyone is just a toy, soon to be forgotten and discarded. No one is unique. There is no grand purpose. No universe to save. Better to be a realist, seeing the world without its fake plastic facade and tacky ipod veneer.
Of course Buzz thinks Woody is just a crazy old timer. Doesn't Woody realise that Buzz is a genuine Space Ranger?! That he's a member of the Elite Universe Protection Unit! That he alone has information that reveals Emperor Zurg's weakness! That stupid fool!
Naturally, we the audience identify with Woody. Buzz seems like an idiot, brainwashed and in desperate need of identity and purpose. The Elite Universe Protection Unit merely elevates believers into a position of exaggerated importance. This is an idle fantasy, an other-worldly hope adopted by those who can't face the dour reality that is the "real world of toys".
Midway in the film, our heroes stumble across a horde of green alien toys. These aliens worship a giant claw, a mechanical God which they believe will descend and pluck the "chosen ones", taking them to some kind of toy heaven. In reality, the claw chooses only deluded souls, and offers them to the devilish Cid Phillips, a sadistic child who mutilates toys. "Nirvana is coming!" the aliens whisper, watching as the "chosen ones" are airlifted to their deaths.
Buzz Lightyear faces a similar scenario later in the film. Having witnessed a television commercial which advertises a vast range of Buzz Lightyear action figures, Buzz must confront the fact that he really is "just an ordinary toy" who "can not fly". "Flying" thus becomes a sort of Nietzschean metaphor, the ability to transcend the "flesh" (in this case, injection moulded plastic) and become "something more".
Buzz's first reaction upon seeing the commercial is to seek refuge in denial. "I am not a toy!" he says to himself, before climbing to the top of a staircase. Seeking to validate himself by flying, by defying the laws of toy-dom, he takes a giant jump – a literal leap of faith – and of course falls promptly to the ground. He can't fly.
Cue the fastest existential crisis ever seen in a children's film, Buzz Lightyear promptly falling into a deep depression, his faith completely destroyed. His entire existence was based on a lie, a social framework which indoctrinated him into believing that the fate of the whole universe depended on his actions. How can he continue living? Why do anything? What's the point? And more importantly, how the hell did this become a kid's franchise? It's like a demented cartoon by Philip K. Dick ("Do Plastic Toys Dream of Suicide Switches?").
Then comes the message of the film. Woody tells Buzz that being a Space Ranger doesn't define who he is. His value, status and worth can only be found within the community of toys, on ground level, and not "up in the skies". There is no purpose beyond ground zero and our importance lies solely in our ability to bring good to those immediately around us.
Buzz heeds Woody's words and quickly gets over his loss of faith. He stages a daring rescue mission, straps a rocket to his back and flies spectacularly in the air, his newfound love for the "greater good of his family" quite literally giving him wings.
In true Zarathustran fashion, Buzz becomes a pint sized Ubermensch figure, a superman who reaches for the sky but is then brought depressingly back down to Earth. If he would just lower his sights, Woody then says, Buzz would find enough reasons to live. Set free of the "moral code" imprinted on him by his makers, Buzz thus adopts a new code which, though it puts limits upon him, negating some of his wild ambitions and reducing him, in an existential sense, to a chunk of plastic, still allows for a Nietzschean war cry. This cry, which Buzz yells every time he jumps across that dark abyss, sums up humanity best: "To Infinity and Beyond!"
8.9/10 – With its revolutionary visuals, consistent humour, genuine sense of adventure, memorable characters, slick camera work and a couple action/adventure scenes worthy of George Lucas, "Toy Story" is a milestone in cinema, and one of the most influential animated films since "Snow White".
Most interesting, though, is in observing how Brad Bird reverses Lasseter's themes here with his first Pixar feature, "The Incredibles". Brad Bird seems to be the bad boy of Pixar, subverting them from within. Viva la Resistance. Worth multiple viewings.