Upon its announcement, Toy Story 5 was filed under my list of “Oh wow, they’re doing another one. That’s cool,” movies.
Truth be told, I’d yet to even see Toy Story 4. Mainly out of protest. Not because I was taking some grand stand against computer animation, but because I thought the sequelization of every successful movie franchise needed to stop. Thus, my own little boycott began. I felt that Toy Story, Toy Story 2, and Toy Story 3 occupied a very rarefied place in cinema: a perfect trilogy.
In my estimation, there’s only been one other truly perfect trilogy in the history of movies, and that’s the Back to the Future trilogy. Some could certainly make an argument for the original Star Wars trilogy or the first three Indiana Jones films, but I could make arguments against those in another article.
Still, I felt it was my professional responsibility to go see Toy Story 5. That meant breaking my boycott and finally watching Toy Story 4. Entering the theater last weekend, I was fully caught up on where Woody, Buzz, Jessie, and the gang all were, and I was ready to jump into the latest adventure.
With that lengthy preamble aside, allow me to first say this: Toy Story 5 is lovely.
It’s a thoroughly enjoyable movie with a simple story laid out before the audience. Some of the publicity might have you believe it’s a movie about raising a generation of tablet toddlers who have become addicted to screens. While that’s certainly one of the film’s central ideas, it isn’t really what the movie is about. At its heart, Toy Story 5 is about embracing childhood while you still have it. The toys remain emblematic of what adolescence should be—having fun, being carefree, using your imagination, and spending time playing with your friends.
We experience that message largely through Jessie, who serves as the emotional centerpiece of the film. Once again, she’s confronted with the fear that she’s been left behind. Having already belonged to previous children, Jessie begins wondering whether her purpose has simply expired. Like many of us, she questions her own worth after feeling forgotten.
Then comes the emotional payoff.
Jessie discovers that the little girl who once loved her grew up, had a daughter of her own, and named that little girl Jessie. Forgive the spoiler, but it’s the moment that unlocks the entire emotional core of the film. Jessie realizes she wasn’t left behind at all. She simply completed her job.
Toys are much like teachers. Every school year, a teacher receives a brand-new classroom full of students. The children from the year before weren’t abandoned; they simply graduated. They moved on to the next chapter of their lives because that teacher had already given them exactly what they needed. Jessie comes to understand that being passed along to another child isn’t rejection—it’s purpose fulfilled.
The film also explores how technology has increasingly become intertwined with childhood and asks whether that technology has begun curbing children’s creativity and imagination rather than encouraging it.
That idea lingers throughout much of the film before we’re introduced to a trio of technological characters, including Conan O’Brien’s hilarious Smarty Pants, an outdated digital camera, and an aging GPS unit. Together, they represent the endless cycle of technological trends. Every generation has its newest gadget that promises to change everything, only to become obsolete a few years later. The toys, however, endure because imagination never becomes outdated.
Some of the movie’s most charming moments come when Bonnie creates elaborate adventures using nothing but her toys. One minute she’s imagining Jessie and Buzz getting married. The next she’s constructing a full-blown murder mystery starring everyone in the toy box. Those scenes beautifully remind us what childhood looks like when imagination is allowed to flourish. The technology might capture Bonnie’s attention for a little while, but the toys continue to capture her heart.
The movie also quietly becomes a commentary on parenting. Without ever sounding preachy, it asks parents to consider how much of childhood they’re allowing screens to occupy. It even touches on online bullying and the impact digital spaces can have on children at increasingly younger ages. Like the best Toy Story films, though, it refuses to paint its conflict in simple black-and-white terms.
Lily Pad, the film’s antagonist, eventually recognizes the unintended harm she’s caused and attempts to remove herself entirely from Bonnie’s life. Instead, Woody, Buzz, Jessie, and the gang invite her back, recognizing that technology isn’t the enemy. It simply has to coexist with imagination rather than replace it. It’s a surprisingly thoughtful conclusion that feels honest instead of heavy-handed.
I have to give Pixar credit. This is a franchise that continues to find meaningful stories to tell without diminishing what came before. Does Toy Story 5 reach the emotional heights of Toy Story 3? No, but that’s an incredibly high standard considering Toy Story 3 is about as close to a perfect animated film as we’ve ever gotten.
What Toy Story 5 does accomplish is earning its place within one of the greatest animated franchises ever created. Children will get completely lost in its adventure, while adults will leave the theater with quite a bit to think about on the drive home.
That’s about all you can ask from a Toy Story movie.
