Instead of toys = kids, and kids = masters—i.e. parents—I think it’s exactly the opposite: kids = kids, and toys = parents—in the sense that their function is to love the kids unconditionally, to suffer all indignities with patience, to be there when the kids need them and to give way graciously when that’s no longer the case.

I think, in watching the films, kids don’t want to be Woody—they just wish they had one just like him (brilliant for merchandising purposes, obv—the characters come pre-commodified!). I would argue, therefore, that the films are an exercise in empathy, rather than a vicarious acting-out.

(MONSTERS INC. does much the same thing—inviting the audience to identify with characters who are fundamentally unlike themselves; familiar figures, but on the other side of the power divide. Or imagine a school story, written for kids but told from the POV of a teacher.)

That’s why Woody’s “revenge” near the end of 1 was so off-note and terrifying; Woody becomes, suddenly, the threatening drunken Dad, and there is no place of safety (”We’re always watching you, Sid…”)

Oh, I don’t think you’re out on a limb at all. The first film, in particular, functions as a theist parable par excellence, and you’re surely not the first to think it.

What astonishes me is that some nitwits seem to think that TOY STORY presents an atheist viewpoint:

Woody is acutely aware that he’s just a toy. Buzz, on the other hand, thinks he’s really a hot-shot astronaut superhero. When Buzz and Woody are kidnapped by a next door neighbor, it’s up to Woody to strip away Buzz’s “metaphysical aspirations” …

Which might be clever, were it not for the fact the shattering truth that Buzz discovers (and that Woody already knows) is that they are not alone—that they are beloved of and protected by, that they serve and are served by, that are created to love and to be loved by, a huge and powerful entity: and that all their illusory activities in this world are vain and pointless and that the way to true fulfillment is to surrender oneself to the service and trust of this benevolent entity…

But I am probably reaching a bit there. My actual dislike of Jessie’s song is its over-sentimentality, it beats to death a theme which I already got from its well written script.

You’re right about the issues of change and lack of permanence in the films, and they are pretty well tackled themes. However the creative play aspect does bug me, because it is in the end what Sid the neighbour is demonised for. Perhaps there is a fine line between breaking / destroying something and creative play - but Sid just seems cleverer, more interesting despite his own merciless bullying from his sister. Perhaps he is “taking it out” on the toys, but then he doesn’t know they are alive!

Apologies for lack of clarity, I have always felt uneasy about these two films (despite loving them) and it is an disquiet I have as yet not found an adequate way to express. It may just be that I hate Randy Newman!

I don’t know where you get the notion that the films are saying that the relationship between the kids and the toys must stay static and unchanging and strictly codified (i.e., they must be played with “properly”)—most of the screen time is spent by the toys trying to adjust to a changing status quo—resisting and denying, but in the end giving way gracefully.

It’s much more explicit in 2 than in 1, I’ll give you that; but I think 2 is the better film for it.

I’m sorry, Pete, but your reading of the films—from what I can glean, because you’re not laying it out particularly clearly*—seems to me a spectacular case of Missing The Point.

From the start, the TOY STORY movies were about transience—the new displacing the old. It’s a tight thematic weave, and it shows up everywhere, from the first scene of 1—where the toys are dreading Andy’s birthday party and the arrival of new toys—to the last line of 2 (”It was fun while it lasted”). Buzz displaces Woody as favorite; the family moves house; the puppy displaces the baby in the interim between movies; “Woody’s Roundup” gives way to science fiction in the wake of Sputnik; et bleedin’ cetera.

The movies work on a lot of levels, but they’re very fundamentally parables about the inevitability of change, and the importance of accepting same and defining for yourself a new place in the new landscape. That accounts, I think, for their resonance with children across a wide range of ages—who recognize themselves at various spots along a continuum of change and growth—as well as with parents, who are navigating their own shifting relationships with their kids.

My oldest is in early adolescence, and mingled with the pride of seeing her grow into a sharp, funny, creative young woman there’s a pang of loss for the direct, uncomplicated love of childhood. But things change. It’s the most fundamental truth, but also the hardest to accept. The TOY STORY movies don’t flinch from that, and that’s why, to my thinking, they’re miles better than any of the other Pixar movies, with their facile, easy-to-swallow “family is great” / “believe in yourself” messages.**

* Be it noted I haven’t yet finished listening to the ep of Lollards in question—you may lay it out in more detail there; there may be a follow-up post once I’ve digested your point.

** except possibly THE INCREDIBLES, which I find both hugely entertaining and politically problematic; while it’s the match of TOY STORY for emotional complexity, it’s also kind of repugnant.

This undercurrent of horror is one of the things I like the most about the Pixar movies, like the late scene in Finding Nemo which shows a completely confused Dory utterly lost without her friends. Or the moral in Monsters Inc that the true monster is the Businessman In His Suit And Tie. Particularly when he is also actually a monster.

* I am aware that you are not arguing against the last part of the sentence.

I agree about the appeal to parents with growing up children btw - i don’t think that needs much contending.