Toy Story (1995)

The great Pixar review experiment begins with a look back at 1995's Toy Story, which I'm glad to say held up a little better than Raiders of the Lost Ark did last season. That's not to comparatively evaluate the films, but Toy Story - seen by an older me - held more surprises and unremembered gems than the oft-viewed Indiana Jones picture did.


The plotline of toy rivalry competing for the affections of owner Andy is the stuff of the animated Hollywood bible by this point, but for those of you just tuning in: Sheriff Woody (Tom Hanks) is Andy's favorite toy... until birthday gift Buzz Lightyear of Star Command (Tim Allen) upsets the delicate balance in the playroom. When a plan to recoup Andy's affections goes awry, Woodyd finds himself and Buzz fighting for their toy lives - literally, if vicious neighbor Sid has anything to say about it.


The visuals aren't as polished as later Pixar ventures (see WALL-E if you want photorealism), but the fanciful nature of the animation helps give Toy Story that "toys come alive" feel that warms our hearts. What does an even better job at bringing the film to life is a stellar voice cast that perfectly matches each character's appearance and personality. American favorite Tom Hanks is a knockout as Woody, capturing all of the sheriff's emotions (running the gamut from beloved leader to childhood favorite to dawning jealousy) and good-ole-boy charm without missing a beat. And, though I've become a huge Don Rickles fan (he voices Mr. Potato Head) in the intervening years since '95, the real star in the voice cast is Tim Allen, who comfortably dons Buzz Lightyear like a spacesuit and takes risks by flirting with an overly bombastic performance in order to fully capture the mildly delusional toy's bravado.


Both Billy Crystal (turning down the part of Buzz, a move he'd later regret and atone for by voicing Mike in Monsters, Inc.) and Mattel (who withheld Barbie from the film, expecting a flop) didn't think Pixar could dream the impossible dream of a computer-animated film, instead believing the digital wunderkinds to be tilting at windmills. But what makes the film a first-rate success isn't just the pretty pictures and soothing sounds (including a downright touching soundtrack from Randy Newman). It's the story, a solid piece of writing that speaks to every generation who beholds it (well, except for Andy Rooney, I'd bet). There's enough in here for kids and adults to appreciate, and they'd better appreciate it because Toy Story is better crafted than a lot of other pictures out there today. The script is expansive, creating a new world with new rules (especially appertaining to when toys can and cannot animate themselves) in a brilliantly digestible manner. And it's touching, too, tugging at those heartstrings right before reawakening the kid you adults thought you'd put away with the rest of the bricabrac in your toybox.


Food for thought: where's Andy's father?

Toy Story, not surprisingly, is rated G, though a few younger viewers might be perturbed by discussion of toy homicide, particularly within Sid's yard. Sid is one of the creepiest characters ever animated, and his army of Frankensteinian toys may give the faint at heart the willies.