Facing mortality with "Toy Story 3"
Thursday, June 18, 2020 at 9:00PM 
Have you ever thought to yourself "my time has come to an end, I'm going to die"? I have, in at least three instances.
The first was in 2011, in Tokyo when the Tōhoku earthquake happened, making me stare in horror as skyscrapers swiveled around me, looking like they could fall at any moment. The second time was considerably less spectacular, caused by gallbladder stones and some incredible bouts of bad luck. From the most searing pain I've ever felt to internal bleeding after surgery, it all seemed like it was going to end. Thankfully, it didn't. The third moment where I contemplated my death in a very immediate way is, weirdly enough, the one that still scares me the most. It was late at night, I was eating something and a piece of food got stuck in my throat. I couldn't breathe, I was alone and started to lose consciousness from lack of oxygen, gasping for air while the world around me was going dark. I lived, but I'll always remember the feeling of thinking I was going to die, the fear, and the resigned acceptance of it.
Anyway, let's talk about Toy Story 3 on its 10th anniversary…
The reason for my morbid remembrance is that few films have ever captured the dreaded feeling that comes with the confrontation of one's mortality as well as the third cinematic adventure of Woody and Buzz. Finding deep adult themes in the Toy Story films has been a favorite past time of many a critic and cinephile since the first movie was released back in 1995. However, that doesn't mean such readings are unearned. Whether or not they were made with such portentous meanings in mind, it's easy to find meditations on faith, belief, devotion, life, and death hiding within the narratives of these animated classics. The objectives of their creators only go so far, for the experience of the audience is as important as authorial intent. At least, that's how I chose to see it.
The very way the movie starts is a heartbreaking portrayal of the passage of time, an unstoppable force of change that makes even the brightest happiness into an ephemerous thing. Toy Story 3 opens with a lavish western fantasy, an exciting set-piece that's as action-packed as it is playful. What we're seeing is what Andy's imagination conjures when he is spending time with his toys, a representation of the emotion of childish games rather than a strict depiction of their reality. Still, once the time for plays is over, the film presents us with a montage of the little boy's childhood as captured by home video. The texture of the image is itself an indicator of age, of a moment frozen in time, a moment lost. From that montage, we cut to the dark interior of the toy box.
Andy, now grown up and getting ready to leave for college, has long ago stopped playing with his beloved toys. Childhood is over and childish things must be put away, life moves on and it's futile to pretend otherwise. As for the toys, they must confront their obsolescence, their lack of importance in this new world of young adulthood. For our plastic heroes, their future will be either the doom of the attic or a new existence forgotten on a shelf of Andy's new home. Neither possibility fills them with joy but almost all of them seem resigned to that fate. Getting old is never easy, becoming irrelevant is even worse, but we must accept things for fighting time is a battle that always ends in failure.
That depressing premise is upended, first by Woody's stubbornness, his denial of toy Death, and then by a trip to the colorful limbo that is kindergarten. While their days as one kid's adored companion are over, the toys may still find purpose in giving joy to other children. Unfortunately, the mercy of limbo soon proves to be the punishment of purgatory, as they are relegated to the Caterpillar Room with the younger, more brutal, youths, while only a select elite of toys is allowed in the comparative wonder of the Butterfly Room and its slightly older students. The hierarchy of kindergarten playthings is a prison that needs escaping and that's precisely what Andy's old toys do, staging a prison break in the middle of the night.
Many things happen between the toy box and the idea of plushy escaped convicts, but that's the gist of it. The point l is that, no matter how you try to frame Toy Story 3's character arcs, there's a sense of loss pervading every nook and cranny of the tale. That only becomes more obvious once the prison break turns into a trip to fiery hell and the toys end up inside an incinerator. It's in that adrenaline-fueled sequence that the filmmakers do something that still leaves me speechless a decade after first seeing it. Instead of prolonging the panic and fight for survival, the scene opts for a meditative melancholy. Even though their bodies are industrially molded plastic and polyester stuffing, they can see that the end is inevitable and accept it. Facing their material death by fire, these lifelong friends stop struggling and hold hands.
There's nothing guaranteed about life other than death. The end makes what comes before it into something special, precious, into life rather than mere existence. We may be scared of the end, but we'll all have to face it one day. To deny it pathologically, to pretend it's not coming, helps no one. Only when we stop pretending, can we be at peace with what's to come. Only after accepting it, can we hold hands as we go into the fire, knowing that it may all be over but, at least, it was good while it lasted. At least, there were others to hold our hands. As Sartre said, hell is other people. However, I'd argue heaven is other people too, or, in this case, other toys.
Of course, such Christian ideas as heaven and hell are not all that appropriate for Toy Story 3. After all, in this picture, after finding peace and accepting the inevitable, the toys get another chance at life. They are reborn, no longer Andy's toys, but Bonnie's.
If the incinerator scene makes me tear up, then two other moments near the end of Toy Story 3 that turn my eyes into faucets. They are the contemplation of Andy's empty room by his mother, and the gift of a new life to the toys when their kid gives them up to another child. Both these scenes imply another sort of death, one that's not as visceral as the destruction of the body, but no less painful. They are the death of childhood, the acceptance that what was before, can never be again. As a mother says goodbye to her child, a man says goodbye to his playmates and toys say goodbye to their first kid, there is a feeling of rueful acceptance coming from the screen.
Pardon me these heavy notions about children's entertainment. I do hope my words don't come off as insufferably pretentious, but Toy Story 3 is a film about death and about time. No movie has better encapsulated what I felt while looking at swiveling buildings, while lying on a hospital bed as my abdomen filled with blood or while the edges of my sight turned dark because there was no air going in or out of my lungs. It's a sort of peace that comes with tears and a lot of pain, something as wonderful as it is terrible. When particularly depressive, I sometimes try to remember that feeling for it encapsulates the preciousness of life as much as it presages its end. I'll even put my Toy Story 3 DVD on to help me remember and for that, I'll always be thankful for the existence of such a movie, whose lessons are as good for kids as they are for adults. Thank you, Pixar.
If you wish to watch Toy Story 3, it's available for streaming on Disney+ and DirecTV. You can also rent it from Amazon, Google Play, Youtube, and others.
Reader Comments (7)
It's been ten years, and there still hasn't been a film since that made me cry buckets as this one did. Andy taking Woody back from Bonnie forced out a sob from me I can still hear moving around the movie theater. I'd just graduated from college, he was just beginning. Along with closing 'Deathly Hollows' and the finale of 'Boyhood', this was one of those seminal moments that felt like it closed the book on my childhood.
I faced death several times, so I was clearly, clearly related to "THE" scene that launched this otherwise fun and already poignant film into the complete masterpiece status. While I love the characters, I would have really applaused that they would have gone all the way with it, and closed the franchise with that scene, fade to black.
Claudio, this is a beautifully reminiscent post about the film, and its themes of loss, life and death. Well put.
Ten years later, I still can't even think about this movie without tearing up. I still remember audibly sobbing during the final scene as a theater full of children looked at me in complete disbelief and annoyance. Thanks for this beautifully written piece, Claudio.
Another great piece,I had the worst panic attack of my life last night,ambulance called,b/f worried,me in a state of sheer terror.So I enjoyed this piece a lot more than maybe I normally would,Thanks Claudio.
Muito boa a resenha, amigo
We need to protect Claudio at all times! Nathaniel, stand outside his door and don't let anyone get in. His stunning writing can carry the site whilst you are on security duty.