My Toy Story (Inspired by 'Toy Story 3')

‘Toy Story 3’
Film Review
By Anthony Kuzminski

At almost two hours, Toy Story 3 is a exuberant romp of fun full with Woody and Buzz coming to terms with their owner growing up as they try and find where they belong. It has more adventure than any of the so-called summer live-action blockbusters, the character development is rich and the humor and script are spot-on. Amazingly, Pixar continues to deliver the goods, year after year, film after film. Every other Hollywood studio could learn something from their simplistic palette where everyone from 3 to 83 finds enjoyment in their films. The basic premise of Toy Story 3 finds Andy, the toys owner, getting ready to go to college. What does he do with the toys? Take them with him? Throw them out? Sell them? Or banish them to the attic? The story is so straightforward but there’s genius in its effortlessness. For the first 80-minutes, I would have ranked it a tad lower than the first two films, but then came the final 30-minutes. Have no fear; I won’t post any spoilers here. If you’re interested in the specifics of the ending you can check out Owen Lieberman’s great column over at Entertainment Weekly, “Message to men: Yes, it's okay to cry at Toy Story 3”. But the final act of the film brought the whole trilogy full circle.

As the film made its way to its conclusion, I slowly became a slobbering tearful mess. Why? Hop on the ride and I’ll tell you. Some of my earliest childhood memories are tied to the toys I loved and played with. I was born into the age of Star Wars and I vividly remember seeing a toy commercial for the action figures during cartoons and running to my parents asking for one. I don’t remember the specific age, but I believe I was around three years old. A few weeks later (it may have been days, my memory is good, but it’s not that good), my parents had something behind their back and handed over the Luke Skywalker in his X-Wing gear. I was thrilled beyond words and that began my love affair with Kenner action figures which instigated my journey of collecting which has followed me all throughout my life. By the time Kenner stopped making the figures in 1986, I had virtually all of the action figures. Even when I became obsessed with baseball cards and sports, I still collected the newest figures and was missing approximately seven of the nearly one-hundred figures at the end of their run.

The ending of Toy Story 3 is more than a nostalgia ride or a reminder of simpler times gone by; it’s a confirmation of who I am, where I’ve been and where I hope to be one day. When I look at my Luke Skywalker X-Wing figure today, he flesh colored hands have turned to orange, his white helmet has lost its sheen and it looks as if it has been through a war. I don’t see a battle worn action figure inducing warm memories of my youth so much as I see it as a symbol of the love and sacrifice my parents made for me. Action figures never broke the bank for them, but I was passionate about them and wanted to collect every last one. For good grades, good behavior and sometimes just out of love, they would search high and low for the figures I wanted. Years later I would hear about how my mother would get on a ladder at the local Toys R Us digging all the way to the back looking for the latest and hard-to-find figure that proved to be elusive. They would stop on their way home from work, when running errands or make a special trip to help me search. As I am now older, I realize how much time these tiny errands take and yet they often searched everywhere for the missing figure I needed. They never took luxurious vacations, had the latest inventions, only bought a new car once a decade and never had a vacation home, but my sister and I were given items you can’t put a dollar amount on. They sent us through private Catholic schools from kindergarten through college. They gave us their time with homework, projects and every year, no matter what, Christmas and our respective birthdays were great celebrations that made us feel unique and special. They sacrificed and provided in ways I pray I can do for my daughter. Times have changed and things are quite different and it scares me I won’t be able to do the same things for her. She has this tiny elephant head she sleeps with every night that proves to be a source of comfort for her. When she wakes up in the middle of the night from a bad dream, she cradles it. When she’s upset from teething, she caresses it against the side of her head and when she’s teething, well, let me stop while I am ahead. One day she will love something as much as I loved my Star Wars figures. The toughest ones proved to be the newest Han Solo and Luke Skywalker figures. My parents magically seemed to find them for me before anyone else had them and gave them at the right opportunities. I had a horrible throat infection and was just feeling down until one day my Dad came home with the Bespin Luke Skywalker. My Mom managed to find the Jedi Luke Skywalker for me right when Return of the Jedi came out.

One of the most vivid memories I have was when a girl in the first grade purposely broke off the head of my Han Solo Hoth figure. I remained controlled until I got home where I proceeded to lose it. My family was heading out of town for the weekend, but they had to bandage my shattered mind. My Dad went to the basement, took a screw out of his tool box and found a way to dig it into Han’s body and proceeded to screw his head on top until a replacement figure could be found. The end result was a bit ridiculous looking; imagine Tom Cruise flying to the planet Hoth to kidnap his brother to bargain for his inheritance? Well, Han looked a bit like Raymond, but when my Dad presented it to me, it felt like everything was going to be OK. Navigating through the treacherous waters of the world is tough let alone minor tragedies like this feel like the end of the world when you are a child. My Dad could have told me to wait until they got home that Sunday or just told me to get a life and that it was a toy. But he didn’t. Instead of packing the car up, he performed emergency surgery on a four inch action figure just to make his son feel a little more whole with the world. Two days later while my parents were out of town, my Mom found the figure for me and bought me a replacement (and in a ironic twist of fate, put his gun in her purse for safe keeping only to give it away in the change she paid to a grocery clerk). I never discarded the “Rain Man” figure, because it reminded me of the love my parents had for me. I sat there and hoped for good fortune to shine on me as I can do the same for my daughter, heal her heart when someone has stomped on it or do something heartfelt and natural that will make her world feel safe and secure. The tears gushed because I worry I won’t have the same access to give her not just what she wants, but what she deserves.

We get older and do not physically play with our toys anymore, but they’re symbolic to us. This is why Andy is in the process of going to college and had yet to part with them in Toy Story 3. In many ways, they’re more intoxicating reminders of our childhood than any picture or video ever could be. They elicit the purest form of joy any of us would ever know. While we all go on to bigger and better life experiences, we often learn that growing older comes with growing pains. These toys remind us of simpler times and also represent not just an identity for ourselves but are symbols of who we were, who we strive to be, but most importantly, where we came from. Toy Story 3 is more than mere Saturday afternoon entertainment, but a film that will move you and remind you that even at our darkest hours, there is indeed good in the world, we just need to look for it. Thanks Mom, Dad and Pixar.

Anthony Kuzminski is a Chicago based writer and Special Features Editor for the antiMusic Network. His daily writings can be read at The Screen Door. He can be contacted at thescreendoor AT gmail DOT com and can be followed on Twitter