![]() Their nightmare imprisonment is practically a statement on gentrification, as you get a sense of the rich life Lots-o’-Huggin’ and his cronies enjoy being impossible without other, less fortunate toys wasting away in less desirable, impoverished conditions. Lots-o’-Huggin’ Bear’s (Ned Beatty) torment of Woody’s friends by locking them in with the daycare’s younger and considerably less kind children suggests something of a slave trade. Potato Head’s (Don Rickles) stray eye-lying too-conveniently beneath Andy’s bed-reveals the truth of his intentions, it’s up to Woody to free his friends from the sinister caste system of the deceptively sunny daycare that becomes their prison.Īs social commentary, Toy Story 3 is provocative but vague, even unrealized. Rife with much action and misunderstanding, the story takes Woody and the gang from the side of the curb in front of their Elm Street home to a few blocks away inside Sunnyside Daycare, most of them believing that Andy wanted nothing more to do with them. Toy Story 3 picks up with Andy (John Morris) getting ready to go to college, his mother (Laurie Metcalf) forcing him to decide what to do with Woody (Tom Hanks), Buzz Lightyear (Tim Allen), and his other toys, all unplayed with for many years: to stow them in the attic, donate them to charity, or throw them out. Such is Pixar’s unique gift that these stories about toys fighting to be played with become, for us, confrontations with our own mortality-from birth to rot and everything in between. They address the way we emotionally invest in toys, sometimes (as in Toy Story 2) even throwing in a canny bit of air-tight commentary on consumerism as a bonus for the adults in the room. These films, with scant manipulation and much visual and comic invention, thrive on giving toys a conscience and imagining what adventures they have when we turn our backs to them. They appeal to anyone who’s ever cared about a toy-one they outgrew, gave away, or painfully left behind somewhere. The effect of the Toy Story films is practically primal. Like Up, the film doesn’t lack for poignancy, so in the end, 3D glasses at least prove useful in concealing one’s tears. Unlike Day & Night, the cunning short that will precede Toy Story 3 throughout its theatrical run, this third installment of the Toy Story franchise isn’t a morally charged study in visual perspective, though it’s certainly a moral film and, like its predecessors, obsessed with the way we perceive the toys that once brought us joy-and, for some, still do. No owners means no heartbreak.The use of 3D is as superfluous to Toy Story 3 as it was to Up: Both films, marvelously and perceptively drawn, are classically-and classily-told tales of adventure in which good is pitted against evil, but because peril never comes in the shape of a bat or sword swinging at anyone’s face, they don’t exactly benefit from the added dimension. "You'll never be outgrown or neglected, never abandoned or forgotten. "When the kids get old, new ones come in when they get old, new ones replace them," he says comfortingly. ![]() He's the head toy in the place, voiced with a folksy silver-tongued brio by Ned Beatty, and he assures his new friends that day care is toy nirvana. Through a series of mistakes and misadventures, Andy's toys end up in Sunnyside, a cheery-looking day care center where they're welcomed with open arms by Lots-o-Huggin' Bear. The toys, including Woody and Buzz Lightyear, are increasingly afraid of being left behind. It's been more than a decade since the last film, and the inevitable has happened: Andy, the young boy who owns all the Toy Story characters, has gotten older - is, in fact, heading for college. But Toy Story 3 has beaten the jinx: It's everything you hoped it would be, a sequel to a sequel that's prospered because it's both stayed true to its roots and expanded its reach. The third time? Not often the charm, if you're talking about film franchises.
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