Following my look at the Pixar theatrical shorts and movie-related spinoffs, it was inevitable that I get round to rewatching and ranking all of the Pixar features themselves. Pixarâs contribution to the animated feature rocked the industry and they have continued to produce quality films across multiple decades. This second part will take a look at the better mid-tier material and the absolute cream of the crop. Everything here Iâve rated 4 stars or higher. There are some obvious rankings (the Toy Story franchise does well) and some hot takes (I put WHAT at position number 2?!!) but I hope you enjoy reading about my journey through Pixar, however vehemently you may disagree with my ranking.
You can read part one of the list here.
14. A BUGâS LIFE
Viewing a body of work in chronological order has its benefits and its drawbacks. Although it allows for easier contextualisation and comparison, sometimes that results in a bias towards the bigger picture rather than its individual fragments. My recent viewing of A Bugâs Life in the immediate aftermath of my triumphant revisit to Toy Story is a case in point. I actually rewatched A Bugâs Life twice on consecutive evenings, a couple of days after Iâd rewatched Toy Story. On the first rewatch I rated it three stars out of five but something bothered me about that rating. I had a feeling from the specific issues Iâd had with the film that I hadnât so much been watching A Bugâs Life as watching Not Toy Story. On my second rewatch I made a concerted effort to concentrate only on the film in front of me and leave comparisons for later. By isolating A Bugâs Life from the greater context of the Pixar canon, I ended up having a better time and adding a whole star to my rating.
Of course, the fact that I was able to momentarily divorce A Bugâs Life from its place as the filling in a 90s Toy Story sandwich does not relieve it of the critical burden of being a Pixar production. A Bugâs Life certainly has its weaknesses and if you go in specifically looking for them, that might end up being all you see. Certainly, there is a tonal difference from Toy Story in which a far broader and goofier style of humour is evident. This need not be a bad thing, of course, but A Bugâs Life does feel thematically saggier and without that narrative weight it occasionally starts to feel like a rudderless stack of insect puns. There are those who have claimed A Bugâs Life is a profound anticapitalist tract about the workers seizing the means of production but honestly, though the ants do come together to overwhelm their grasshopper oppressors at the climax, the ant society is depicted as a monarchy and their beloved Queen is followed around everywhere by two worker ants whose job it is to shade her with a leaf. Doesnât exactly sound like the Marxist ideal some would have you believe A Bugâs Life is pushing for, does it? The most interesting dichotomy at the centre of A Bugâs Life is that of individuality vs. communality, with the conclusion being that you donât have to have one at the expense of the other. The ants are stronger together but that doesnât mean they should merge into a faceless whole. Thereâs room for individual personalities amongst the masses, so long as the dominance of inherited power continues unabated, right? Viva la Revolution!
If the well-meaning message of A Bugâs Life becomes a little tangled up, its combination of narrative influences is spun with the deft attention to detail of a pristine web. Fusing a subverted Aesopâs fable with a slapstick take on Kurosawa couldâve gone spectacularly awry but the story is plotted beautifully, the narrative muscle consistently evident enough to incorporate the various asides that mightâve otherwise derailed the momentum. A lengthy sequence that introduces the circus bugs, for instance, felt like a tired tangent on my inattentive first viewing, while on my second I saw it for the inspired piece of character comedy it is. In keeping with its debt to Seven Samurai, there are a lot of characters in A Bugâs Life, the majority of whom are important to the plot. While thereâs a certain expository sluggishness to the first acts introduction to the ant colony, the circus troupe is introduced with speedy efficiency, each member getting a gag that summarises their character in the most concisely effective manner imaginable. Itâs fair to say that, while the storytelling here is exemplary, the ease with which these crucial characters can be so speedily introduced perhaps speaks of their comparative lack of depth. There are, after all, three characters here who neatly fit into the category of Funny Foreigner. But given that the necessity to portray the antsâ society as a thing of drab conformism, the broadness of the circus bugs feels like a deliberate and successful contrast.Â
The casting of A Bugâs Life is curious in how readily it squanders several major talents. Dave Foley is adequately likeable as ambitious dreamer Flik but Julia Louis-Dreyfusâs considerable comic talents are completely wasted on the blandly straight role of Princess Atta. Comedy legend Madeline Kahn is even more egregiously underused as the barely-registering Gypsy. Roddy McDowall has a tiny role as Mr. Soil which ultimately proved to be his cinematic swan-song, while Phyllis Dillerâs Queen utilises her gentle gravitas in a way that makes you wish the role was better written. Fortunately, there are plenty of inspired pieces of casting to balance things out. Although it still does a disservice to its female roles, A Bugâs Life improves upon Toy Story in this respect, with Hayden Panettiere charming in the quintessential courageous young girl role of Dot and Bonnie Hunt making Rosie the black widow spider into one of the most memorable characters. David Hyde Pierce is amusingly uptight as a stick insect whose dignity is incompatible with his regular part as a prop in the act, and Denis Learyâs gruff demeanour enhances the inherently funny notion of a ladybird who is repeatedly misgendered due to the name of his species (this gag aged better than it sounds like it mightâve). The standout here is Kevin Spacey, who gives the already frighteningly rendered villain Hopper an increased sense of smarmy menace which makes every scene in which he appears almost unbearably tense. This is balanced by a fine comedic counterweight in Richard Kind as his nervy, easily-manipulated little brother Molt. Pixar regular John Ratzenberger also shines in one of his most substantial roles as the avaricious ringmaster P.T. Flea, a morally ambiguous character who is deployed skilfully at just the right moments.
One thing I found slightly distracting about A Bugâs Life was how elements of the animation have dated badly. This was true of Toy Story too, of course, but its shortcomings were mainly in the sidelined human characters. In the case of A Bugâs Life, it is the ants whose appearances and movement sometimes looks clunky (or, in the case of the elderly Cornelius, downright ugly). Thatâs more of a problem, given that the ants are the central focus. For the most part it isnât an issue but occasionally the film looks like a vintage video game cut scene. The animation historian in me finds these developments fascinating but they do tend to disrupt my focus on the story. The more stylised circus bugs look a lot better though and the colony where most of the action takes place is a beautifully rendered, lush green setting. The grasshopper characters look grotesque by design, utilising ugliness in the same deliberate way that Sid from Toy Story had. The feral, ferocious grasshopper Thumper is one of Pixarâs most memorably disturbing characters, his first appearance being so nightmarish that it almost seems hallucinatory. The terror that Thumper is likely to inspire in very small children is diffused slightly in the faux-bloopers that play out over the ends credits. Iâm never sure how I feel about these specially animated âmistakesâ that Pixar used to end movies with. On the one hand, they are brilliantly observed, accurately recreating the jocular feeling of actual blooper reels. On the other hand, to close the film with footage that suggests the tale youâve just seen was completely artificial does undermine the magic of the story itself to an extent. One way in which Pixar deals with this problem is by having the supposed âactorsââ personalities reflect their characters. So Hopper, for instance, is seen laughing gleefully at the misfortune of his co-stars, while Slim retains his preening showmanâs vanity as he worries about whether he is in shot. The exception, as previously mentioned, is Thumper, who breaks from a scene of vicious snarling to worry about his motivation and technique in the fey style of a classical actor. The gag seems to be there partially to reassure spooked tykes in the audience but it has the opposite effect for older kids (a bracket in which I include myself), taking away some of the excitement of a good scare.
A Bugâs Life was a hit but it did not get quite the same level of critical attention as Toy Story. Its sole Oscar nomination was for another great score by Randy Newman, who also contributes a very fine closing song, The Time of Your Life, which tends to live in the shadow of Youâve Got a Friend in Me. Part of the reason A Bugâs Life was less fawned over may have been the high-profile feud between Pixar and Jeffrey Katzenbergâs newly established DreamWorks Animation. Katzenberg had been a persistent thorn in Pixarâs side when they worked together on Toy Story and, after his acrimonious split with Disney, he proved to be an even worse adversary at a rival studio. The story from John Lasseterâs point of view was that Katzenberg had stayed in touch with Pixar after his split with Disney and, because he still respected his opinion, Lasseter had used Katzenberg as a sounding board for his ideas for A Bugâs Life. With their own ant film well into production, the Pixar staff were dismayed to read that DreamWorks were working on the very similar Antz. Bug films were hardly a new thing in animation. One of the earliest animated features, the Fleischer brothersâ Hoppity Goes to Town, had been just such a thing and there have been many other examples before and since, including the excellent Miniscule films, Bee Movie, The Ant Bully or even, heaven help us, Gallavants! But from Pixarâs side of events, it does sound very much like Katzenberg pinched their premise and, given that DreamWorks Animation seems to have been set up at least partially out of spite, I tend to believe Lasseterâs version of events. Katzenberg apparently tried to leverage a deal in which Pixar would withhold release of A Bugâs Life so that it did not compete with DreamWorksâ intended first release, The Prince of Egypt, and then DreamWorks would in turn delay the release of Antz. When this was refused, Katzenberg rush-released Antz as his companyâs debut film, beating A Bugâs Life into cinemas and damning it to a havenât-we-seen-this-before? reception in some quarters.Â
While A Bugâs Life ultimately beat Antz in terms of box office take, both films did reasonably well with critics and audiences alike before fading into comparative obscurity when set alongside the other films of their respective production companies. Ironically, the feud everyone wanted to avoid is probably the main context in which both films are now discussed. From the 2010s onwards Pixar began churning out far more sequels and prequels than they had previously. Of the seven films they made across their first decade in feature animation, A Bugâs Life remains the only one to not yet receive a follow-up. Still, in many ways this is a good thing. When the credits of A Bugâs Life roll, its story is told and thereâs no need to water it down by, oh I donât know, exploring Flikâs college years. With a three year gap since Pixarâs debut hit, A Bugâs Life kept things ticking over nicely until the following yearâs blockbuster Toy Story sequel. Itâs nice that thereâs a little, comparatively hidden early Pixar work that you have to actively part the undergrowth to discover.
13. ELEMENTAL
Elemental seems to have gone down in the public consciousness as a weak Pixar film and box office flop. The latter is not true, as Elemental was in fact a sleeper hit. But until last night I wouldâve suggested that the former claim was true. Now, having revisited the film, I found it to be much, much better on a rewatch, to the extent that I actually fell in love with it a little. So why the big change? Embarrassing though it is to admit, I made the schoolboy error of being influenced by critics, both amateur and professional, before I watched the film. I had a negative reaction of my own when I first saw the poster, because Elementalâs concept and design looks so much like a calculated Pixar parody that I couldnât quite believe it was real. Then when the first clutch of reviews ranged from vague indifference to pissy denunciation and the Twitter trolls came out in force to mock it, I pretty much closed the book on Elemental before I even reluctantly half-watched it for myself. The disappointment I feel in my continued ability to be so easily influenced has largely been overshadowed by my delight at finding another lovely Pixar film where I expected to find a smoking crater.
If Twitter trolls (or whatever theyâre called now. That hellsite is best avoided in general. X marks the spot where displeasure is buried) should be easily disregarded as part of virtually any assessment process, itâs harder to ignore your own initial inclinations and I think itâs fair to say that, based on poster art alone, Elemental still looks a bit daft. Itâs only when you watch the film that you realise how crucial movement is in bringing these characters to life. Frozen in poses on a poster, the fiery Ember and watery Wade look like the clichĂ©d products of a first draft that got prematurely greenlit. But when you see them fully animated they are alive with movement, constantly flickering and sloshing in ways that reflect their personalities and inner struggles. Elemental was mocked for its unwieldy metaphorical approach to immigration and diversity (topics guaranteed to incite extra biased scrutiny from some quarters) but the heart of the film is its central romance. Rom-coms were cited as an influence and the coming together of fire and water makes for the ultimate opposites-attract narrative. Though some found it heavy handed, such cynicism is easily quashed by the beautiful sequence in which Ember and Wade touch hands for the first time. Itâs a moment filled with a higher degree of tension that the average romantic epiphany, given that the stakes of romantic rejection are heightened here to include the threat of literal extinguishment or evaporation.Â
The analogous nature of Elemental is something that canât be switched off for a second. It is etched into the filmâs makeup, which can make it feel like it is being rammed down our throats. But on a second viewing this initial distraction was easy to incorporate into the bigger picture and I connected with the characters and situations where once I had only seen stretched metaphors. Elemental was a hugely personal film for director Peter Sohn and the viewing experience is enhanced even more by listening to him talk about how the story relates to his own experiences and those of his parents. Understanding just how much of Sohnâs heart is poured into this project makes it all the more endearing and easy to root for. But sentimentality isnât the only thing Elemental has on its side. If you can connect to its wavelength, this is a ravishing film. It flows and engages with that same musicality for which Soul seemed to be shooting, its appeal transcending its character beats and visual gags. The crystalline beauty of Thomas Newmanâs score enhances this sensory experience and as I let it wash over me this time round, I could almost feel the water lapping around me and the fire warming my skin (and, it seems, my heart).Â
Elemental mightâve ranked higher on my list if its story had been a little more interesting. The romance is wonderful but a lot of whatâs on the sidelines is less engaging and the immigration angle, for all its apparent heavy-handedness, feels frustratingly under-explored. Thatâs why Iâve ranked Elemental just below Coco, a film that didnât quite emotionally engage me fully but which told its story with greater focus and pacing. But Elemental makes up for its uncertain narrative qualities with a prominent tactility that sometimes borders on the blissful. If itâs not quite up to the level of Pixar classics, Elemental proved to be a surprising and unusual gem which warrants multiple viewings and deserves the reappraisal that ought to come with them.
12. COCO
Coco is an absolutely beautiful film about a Mexican boyâs trip to the Land of the Dead during DĂa de los Muertos aka Day of the Dead, a Mexican holiday in which the deceased are honoured using home altars known as ofrendas, on which the families place their photos, favourite snacks and artefacts of personal significance. Given the sensitivity of the subject matter and the cultural specificity of the setting, director Lee Unkrich appreciated the importance of getting the film right by forming an appropriate cultural consultant group. However, two years previously Disney had tried to get the jump on the future Coco merchandising process by attempting to trademark the phrase DĂa de los Muertos. This jaw-droppingly insensitive attempt at cultural appropriation for capitalist purposes is an indication of the weight of negative corporate influence a director of a Disney affiliated movie has to deal with. Coco was on shaky ground before it even got off the starting blocks. Fortunately, Unkrich shepherded the finished product past such obstacles to emerge as a warm, winning gem of a film and another classic Pixar original.
Given the importance of storytelling in the Pixar canon, it might sound ominous to begin a review of Coco by praising its visuals. Often the impressive aesthetic of the lesser Pixar films were a saving grace amongst detrimental missteps but it is no insult to say that Cocoâs visual design is its highlight. This is a ravishing film, with Pixarâs most attractive human character designs yet, in both flesh and bone, set against the breathtakingly intricate Land of the Dead backdrop. Coco has a well-told story with resonant themes which makes it a feast for the senses, rather than the momentarily pleasurable but ultimately unsatisfying snack provided by The Good Dinosaurâs impressive background art. But while its story is engaging enough, it does rely on several reveals that are fairly predictable if youâre concentrating hard enough. While it doesnât take away from the enjoyment of seeing the plot unfold, the impact is dulled slightly by pauses for gasps when none are forthcoming. Coco is also a film that leans quite heavily into emotional content. This has always been Pixarâs stock in trade and often worked beautifully in past films. In the case of Coco though, there is a heightened sense of manipulation over sincerity. For some reason the climactic emotional beats landed with a thud for me and felt layered on with a trowel rather than coaxed out naturally. Iâm not a cynic when it comes to sentimentality, I actively want to be moved. Somehow, in Cocoâs case, I felt less moved than I shouldâve been.
While thereâs obviously some kind of disconnect for me when it comes to Cocoâs major emotional flourishes, thereâs more than enough here to make up for that. The film is filled with great music, from the Oscar-winning Remember Me which is cleverly adapted throughout to the deliriously upbeat nonsense of Un Poco Loco. In a film where one of the key plot points is the banning of music, the tragedy of such an outlawing needs to be keenly felt and the joyous songs composed by Germaine Franco, Adrian Molina, Robert Lopez and Kristen Anderson-Lopez ensure that is the case. The characters live up to their charming designs, with the skeletal HĂ©ctor, brilliantly voiced by Gael GarcĂa Bernal, managing to segue from comic relief to the emotional core of the film with the smoothest of transitions. Cocoâs themes of the afterlife feel like a logical progression from previous Pixar films. The Toy Story trilogy was about growing up, Cars 3 was about growing old, Coco explores what happens when youâve actually passed on, with the threat of being forgotten manifesting itself as a further step into an unknown oblivion. This is where Cocoâs most interesting diversions lie and while I found myself curiously unmoved by the ultimate destination of this plot point, it still left me with plenty to think about. For me, the most affecting moment comes in the middle of the film as we watch a dead soul who has been completely forgotten slowly disintegrate and drift off into an unknown fate.
If Coco isnât quite top tier Pixar for me, it is further proof of how high they had set the bar by this stage. A visual masterpiece combined with an adequate drama buoyed up by a delightful vein of humour, Coco is a solidly captivating eveningâs viewing.
11. MONSTERS, INC.
A few years ago I was talking to my six year old nephew about Pixar films. I mentioned that I liked Monsters, Inc. and he smirked and said âMonsters, Inc. is for babies.â Obviously I let him have that one, rather than reply âOh yeah, well youâre only six, your critical faculties havenât developed enough to appreciate the animated medium properly!â but I was quite taken aback, given that he was a vocal fan of the Toy Story franchise. I put this perceived hypocrisy down to the whims of youth and moved on. Years later, rewatching Monsters, Inc. for the first time in over a decade, I realised with embarrassed contrition that my nephew was, to some extent, correct and had certainly shown a more astute critical ability than that for which my Pixar-gorging biases had allowed. Monsters, Inc. is indeed pitched at a far younger audience than the Toy Story films. While itâs a bit harsh to say itâs for babies, itâs still impressive that my nephew spotted that tonal difference between the more thematically ambitious Toy Story films and Monsters, Inc.âs less emotionally edgy appeal.
John Lasseter had directed all of Pixarâs 90s features but for Monsters, Inc. the reins were taken by Pete Docter. This began a broadening of the Pixar scope, introducing some recognisable stylistic differences without losing the studioâs defining qualities of strong storytelling and emotionally engaging content. Though Andrew Stanton is back on writing duties (along with Daniel Gerson, who would go on to write Monsters University and Big Hero 6 before his tragic early death from heart failure and cancer-related complications), Docterâs approach to the material has a noticeably more sitcom-like vibe, utilising the workplace as its main backdrop at the expense of creating as vivid a world around it. The limited handful of scenes that take place outside of the titular company do not really provide enough time for Docter to sell Monstropolis as anything other than a receptacle for a pile of monster jokes, in the same way that A Bugâs Lifeâs fleeting trip to the city became a similar spot-gag exercise. If Monsters, Inc. doesnât quite build as immersive a world as its Pixar predecessors, it does an excellent job of utilising the single location of the workspace as a stage for high stakes comedic antics as the monsters Mike and Sully attempt to rescue human child Boo from their ruthlessly ambitious work rival Randall. If the monsters-in-the-closet premise is more likely to resonate with kids, there is plenty here about workplace politics and power dynamics to amuse adults, and any adult who canât reach back in their mind to access their inner child probably shouldnât be watching a Pixar film anyway.
The other element of Monsters, Inc. that will resonate across the generation gap is the focus on adult/child relationships, as Sully comes to care deeply for Boo. Thereâs not really enough time to develop this heartfelt connection to the emotional level it needs to have maximum impact. The script has to rely on a few narrative mainstays like Booâs drawing of herself and Sully holding hands or Sullyâs thawing during a quick game of hide and seek, which work well enough, but I must admit that my easily accessed tear ducts, so thoroughly wrung dry by Toy Story 2, remained dry this time. Monsters, Inc. is far more successful in its comedic content. Mike and Sully are a great central double act and, in contrast with the rivalry between Woody and Buzz in Toy Story or Flikâs status as a non-conformist outsider in A Bugâs Life, they are a team who have each otherâs backs from the outset. This warm friendship is enhanced by the chemistry between John Goodman and Billy Crystal, who are excellent as Sully and Mike respectively. Crystal had previously turned down the role of Buzz Lightyear, which he regretted when he eventually saw Toy Story. This was fortunate, however, since it is hard to picture Crystal in that role while the peppy, wisecracking Mike seems tailor made for his talents. Likewise, itâs hard to imagine a better fit for the gentle giant Sully than the sympathetic, bear-like Goodman. The other standout is Steve Buscemi who brings his trademark comedic irritability to the duplicitous Randall. Boo is voiced by Mary Gibbs, a real toddler and daughter of Pixar story artist Rob Gibbs. Although her âperformanceâ was coaxed out of her through play, the result is far more effective than having an older child or adult portray the role. Hollywood legend James Coburn, off the back of his recent late-career Oscar win, brings an ominous gravitas to the arachnid CEO Mr. Waternoose, while Jennifer Tillyâs instantly recognisable voice is a welcome addition, even though it is applied to yet another sidelined girlfriend role.Â
One of Monsters, Inc.âs most celebrated achievements is its visual aesthetic. In particular, Pixar artists worked hard to perfect the look of fur and the results are striking. It feels like you could practically reach out and stroke Sully, a key detail in establishing Booâs affinity for him. The look of the human characters, of which there are very few this time, is also starting to improve, which is key in rendering Boo effectively. In particular, Booâs body language is more recognisably (and adorably) human than the stiffer humans in the first Toy Story. Mikeâs appearance is also a crucial comedic factor, his gobstopper-like roundness allowing for a constantly amusing physicality to match Crystalâs whipsmart delivery. The plethora of supporting monsters allows for a ton of delightful visual designs, from fur to scales, chameleonic abilities, multiple eyeballs and snake-filled hair. These vibrant characters are contrasted with the drab greys of the workplace, broken up by thousands of distinct dangling doorways to childrenâs bedrooms. The filmâs premise, in which monsters need to harvest childrenâs screams as a source of power but are, in fact, afraid of the children themselves, is smart and funny, although its high-concept quality does occasionally feel like a cumbersome counterweight to the emotional core. But the plot of Mike and Sully trying to hide Boo from their co-workers allows for some classic farce and the final chase on a moving rail of airborne doors makes for a thrilling and clever finale.
Iâve always loved Monsters, Inc. and rated it very highly in the Pixar canon but on this revisit Iâve downgraded it from the 5 stars I once enthusiastically awarded it to a more restrained, if still deeply affectionate, 4 stars. When I first saw it at the cinema I was at the tail end of my teens and now I am in my early 40s. As a Dad to a four year old, I was expecting the relationship between Sully and Boo to hit harder. Though it didnât have the hoped-for resonance this time round, I did come away wondering if my son might really enjoy this one. Iâve only got two years to find out though. After all, Monsters, Inc. is for babies!
10. THE INCREDIBLES
With a winning formula that was churning out hits, Pixar could easily have rested on their laurels for a bit longer in the early 00s. Instead, they were making subtle shifts in style and tone, experimenting with new avenues and broadening their repertoire so as not to go stale. To be fair, Disney were attempting to do the same around this time but they were going to some wild places, sometimes hitting their freak targets squarely and sometimes missing and flying off into bizarre hinterlands. Pixar had a tighter hold on their storytelling reins, resulting in consistent critical acclaim and commercial success. The Incredibles continued this pattern but took many risks in the process. This was the first time Pixar had brought in an outside director, and one who had just experienced a box office bomb at that. Brad Birdâs debut animated feature The Iron Giant, though a beloved cult film now, had flopped on release which didnât exactly bode well for his chances of getting a project as ambitious as The Incredibles off the ground. Fortunately, Bird knew John Lasseter from their days at CalArts and Lasseter was willing not only to take a chance on Bird but to have him bring over the majority of his team from The Iron Giant too. The transition from traditional to computer animation was just one obstacle. The Incredibles had an entirely human cast and, while Pixarâs rendering of human characters had improved since the slightly creepy homo sapiens of Toy Story, theyâd never been spotlighted to this extent, without a furry, crawly, plastic or piscine safety net to fall back on. Just as the Pixar artists had to figure out how to make more realistic fur for Monsters, Inc., so new ground had to be broken in depicting hair and cloth in order to create characters audiences could look at comfortably for a feature runtime. Watching The Incredibles now, after a few more decades of artistic innovation, the characters do look oddly pallid at times but the right balance between realism and stylisation allows for an easily adaptable appeal.
While there were plenty of technical issues to overcome, the most immediately apparent difference in The Incredibles is its far more adult tone. Pixar had always attempted to produce films that appealed to both children and adults but usually tipped more towards the former. The Incredibles, with its PG rating and denser themes, clearly favours its adult audience first. The opening act focuses on domestic drudgery and workplace stress, and while the characters of the children provide an easy way in for younger audience members, it is clearly the adults who will be laughing out of recognition when Mr. Incredible picks up his car in frustration after a run-in with his unscrupulously corporate boss. The prologue, which packs in plenty of introductory superhero derring-do for the whole family, ultimately hinges on jokes about a suicidal man who sues Mr. Incredible after he intervenes in his leap from a building. This dark undercurrent resonates throughout the film, with baddies who wouldnât think twice about killing children to achieve their aims. In a moment of pre-battle preparation, Elastigirl warns her children âRemember the bad guys on the shows you used to watch on Saturday mornings? Well, these guys aren’t like those guys. They won’t exercise restraint because you are children. They will kill you if they get the chance. Do not give them that chance!âÂ
Bird envisaged The Incredibles as a homage to 60s Spy movies and if thatâs going to be done properly then you canât smooth off the edges and stick in a folksy Randy Newman song. While some critics deemed The Incrediblesâ adult tone as a problem, that was more an issue of their own short-sighted view of animation as exclusively a childrenâs medium, a bewilderingly prevalent attitude that has penetrated a wider consciousness that insists on treating any adult animation as an anomaly to be reviewed with the phrase âDisney, this ainât!â The Incredibles does an excellent job of catering to a family audience, its complex themes and stronger satirical bent necessitating the longest runtime to which Pixar had yet committed. While many wouldâve pushed to get to the action on Syndromeâs island sooner, Pixarâs dedication to strong narratives allowed The Incredibles plenty of time for its crucial domestic set-up, a sitcom dynamic that beautifully dovetails with the action later on to create an effective comedic juxtaposition.
In the wake of the superhero saturation that would begin a few years later with the launch of the MCU, The Incredibles often found itself retrospectively recategorised as a trailblazer, the smart choice to put at number one on a list of greatest superhero movies. Of course, even a cursory glance at the cinematic environment of 2004 shows that The Incredibles came out in the wake of two hugely popular X-Men films. While I donât detect any real influences from those in Birdâs Oscar-nominated screenplay, there are undoubted similarities in how they examine the relationship between superpowers and society, and the box office success of X-Men likely gave The Incredibles a leg up, both in getting the green light and finding its audience. But while there is plenty of superhero action here, The Incredibles feels more strongly indebted to the 60s Spy aesthetic which was its other major influence. Perhaps this is due to the excellent score by Michael Giacchino, who enhances the Bond-like vibe by using era-specific techniques including analog tapes and musicians playing together in the same room. A trailer for The Incredibles featured a rerecorded version of John Barryâs theme from On Her Majestyâs Secret Service, making clear this debt. All this makes classing The Incredibles as a trailblazer seem very odd. It is more of a well-crafted homage, taking from the old and placing it in a new retrofuturstic context.
One of the best things about The Incredibles is the way it tackles the classic Pixar theme of growing older. The prologue shows Mr. Incredible and Elastigirl as young, slick, slightly preening superheroes, before a time jump exposes them as being as vulnerable to the ravages of time as anyone, worn down by their day to day responsibilities. Conversely, the villainous Syndrome has grown physically but not mentally, governed completely by old obsessions and perceived slights from his youth. The consequences of being a superhero in a litigious society would later be explored in the MCU too but rather than get bogged down in grim details of accountability as an unconvincing precursor to a hero-on-hero throwdown, The Incredibles uses the theme to look at how a superhero functions when told they canât use their powers. Some critics accused The Incredibles of having an Ayn Rand/Nietzsche-like philosophy and a right wing bias and, while Bird deemed this as ridiculous, it is probably fair to say that the actual message of The Incredibles is a bit muddy. As a celebration of our own special powers and being true to who we are (if, indeed, that is the intention), it trips over itself too often to connect on the required emotional level. It does a much better job in that respect as a celebration of the power of family but ultimately Iâve always enjoyed The Incredibles most as a genre film that sprinkles in numerous influences and blends them into a diverse but cohesive whole. It doesnât hit me in the heart like many other Pixar productions, but not all of them have to. Birdâs distinctive artistic voice instead helped to broaden the Pixar horizons in both a technical and tonal sense. Plus, he delivered a damn good adventure in the process.
9. FINDING DORY
Finding Dory arrived at a key crossroads for Pixar. Their releases following 2010âs Toy Story 3 had largely been disappointing and, while the critical and commercial success of Inside Out had temporarily rejuvenated enthusiasm, the rapid release of The Good Dinosaur in its wake had many wondering if Inside Out had been a fluke. With the decade halfway over, everyone looked to news of the upcoming Pixar movie and cringed with anticipatory dread when it was announced as a sequel to Finding Nemo. Going back to the well of one of its most beloved films seemed to confirm that Pixar were running dry of ideas and the fact that this was to be not just another sequel but part of a slate of upcoming follow-ups was enough evidence for some to sound the death knell early. Well, shame on us cynical, cynical souls because Finding Dory would not only prove to be a terrific sequel that came close to touching the greatness of its predecessor, it kicked off an era that would confirm Pixar had relocated its celebrated skill with narrative. Finding Story!
Other than the sainted Toy Story franchise, which approached its subsequent episodes with a laudable dedication to world building and character development, Pixar sequels thus far had followed a disappointingly bland template of grabbing the characters from the first film and shoving them into a different context. The characters from Cars⊠but in a Spy movie! The characters from Monsters, Inc⊠but at college! Even though we previously said they were in fourth grade together! No-one will remember that! Just keep the exclamation marks coming!!! The notion of Finding Nemo being sullied (no offence to James P. Sullivan) by a follow-up in which Marlin, Nemo and Dory went to space or something was depressing to say the least. Of course, as you grow up, unless youâre the sort of toxic nerd that still has Phantom Menace and Crystal Skull bonfires every month, you realise that a bad sequel is not really that devastating. The mature viewer can always take a cue from Dory and forget. But when a sequel to something you loved actually works, the subsequent euphoria quickly reminds the viewer that sometimes itâs worth the risk. If you remain true to the characters and focused on the story, thereâs no need to employ that extroverted punctuation.
Cars 2 had elevated a supporting character into the leading role with disastrous effects but Mater remained unchanged across those two films, except perhaps for having his most annoying qualities magnified. In making Dory the lead in the second of the Nemo films, writer/director Andrew Stanton and his team made crucial alterations not to the character but to the tone and focus. In Finding Nemo, Doryâs short term memory loss was played for laughs, creating comically frustrating cyclical dialogues and misunderstandings. In Finding Dory, as befits her new role as protagonist, Dory and her condition are taken much more seriously. Her unconventional memory patterns dictate the structure of the film, and the tragedy of forgetting, as opposed to the comedy of forgetfulness, is explored with an emotional depth that matches that of Finding Nemo. Whatâs more, while Finding Nemo was a more literal title, Finding Dory has an existential double meaning. Though Marlin and Nemo, sidelined but still pivotal, spend a portion of the film searching for their friend, it is Dory herself who is finding Dory, uncovering the forgotten past that defines her even as it eludes her.
The tradition of inferior sequels to replay the hits is largely avoided in Finding Dory. An early reunion with Crush the turtle, resulting in a barrage of seasickness jokes, is cause for concern regarding both recycling and devolution into crassness but it proves to be a fleeting bit of fan service which is ultimately swept aside to make way for new, interesting and hilarious characters that fill out the world rather than contribute to its stagnation. Ed OâNeillâs cranky âseptopusâ Hank is an especially welcome addition, his spindly legs and chameleonic abilities utilised beautifully to help the fish characters navigate the dry areas of the large aquarium that becomes the filmâs primary setting. Other standouts are OâNeillâs Modern Family cast-mate Ty Burrell as beluga whale Bailey, whose echolocation abilities become an ingenious plot point, Kaitlin Olson as nearsighted whale shark Destiny, and Idris Elba and Dominic West as the major comic relief, two territorial British sea lions called Fluke and Rudder. But it is the returning Ellen Degeneres as Dory herself who carries the film. Daffily loveable in Finding Nemo, this time round Degeneresâs performance spotlights Doryâs grit, determination and vulnerability. Based on her role in Finding Nemo alone, I would have doubted the ability of Dory to take centre stage but unlike Mater, whose sole directorial note for Cars 2 seemed to be âthe same but louderâ, Dory is thoroughly explored and expanded in a way that makes complete sense for the character we saw in the earlier film and even retrospectively improves that viewing experience. Stanton was applying Toy Storyâs considered and heartfelt approach to long-form storytelling and reaping all the same creative and commercial benefits. Finding Dory would ultimately join Toy Story 3 in the realms of the billion dollar box office earners.
8. LUCA
Luca was one of the Pixar films produced during the COVID 19 pandemic which did not receive a theatrical release. Instead it just bobbed to the surface on streaming one day with very little fanfare. Coupled with its small-scale approach to story, this unceremonious release caused many to take Luca for an inconsequential blip rather than the boldly personal and immersively low-key delight that it is. A deeply personal work inspired by director Enrico Casarosaâs childhood in Genoa, Luca was almost railroaded into becoming something it was never intended to be when then-Chief Creative Officer John Lasseter pushed Casarosa to make the story bigger, climaxing with an attack on the small coastal town of Portorosso by a giant kraken. Given that Luca became a film that uses negative myths about sea monsters as an analogy for prejudice, Lasseterâs kraken idea would have disastrously undermined that point. I can only assume the message of diversity and acceptance emerged after Lasseter departed, when executive producer Pete Docter encouraged Casarosa to pursue the smaller ideas it had always been his intention to explore. As a result, though Luca may have failed to wow those looking for grand scale adventure, it instead connected with audiences seeking something simpler and more intimate after the wham-bam action of Incredibles 2 and the convoluted philosophising of Soul.
Luca draws heavily on the atmosphere of Italian cinema of the late 50s and early 60s, as well as later American films about children experiencing the freedoms and emotional challenges of glorious summers. There is a fantastical element, with two of the three main protagonists secretly being sea monsters who take human form on land but, as this story strand serves an analogous purpose, it frequently plays second fiddle to the main plot of three friends taking on a local bully in an annual triathlon event in order to win enough money to buy a Vespa. The Vespa is used beautifully as a symbol of escape for the over-parented Luca and the neglected and abandoned Alberto, providing a similar level of freedom as that icon of 80s youth cinema, the pushbike. Luca and Albertoâs amphibious origins, in danger of being exposed by the merest splash of water, have been interpreted as representing race, sexuality and gender, all theories that Casarosa subsequently embraced under a broader umbrella of outsider status. But for all its endearingly accessible symbolism, Luca was clearly conceived first as a simple story of friendship and Casarosa realises this intention so powerfully that on the second viewing I had honestly forgotten Luca was a sea monster at all. What I remembered most was the endearingly rounded human character designs, drawing on the same influences from classic hand drawn and stop motion animations that made Casarosaâs previous short film La Luna so enchanting. Perhaps this return to a cartoonish simplicity after the increasingly realistic-looking humans of recent Pixar films also contributed to the perceived minimisation of Lucaâs cinematic heft, but long-term animation enthusiasts like myself will surely devour this heartwarming homage.
Lucaâs simple story works so well thanks to strong characters and breezy storytelling that homes in on the little moments that make up the broader tapestry of memory. The brave but cautious Luca, the confident but damaged Alberto and the bold, intelligent but frustrated Giulia make for a disarming central trio and it is refreshing that the tension that arises between Alberto and Luca with the arrival of Giulia is based on Albertoâs own abandonment issues rather that the petulant dashed romantic hopes that would once have been de rigueur. It also struck me while watching these children interact with the realism of actual youngsters that Pixar had very rarely used child protagonists before Luca. Coco is a notable exception, while Brave and Onward featured older teen leads, but characters younger than that like Andy in Toy Story or Riley in Inside Out were generally sidelined in favour of their surrogate parental figures. It may contain a fishy twist but Luca is that rare Pixar film to serve up a truly child focused narrative as its main course. There are adults involved in subplots, chiefly Maya Rudolph and Jim Gaffiganâs amusing turns as Lucaâs parents, whose attempts to identify their son by soaking the juvenile population of Portorosso recall the antics of Eugene Levyâs frazzled scientist in Splash. But for the most part the focus is heavily on the kids and their preparation for the triathlon, a plot that serves as the basis to explore the burgeoning friendships that are the heart of the film.
There are a couple of small niggles that keep Luca from obtaining a perfect 5 stars. While Jacob Tremblay, Jack Dylan Grazer and Emma Berman are terrific as Luca, Alberto and Giulia, it wouldnât be unreasonable to wonder why a story conceived and directed by an Italian director and set in Italy stars a Canadian and two Americans. This issue is exacerbated by the casting of Italian actor Saverio Raimondo as the villain Ercole, the filmâs only truly unpleasant character and one of the only characters with a strong Italian accent. Elsewhere, Sacha Baron Cohenâs cameo as Lucaâs disconcertingly strange anglerfish uncle, while very funny, does feel like it undermines the core celebration of differences by warning against being too different lest you become creepy. But these small nitpicks aside, Luca is a ravishing, warm and infectiously bright film that can be enjoyed again and again. While lovers of kraken-based carnage may rue the cancellation of the Lasseter cut, for those who see film as something closer to Roger Ebertâs âmachine that generates empathyâ, Lucaâs pared down approach triumphantly wields the rhetorical question, What could be more cinematic than basic humanity?Â
7. TOY STORY 2
For their first decade and a half of feature film production, Pixar largely avoided sequels in favour of original premises but the Toy Story franchise was different. Its blockbuster success and enormous narrative potential resulted in work on a sequel beginning almost immediately. Toy Story 2 was originally intended to be a direct-to-video film produced on a much smaller scale, in the manner of Disneyâs own successful, if never superior, direct-to-video sequels. However, the quality of the original story reels inspired Disney to bump it up to a full theatrical release. Pixar were not happy with the film as it stood but the release date could not be moved so the production schedule for Toy Story 2 ended up being compressed into a tight nine month timeframe. This resulted in a full third of the team suffering from RSI and one overworked animator forgetting to drop off his child at daycare and, in a mental fog, leaving them in the back of his car in the parking lot. At one point an animator accidentally ran a deletion code on the root file of the film and huge swathes of the finished product disappeared. The situation was only saved because technical director Galyn Susman had been allowed to work from home to be with her newborn baby, and had a backup copy on her home computer. Fortunately, yet another troubled production process for Pixar resulted not only in another tremendous box office hit but a film that was roundly accepted as one of the greatest sequels ever made.
There are those who cite Toy Story 2 as an example of a sequel that outdoes the original. For me, the first film still stands as the greater classic, having established the world and the characters, told an exciting and rich story and tapped into a sense of childhood excitement that chimed equally with those who had already lived through similar and those who still were. Itâs very difficult to compare the foundation block with the next step because the pioneering chapter has that weight of historical importance with which its successor canât compete, but in the case of Toy Story 2 one of the issues with a straight comparison is that itâs just not possible. This isnât a gameboard reset with a quick recap for newcomers before the hits are played. The films in the Toy Story franchise are inextricably linked in a manner that speaks of their unusual depth and thematic resonance. You canât get the same joy from Toy Story 2 if you go in without having seen the first one. In a way that is grossly unfair to the sequel, its existence also retrospectively makes the first film seem richer. Watching it with the knowledge of the adventures to come and latterly armed with the answers to those lingering questions that teased the backs of everyoneâs minds in the winter of 1995 (what happens when Andy grows up? Why doesnât Buzz move when humans are around if he doesnât knew heâs a toy?), Toy Story gains a new depth borrowed from its follow-ups. Not many sequels manage to retrospectively alter the way you look at their predecessors. Most just gorge themselves on references to the most popular moments of the first film and hope no-one notices theyâre not really adding anything new.
To be fair, there are plenty of references to Toy Story in Toy Story 2. The hugely popular Pizza Planet aliens are back, Alâs Toy Barn features heavily and two different characters sing alternate versions of Youâve Got a Friend in Me. But everything that is brought back is there for a reason beyond just reminding audiences of their initial positive reaction. One of the major differences between the two films is that in the sequel Buzz is fully aware he is a toy, seemingly eradicating the potential for more space ranger schtick. A lazier film mightâve reverted to this through that age old plot device of a bump on the head or possibly something more thematically appropriate like a factory reset button. Toy Story 2âs ingenious move is to introduce a whole displayâs worth of Buzzes, none of whom knows they are a toy, and then substituting one of these delusional figures for the Buzz we know and love. This way we get to experience the earnestly heroic Buzz antics of the original film without having to backtrack on crucial character development. A key factor in retaining this narrative integrity is Woody and Buzzâs continued friendship. In the tradition of a Buddy film, the first Toy Story had its two protagonists at each otherâs throats until they discovered common ground and a shared need. Buddy film sequels usually drive a wedge between their central duo, reantagonising them for a forced repeat of the established dynamic. Toy Story 2 not only refuses to do this, it almost instantly separates Woody and Buzz for the majority of the runtime, allowing new dynamics to be explored. Their friendship is still a central concern, implicit in Buzzâs desperate drive to rescue his kidnapped pal, but we get to see Buzz interact more with the rescue party of Rex, Hamm, Slinky Dog and Mr. Potato Head, all of whom have greatly expanded roles. Bo Peep is, of course, left at home again but the continued disservice done to this character is balanced by Pixar finally giving us a strong leading female character in Jessie.Â
Woodyâs arc in Toy Story 2 is deliberately more subtle than Buzzâs boffo antics but his scenes successfully outshine the rest of the film by delivering the beating heart of the story wrapped in a fascinating moral dilemma. Stolen by the owner of Alâs Toy Barn (Wayne Knight who, after Jurassic Park, increases his claim here to being the greatest portrayer of villainous nerds of the 90s), Woody is the final toy needed to compete a set of rare Western themed dolls made to promote the 50s puppet show Woodyâs Roundup. The other three toys, kept in storage until the set could be completed, are ecstatic that Woodyâs arrival means they can now be shipped off to Tokyo to be displayed in a toy museum. Woody wants to get back to Andy but realises that doing so would now condemn his new friends to a potentially eternal return to their packing peanut purgatory. Woodyâs decision is swung by perhaps the most heartbreaking sequence Pixar ever produced. Accompanied by Randy Newmanâs Oscar-nominated tearjerker When She Loved Me, we see the story of Jessie the Cowgirlâs adoring relationship with a little girl named Emily. We then watch Emily gradually grow up and lose interest in toys until the devastated Jessie takes one last cruelly hope-tinged ride with her girl, only to be dumped with a box of donations at the end of it. After Toy Story came out, I think the majority of people asked themselves the question What happens to the toys when the owner grows out of them? This is the sort of concern a weaker franchise would sweep under the carpet but Toy Story 2 doesnât pull any punches with the answer it provides. We see toys being abandoned, condemned to years lying forgotten under beds and on dusty shelves. Thereâs no easy get-outs here. By the filmâs end, Woody has returned to Andy but must process the newly-acquired knowledge of his uncertain future and inevitable separation from Andy. âItâll be fun while it lastsâ he concludes, but what a grim existentialist nightmare to have hanging over you during future playtimes.
The majority of the original cast are back for Toy Story 2 along with two excellent new additions. Kelsey Grammer is delightfully duplicitous as Stinky Pete the prospector, a villain whose desperation is entirely understandable even as his methods are despicably unscrupulous. But the show is emphatically stolen by Joan Cusack as Jessie, imbuing the cowgirl with a girlish vitality tempered by the heavy burden of a broken heart. Itâs a major achievement for a sequel when the standout moment belongs not to an established protagonist but to an entirely new character and Jessieâs When She Loved Me scene, beautifully sung by Sarah McLachlan and bookended by Cusackâs crestfallen confessional, is one example of this. It remains one of the standout moments in the Toy Story series, not to mention the entire Pixar canon. I always found it moving but watching it this time as the father of a little boy who is about to start school and seems to be growing faster every day, I was honestly a mess!
Given that the original Toy Story was such a trailblazing instant classic, that Pixar managed to make something that was almost its equal is amazing. That it was originally going to be a direct-to-video project is astounding and the fact it was made in a compressed nine month timeframe is miraculous (although the delirious, cramping Pixar staff might take issue with such a frivolous description). With its final film of the 90s, Pixar firmly established itself as one of the industryâs biggest hitters, taking the torch from Disney as its Renaissance period began to crumble. Toy Story 2 is smart filmmaking, building the world and developing the characters rather than just resting on its pixels. This was a studio that was clearly headed for infinity andâŠwell, maybe even a little further than that!
6. UP
For the 2009 Oscars, the number of Best Picture nominees was switched from five films to anything up to ten. Many commentators perceived this change as a response to the controversy of Pixarâs WALL-E having missed out on a Best Picture nomination the previous year. Whether that was the case or not, the increase in potential nominees helped Up to become only the second animated Best Picture nominee in history. Like WALL-E before it, a lot of the initial buzz around Up was focused on an early, dialogue-free portion of the film and by the time it was being considered for awards there were already whispers that the rest of Up failed to live up to its heart-rending introduction. While WALL-Eâs acclaimed opening section lasted forty minutes and constituted an entire act, Upâs celebrated segment is a prologue that lasts under ten minutes. Detailing the marriage of protagonist Carl Fredricksen and his wife Ellie from their wedding day through to Ellieâs death, this captivating sequence is doubtless a masterful achievement, running the gamut of emotions from joy to grief and managing to depict not only the highs and lows of a lifetime but also the quieter moments between them. But there was more to Upâs unforgettable prologue than just what we see during its short runtime. This beautifully human vignette feeds into the filmâs major theme of adventure and the oft-unacknowledged versatility of that term. Many people found it incongruous that Up began as something so relatable and ended with talking dogs flying miniature aeroplanes. This resulted in the prologue often being isolated from the rest of the film, even being referred to as Married Life (a title taken from the accompanying piece of music by Michael Giacchino) in an attempt to wrest it from its context and recategorise it as a short film. This was, of course, the work of adults who missed the greater implications of Upâs prologue and how it both enhanced and was enhanced by the fantastical story that followed. The kids understood better than their grown-ups, but then kids so often do.
Up was always intended to be an Adventure film about a flying house held aloft by thousands of helium balloons. The prologue was conceived as part of Pixarâs usual dedication to strong storytelling. This isnât a realistic human drama derailed by outlandish deviations, it is an old-fashioned ripping yarn improved by its deftly located heart. The eagerness with which people separated the prologue from the rest of the narrative seemed to speak of a short attention span, an inability to comprehend narrative themes or simply an aversion to wild adventure narratives. Why go to see a film with a poster depicting a flying house if your own imagination is a flaccid as a deflated balloon? That said, I donât blame anyone for thinking the opening segment of Up is the highlight. Itâs a beautiful, resonant piece of work but it is, after all, a puzzle piece rather than a complete picture. Watching Up for the second time, armed with the skilfully delineated parallel between our everyday lives and airships, explorers and mythical chocolate-loving birds, the effect ought to be even stronger rather than tainted by a desire to perform an emergency fun-ectomy on the film. After WALL-E showed a disappointing and ultimately quite sour tendency to wag a finger at the audience, Up restores Pixarâs more rewarding tendency to identify and explore themes in a way that encourages audiences to do the same, rather than pushing them towards a predetermined and rigid moral.
To be fair, itâs not hard to see why some people had a hard time connecting with Up. If I struggled to countenance Ratatouilleâs human-puppetry-through-hair-pulling plot detail then I can hardly hold it against someone for being skeptical about a helium-hoisted residence. But everything in Upâs world is part and parcel of its adventurous personality. None of it feels like window dressing or a quick fix narrative band aid that got left in. Even in the comparatively realistic prologue, the filmâs outlandish flair is prefaced in the stylised character designs, which deliberately opt for a more cartoonish approach than that adopted for previous Pixar humans. This gives Up its own distinctive feel without remotely undermining its emotional core. Carl Fredricksen is almost as boxy as WALL-E but between the fantastically expressive animation and Ed Asnerâs superbly curmudgeonly voice performance he also feels entirely real. Jordan Nagai, a non-actor who was hired to play Russell while accompanying his brother to an audition for the same role, gives one of my favourite child voice performances. Without ever playing up the cutesyness or layering on the pathos, Nagai makes Russell completely endearing. His constant chatter, a quality the filmmakers saw in Nagai himself when they cast him, manages to hit punchlines and poignancy with a consistent believability. When he talks about his estranged father, Nagai stays true to the ambiguity of the screenplay, his unflinching tone betraying a slight bewilderment rather than the overwhelming sadness for which a less astute film wouldâve pushed. Christopher Plummer is perfectly and chillingly understated as Charles Muntz, the explorer who has gone slowly and murderously insane while trying to prove he is not a fraud, while writer/co-director Bob Petersonâs performance as the enthusiastic Dug, a dog whose collar technology allows him to communicate in slightly imperfect English, is a major contributor to Up being the funniest film in the Pixar canon thus far. The screenplay, co-written by Peterson and director Pete Docter, is also a major factor in this regard. The jokes are often gloriously unexpected and come by way of subverted tropes and carefully manipulated language, as well as well-defined characters and good old fashioned knockabout visual humour.
Amongst the numerous Oscar nominations Up received, including that history making Best Picture nod and another in a run of Best Original Screenplay nominations for Pixar, Michael Giacchino won the award for Best Original Score. Giacchino had been providing very fine scores for Pixar for several years and his beautiful work on Up deserved to bag the award. It is one of those scores that will instantly evoke the film if heard in isolation from it. It enhances the action without intruding upon it, with each character having their own theme, the presentation of which changes according to what is happening in the story. In this respect, Giacchino compared his own work here to Opera. Certainly, the gravitas of the music helps to make each new fantastical occurrence easier to accept, although those with an adventurous heart will need no such prompting. Best of all for those seeking thrills are the airborne action scenes at the conclusion, so exciting that the surprisingly hurried conclusion that follows does not undermine them. Although it nicely wraps up its emotional arcs, Up does leave several narrative questions dangling, but then that is in keeping with its sense of adventure. Itâs more exciting if thereâs more to tellâŠ
5. TOY STORY 3
As a phenomenal blockbuster that made over a billion dollars, Toy Story 3 became one of the most successful and acclaimed animated films of all time. Since then it has been analysed, praised and criticised from all sorts of different angles, as well as embraced by a whole new generation of Toy Story fans. While the film continues to work as a meditation on love, loss and impermanence, Iâd argue that the experience that my generation had with the Toy Story franchise can never quite be replicated. You see, we grew up with these films and that magnified the emotional impact of a series that explores the experience of growing up as a key theme. I was thirteen when the first film came out so maybe a little older than those kids for whom this fifteen year triptych hit the hardest. Or perhaps, as someone who had only recently grown out of toys myself, that was the perfect age to first view Toy Story, armed with a retrospective understanding of a childâs relationship with their toys but safe from the potential trauma of wondering if my own playthings might actually be secretly sentient. Either way, by the time Toy Story 3 arrived in cinemas, these characters felt like old friends and, with a surprising lack of spinoff TV series or short films in between (the tangentially related Buzz Lightyear of Star Command doesnât really count from a canonical standpoint), this was our belated chance to check in with them.Â
Generally, when a long-running franchise offers this opportunity we spend the early portion of each sequel going âOK, so where has everyone ended up. Theyâre married now, sheâs changed jobs, theyâve moved away, etc.â When we sat down in excitement to see our old friends Woody and Buzz in 2010, we went âOK, so where has everyone ended up. Oh, in a half-decade purgatory languishing in a darkened toy chest.â It wasnât like Toy Story 2 hadnât prepared us for this brutal arc. That film ended with the toys having to accept that their time with owner Andy would be âfun while it lastedâ, facing the most uncertain of futures. So when the opening moments of Toy Story 3 confirmed that it was going to follow through on this premise, we were delighted, disturbed and gripped from the outset. Thereâs a genuine pull of sadness seeing Andyâs once bustling room now half empty, with only a handful of his cherished toys left to live a life of diminished playtimes. I imagine those who came to the Toy Story films late still feel a similar sense of loss but for those of us who had lived the period depicted across the three films in something close to real time, the impact was harder. Watching Toy Story 3 when youâd just watched the other two for the first time on consecutive days canât have felt as devastating as returning eleven years later and imagining what had happened in that interim. With its teasing home movie flashback of an opening, Toy Story 3 is immediately able to play on that early onset nostalgia. When Randy Newmanâs You Got a Friend in Me strikes up, weâre instantly back in 1995 but then the song comes to an abrupt end as the line âOur friendship will never dieâ echoes into oblivion over an image of the young Andy with his toys, and we recall that Toy Story 2 made clear that Randyâs words were a childish delusion.
Although this end-of-an-era melancholia hangs over this entire third instalment of the Toy Story franchise, that doesnât stop it also being a fun, funny, exciting adventure. Though destined for the attic as the seventeen year old Andy prepares to leave for college, the majority of the toys end up being accidentally donated to Sunnyside Daycare, a deceptive utopia that actually turns out to be more like a prisoner of war camp run by the dictatorial Lotso, an embittered teddy bear whose abandonment issues have become everybodyâs problem. Because of long term sentimental attachment, Andy has decided to take Woody to college with him. The options for the toys look bleak. Though being there for Andy has always been Woodyâs priority, a life in a college dorm presumably bereft of other toys sounds like at extension of the purgatory he has been living for years at this point. For the others, the options seem to be a lifetime of being battered and drooled on by age-inappropriate playmates or an extended stay in a darkened attic with the Christmas decorations. The fact that the latter is their preference shows just how hopeless the outlook appears at times during Toy Story 3âs runtime. Of course, a preferable option emerges but not before the toys have been put so thoroughly through the wringer that their response to imminent fiery destruction is to hold hands and accept it.
Though its emotionally resonant themes are always present and repeatedly drift to the foreground, Toy Story 3 has long stretches in which it becomes a prison break movie and a deconstruction of societal power dynamics, dissecting Lotsoâs draconian hierarchical structure with a smart satirical edge that never drifts too close to WALL-Eâs tedious didacticism. The increased sense of an ensemble approach that began in Toy Story 2 continues here, with Woody and Buzz only slightly highlighted above their longtime companions. A handful of new creations are added to the cast, with Ned Beatty proving to be the seriesâ most effective villain as the terrifying Lotso, whose folksy demeanour hides layers of sadistic neuroses. The bouncer-like Big Baby and a terrifying cymbal-clattering surveillance monkey are up there with the most memorable of thrift-store dream-haunters, while a small, morose clown named Chuckles all but steals the show with his beautifully narrated downbeat reminiscences.Â
One of the most talked-about new additions was Michael Keatonâs Ken, who is portrayed as a narcissistic, fashion-obsessed metrosexual. It was claimed by many that the character was coded as gay and that his depiction was homophobic but I would argue that, for the most part, Kenâs character is a play on the toy line from which he came and the numerous changeable costumes available with it. His relationship with Barbie, whose extended role is a very welcome feature of Toy Story 3, is complex and hilarious. There is only one moment where, for me, the depiction of Ken tips over into prejudice. Unfortunately, it is part of the end credits sequence which not only means that it ends the film on a sour note but also that it wouldâve been frustratingly easy to dispose of. Iâve always found closing credits sequences to largely be unnecessary afterthoughts that undermine the finality of a good ending. Given how powerful the celebrated ending of Toy Story 3 is, that certainly feels true in this case. The awkward scene in question sees Woody and Jessie reading a letter from Barbie and Ken. It is written in pink, sparkly ink so Woody assumes it is written by Barbie but Jessie points out that it is actually signed by Ken. The two then look at each other with an âOo-erâ expression. This gag isnât so much homophobic as just boneheaded when it comes to gender identity. It suggests that boys in the audience who like pink, sparkly things are somehow a cause for concern and guess what, your favourite toy characters think youâre weird too! After loving Toy Story 3 in the cinema, I remember leaving with a sense of disappointment that this last minute addition had tainted it. On a rewatch, I can disregard it as a fleeting mistake but it does still cast doubt over my charitable assessment of Kenâs overall depiction.Â
Toy Story 3 is on much firmer ground with the depiction of its two leads. In the case of Buzz, a problem for the writers has always been how to tap into the delusional side of his character that was ironed out in the first film but which is an integral part of what makes him fun. In Toy Story 2 this was achieved by the introduction of a Buzz doppelgĂ€nger from Alâs Toy Barn, for whom the moment of revelation was yet, if ever, to arrive. In Toy Story 3, the oblivious Buzz is brought back by way of a factory reset, a notion that also opens up the opportunity to have some fun with his controls and introduce a Spanish mode which turns him into a fiery, passionate variation. This is the sort of stereotypical humour in which Pixar had openly indulged in Cars and, again, they get away with it by playing it to the hilt as an obvious burlesque. The only part of Buzzâs story that doesnât quite ring true is his awkward romance with Jessie, on which a factory reset also appears to have been performed. This pairing was teased at the end of Toy Story 2 but at the start of the third instalment, set nearly a decade later, it hasnât progressed at all. Iâve had some nervous, prolonged attractions that went nowhere in my time too but given Jessieâs enthusiastic receptiveness to Buzzâs tentative advances and given that theyâve spent years locked in a dark toy chest together, youâd think at least one of them wouldâve moved things on a little by this time. With their penchant for conversing in toy-based wordplay, I canât imagine there wasnât at some point an anthropomorphic catcherâs mitt asking if theyâd got to first base yet or a glove puppet inquiring if theyâd at least tried hand stuff.
Woodyâs story continues the franchiseâs fondness for presenting him with a dilemma to work through, with life changing implications hanging over his every decision. Torn between his loyalty to Andy and his desire to be with his friends, Woody juggles his own needs and desires with what is best for his owner and his pals. Woodyâs emotional journey across the first three Toy Story films is a great piece of character development, allowing him to grow from the insecure, defensive and occasionally reprehensible protagonist of the first film into an older, wiser toy whose essential goodness springs from the same seed we glimpsed in the first film but nurtured and shaped by growing experience and dwindling naivety. By the filmâs end, Toy Story 3 has placed Woody in a similar role to a parent, watching Andy drive away for the last time with pride, sadness and ultimately the sense of a job well done. The emotion inherent in Woodyâs arc across the trilogy culminates in that deeply resonant finale that had so many of us in tears when it took us off guard in 2010. The passing of the toys from Andy to Bonnie is exceptionally well handled and mention must be made of the sterling work done by John Morris, who voiced Andy in all three films. Morris strikes just the right tone, never overstating the connection he has with his toys but recognising their symbolic value in his development. His short introductions to each toy, and his relinquishment of the particularly special Woody, are wonderfully affecting, his gentle reminiscences betraying a lifetime of memories including those to which the viewer is not privy. This emotional transaction is also a way to convincingly initiate that one final playtime with Andy that the toys so crave. What hit hardest for me was how, during this playtime, the toys must remain rigid and expressionless. We see close ups of their faces but the filmmakers never give in to the temptation to show even a glimmer of the emotions they are experiencing. Nevertheless, itâs writ large by the groundwork that has been laid. Despite their expressions being immovable, you can see the joy coursing through these temporarily inanimate playmates. Itâs the same joy which they had been inspiring in us millennials for fifteen glorious years.
4. FINDING NEMO
I remember when Finding Nemo first came out, my initial reaction before seeing the film was something akin to âFish? So what?!â When I eventually did see the film, I recall going in with my mind still basically ajar and reacting with indifference to what I perceived to be a straightforward, no-frills undersea adventure. All these years Iâve carried with me the impression that Finding Nemo was a lesser Pixar film, not even deigning to revisit it after enjoying its sequel Finding Dory. What a fool I was! After belatedly rewatching Finding Nemo, I finally see what all the fuss is about and frankly it was an absolute gift to experience that thrill of the magic of classic Pixar in what essentially felt like a first viewing. Fish? So what? Hereâs what: one of the finest animated films of the 21st century!
After a string of blockbuster hits, Pixar had really made a name for itself, especially as Disneyâs star had begun to temporarily fade. But Finding Nemo was a turning point in which Pixar moved away from several established pieces of their formula. Randy Newman, who had scored and written songs for every Pixar film thus far, was passed over in favour of his cousin Thomas Newman. This is typical of the incremental approach to establishing change without shattering what audiences loved about Pixar films. Thomas Newman, of course, has a different style from that of his cousin but the link nonetheless retains that sense of continuity. Although it won the Oscar for Best Original Song, Randy Newmanâs If I Didnât Have You from Monsters, Inc. hinted at a certain repetitiveness that was in danger of growing stale. Thomas Newmanâs wonderfully adventurous score, devoid of a folksy theme song, differentiates Finding Nemo from its predecessors. Thereâs an irresistibly epic edge to this story for which the younger Newmanâs approach is ideally suited. Gone too, for the first time since the original Toy Story, are the end credits bloopers, a wise choice given the heftier dramatic drive of Finding Nemo. The limp bloopers at the end of Toy Story 2 had somewhat undermined that filmâs emotional content and first time director Andrew Stanton wasnât about to make that same mistake here. The bloopers, though fitfully amusing, were in danger of becoming a tired novelty and, having been through such a high-stakes emotional experience with Nemo and Marlin, itâs essential that audiences leave the theatre still convinced of them as real characters rather than mere actors in their own story.
While certain changes helped keep Finding Nemo fresh, other factors ensured that it retained the magic of a Pixar production. Stanton had been a writer on every Pixar film thus far and for his directorial debut he pulled out all the stops, resulting in Pixarâs second Oscar nomination for Best Original Screenplay. The striking visuals are firmly in place, showcasing another technical leap forward with exquisite water animation, while the deeply resonant characters so crucial to Pixarâs continued success were also firmly in place, with Marlin, Nemo and Dory becoming Pixar icons and a huge supporting cast bolstering their brilliance. This cast features numerous recognisable voices and continues the Pixar tradition of plucking its stars from the world of comedy, with appearances by Barry Humphries, Brad Garrett, Stephen Root and, of course, Albert Brooks and Ellen DeGeneres. Brooks, whose neurotic wit is a perfect fit for overprotective father Marlin, replaced William H. Macy when a lighter touch was deemed necessary. Given Marlinâs story begins with his wife and the majority of his unborn children being killed by a barracuda, this was probably a wise choice, although Brooksâs natural comedic charm does not for a second undermine the gravitas of his tragic motivation. DeGeneres, meanwhile, was chosen for the fish with short-term memory loss after Stanton saw her on TV changing the subject multiple times across the course of one sentence. Before this Dory had been envisaged as male but given the comparative dearth of strong female characters in the Pixar canon up to this point, DeGeneresâs hiring somewhat saved the day. Dory couldâve easily become terribly annoying without her whimsical likability.
When I first watched Finding Nemo, I think I found its episodic structure distracting, longing instead for the focused narratives of the Toy Story franchise. But while Finding Nemo does consist of many underwater vignettes, it threads them on the sturdiest of narrative strings, resulting in a powerful journey filled with mini-adventures that help gradually flesh out the relationships and dig into the themes. The death of Marlinâs wife Coral was originally planned to appear across numerous flashbacks but Stanton made the wise choice to bump it up to the top as a prologue. It is delivered with a restraint that enhances its dramatic impact without manipulation or cheap sentiment. It plays as a moment of quiet horror, a phenomenally brave opening that provides the story with its continued ominous sense of danger and high stakes. Another smart narrative move is setting up a quest that seems practically impossible. Finding a tiny clownfish in a vast ocean seems daunting enough but, unbeknownst to Marlin, his son is removed from that ocean altogether and immediately installed in a fish tank in a dentistâs office. The logistics of how these two small piscine pals can possibly come together again is something that keeps the audience guessing throughout. It also allows the film to switch between the beautiful, vast ocean setting and the enclosed fish tank, with the latter being packed with memorable characters who become accomplices in Nemoâs predicament. Marlin and Dory, meanwhile, come across numerous obstacles in a classic quest narrative fashion. There are comedic asides and moments of real tension, all enhanced by a reef filled with beautifully rendered aquatic creatures. The immersive undersea world makes Finding Nemo a constant pleasure to be with.
As a younger man who had spent his teen years watching Pixar films, I think I approached Finding Nemo looking for the high concept thrills Iâd come to associate with the brand. But Finding Nemoâs premise is secondary to its execution. Monsters, Inc. had been largely based around one ingenious premise. By contrast, Finding Nemo takes a simple, well-worn concept and then enhances it by sprinkling a seemingly endless barrage of ingenious ideas into it. By the end of the film, you really feel youâve been somewhere and experienced something exciting. Itâs a kidâs classic and, being in my early 20s at the time of its release, I was probably at the prime age to miss that fact. Fortunately, Pixarâs ability to cater for children and the adults accompanying them is on prominent display here, so while the arrogant 21 year old me mightâve missed the magic, the 42 year old father Iâve become watched Finding Nemo with the same knot in my stomach as the majority of parents probably felt watching this with a surreptitiously tightening grip around their popcorn-munching offspring. I projected myself and my young son onto these characters with such force that the film may as well have been called Finding Milo. Fortunately, Milo slept on upstairs, as did his mother, both of them blissfully unharrassed by barracudas.
3. INSIDE OUT
When Inside Out arrived in the summer of 2015, for many it restored a faith in Pixar that had been flagging for half a decade. Although it would be followed later that same year by the critically panned The Good Dinosaur, Inside Out stands as the bright spot in the first Pixar dark age and the upturn in quality at which it hinted came to pass across the second half of the decade, with a slew of much better sequels and the wonderful Coco. I must admit that my entitled pessimism in the face of Cars 2, Brave and Monsters University meant that I didnât react too enthusiastically to the initial trailers for Inside Out. The notion of little characters controlling human beings from the inside was one Iâd seen before, primarily in Malcolm Judgeâs wonderful Beezer comic strip The Numskulls, as well as an X-rated variation in Woody Allenâs Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex. But it quickly became apparent when watching the film itself that Inside Out wasnât a mere rip-off of these wholly comedic takes on the same premise. Rather, this was a deeply personal work that had sprung from director Pete Docterâs own observations of his daughterâs development. Docter wisely recruited Ronnie del Carmen, story supervisor on two of Pixarâs most emotionally resonant films, Finding Nemo and Up, to help him come up with the story and the two writers consulted psychologists and neuroscientists to ensure their fanciful take on a childâs brain development had some kind of grounding in actual science. This is the sort of dedication to storytelling that makes an enduring Pixar classic. All Woody Allen did was buy a sperm costume.
When I rewatched Inside Out last night, it was the first time Iâd seen it since becoming a father myself. With its focus on family and the trials and tribulations of growing up, I feared I might become one of those terrible people who claims you really need to have children to fully appreciate Inside Outâs emotional impact. What surprised me most was that I didnât really connect the drama on screen with my own parenting experience. Perhaps the discrepancy in age between my four year old son and Inside Outâs eleven year old Riley has something to do with that and fingers crossed, I might turn into an oblivious and condescending viewer once my kids done with primary school. Based on my emotional reaction to earlier viewings of Inside Out however, I suspect the truth is that Docter and his team did such a great job of crafting a film focusing on the prepubescent experience that parents are just as likely to regress to childhood as they are to empathise with Rileyâs parents. Certainly, in my mindâs eye I found myself standing, nervous and tearful, right along with her in front of a new class. I never went through a situation like the move to a new town that Riley endures here but if I didnât recognise the scenario from personal experience, I sure as hell recognised the feelings being felt. That is one of Inside Outâs most significant achievements. It presents us with recognisable emotions that transcend the specific details of the story on their direct route to the heart.
Although Inside Out is a deeply moving film, it is also a very funny one. Its main voice cast are taken from the world of comedy, with the chief emotions being voiced by Amy Poehler, Phyllis Smith, Bill Hader, Mindy Kaling and Lewis Black and the forgotten imaginary friend Bing Bong voiced by Richard Kind. With such a weight of comedic talent behind it, Inside Outâs smartly amusing screenplay is often rendered hilarious, its clever concepts enhanced by believable and nuanced performances. Poehler and Smith, as the key emotions Joy and Sadness, fit their roles especially well and elements of their particular physical performance styles inform the characterisations, making the rather unconvincing concerns that belatedly arose about Inside Outâs relationship with body image seem almost counterproductively insulting. Kind, whose name could almost be an alternative emotion-based moniker for his character, makes Bing Bong an innately lovable creation whose ultimate sacrificial fate joins the ranks of Pixarâs saddest moments. Given the intended focus on the internal world, the fact that little attention was given to the voice actors who performed the human roles is evidence that they did their jobs well. Kyle MacLachlan and Diane Lane make for relatably flawed but sympathetic parents, while Kaitlyn Dias as Riley is the unsung hero of the film. Docter himself played a part in marginalising Diasâs contribution when he claimed that Riley was the setting rather than the protagonist. Thatâs a clever, attention-grabbing soundbite but it makes Riley sound far less important than she is. We see the journey of Joy and Sadness inside Riley paralleled with her own emotional journey and their crescendos are of equal importance. The scenes in which Riley cries are exceptionally performed and Dias must be given much credit for making audiences feel every sob and each subtle shift between fear, anger, sadness and comfort.
Although it inevitably raises many questions that canât be answered in the course of 95 minutes, Inside Outâs world is intricately worked out and executed with a combination of tight continuity and a constant eye on fun. Like Willy Wonkaâs chocolate factory, thereâs a new surprise around each corner and, aside from the worst Chinatown parody Iâve ever seen, everything works beautifully. The stakes are enormously high, with a childâs mental well-being hanging in the balance, and thereâs a melancholic brilliance to the way the personified emotions have a nurturing, parent-like attitude towards Riley yet she will never be aware of them as actual caregivers. The scene in which Joy skates alongside an image of one of Rileyâs happiest memories epitomises this exceptional, bittersweet concept. The standout theme of Inside Out is the importance of the whole range of emotions we experience and how they bleed into and inform each other. The film illustrates this clearly in its storytelling but also in the way it makes us experience those mixed, complex emotions, which makes for as satisfying a viewing experience as is imaginable. Itâs the sort of Weepie where you feel happy to be crying and leave emotionally enriched rather than just exhausted. The image of Joy and Sadness working together at the control panel is a potent, lasting one that is sure to help children, and honestly many adults, put their fluctuating feelings into a context they can better understand.
2. CARS 3
When you create your own ranking of a popular group of things, there are always a couple of entries that you feel the need to justify more forcefully. Thereâs absolutely no reason we should feel intimidated by the established canon, and people breaking free of that pressure is what keeps these exchanges of opinion fresh and interesting. Clearly though, I canât quite practice what I preach because if that were the case I couldâve launched straight into the reasons why Cars 3 is my number 2 Pixar film instead of opening with rambling apologia. But as the author of a list that has already placed the beloved WALL-E so low, I can feel the knives being unsheathed by numerous Pixar purists whose own rankings probably kick off with a three Cars pileup at the bottom end. Nevertheless, I stand by my choice on what is, after all, a ranking according to personal preference. If you call your list Pixar Greatest to Worst, you open yourself up to persnickety arguments about innovation, cultural impact and critical consensus. If you call it My Favourite Pixar Films, no amount of pedantic snobbery can contest that.
Because Iâm not above a bit of defensive emotional blackmail, letâs bring my infant son in at this point. Cars 3 was the first film he ever watched in its entirety. For a period in the winter of 2022, we watched it together four times. He was glued to it and it seemed to get better for me with each viewing too. Aha, you might think, now weâre getting to the bottom of this! Of course, there are always extenuating circumstances when it comes to your personal experience with a film, especially when it is in relation to your loved ones. Budding juvenile cineastes and long-gone film-loving grandparents have influenced adoration of particular films since the birth of the medium. While these emotional connections are perfectly valid justifications for our preferences, in my case my experience with Cars 3 and my son is just a happy addendum to an existing anomalous love for the movie. After all, thereâs a reason I chose the third film in the trilogy to show to him rather than the first (or, God help us, the second). It was because Iâd already seen Cars 3 several times and knew it was the most likely to hold his attention. That he loved it as much as me, I took as validation. A cynic might claim it was merely evidence of my own tastes aligning with those of a preschooler but I saw it as proof that my son already had the discerning tastes of his Daddy! Plus my wife got sucked into our tractor beam and now Cars 3 is a family favourite. She refers to Cruz Ramirez as her âfavourite Disney princess!â
The establishment of Cars 3 as a Goulding family staple is a mere footnote in my wider appreciation of its unsung status as a franchise-saving Pixar masterpiece. I remember when I first sat down to watch it with the heavy heart of a man who had pledged to watch every new Pixar release and, consequently, had seen Cars 2. Even Cars, a film which Cars 3 played a huge part in helping me to retrospectively appreciate, had not made any kind of impact on me the first time round, so I came to the third instalment with minimal expectations. As I watched, I remember being astonished at just how much I was enjoying it, how much there was to engage with emotionally and thematically. By the end of that viewing, I knew Iâd loved it but I never quite imagined Iâd end up ranking it above so many other Pixar movies. But as the process of aging becomes one of the chief preoccupations at the forefront of my mind, I find Cars 3 resonates even more deeply than its more popular Pixar stablemates.
Before we get to the underlying themes though, one of the most important things that makes Cars 3 better than its predecessors is that it is finally a Cars film thatâs actually about racing. Itâs about lots of other things too but racing is front and centre, without any long-winded, slow-paced deviations about small town life or bizarre transformations into ill-suited genre parodies. Cars 3 is a Sports movie through and through. You can see it in the thrillingly kinetic poster art, which places the focus on movement and speed rather than highlighting the goofy grins of anthropomorphic autos. Despite not liking sport, Iâve always had a soft spot for the Sports movies genre. Hereâs a place where I can get an approximation of the thrills of a sporting event in the fairly certain knowledge that I wonât have to wade through hours of tedium and mediocrity to get to the good bits. Cars 3 doesnât disappoint in this respect. It moves at a hell of a lick, its emotional crescendos punctuated by exciting races, intense training sessions and even a demolition derby. Compared to the ponderous first film and the frankly baffling second one, Cars 3 barely puts a tyre wrong in its structure and pacing.Â
But there is a lot more going on beneath the bonnet of Cars 3. This is a melancholy reflection on the effects of age and being unable to continue doing the thing you love most. It is a mediation on embracing change and finding your place in a rapidly shifting world. It is an examination of just how crucial a role self-belief plays in our happiness. It tackles these themes with every bit as much sensitivity as the Toy Story franchiseâs ruminations on growing up, only this time itâs about growing old. Ingeniously, exploring this theme in the context of sports, an arena where the ravages of age come into effect much sooner, allows Cars 3 to unpack some profound truths without significantly altering the outward appearances of the characters on which the franchise was built. By most standards, Lightning McQueen is still relatively young but by the standards of professional competition he is fading fast. Lightning is one of those difficult characters whose arc from cocky jerk to considerate, friendly guy was complete by the end of the first film, which is why he was elbowed to one side (or fendered to one side, if we must have a car analogy for absolutely every point) in Cars 2. Cars 3 rightly puts him back at the centre of the narrative (or in the driverâs seat. OK, Iâll stop now) and is able to rejuvenate him as an interesting character by charting his inevitable fall from greatest racer in the world to a victim of the rookies that he himself inspired. Cars 3 completes a larger, more satisfying multi-film arc from Lightning McQueen the rising upstart to Lightning McQueen the magnanimous mentor. Evoking the spirit of Lightningâs own mentor Doc Hudson, the film traces Lightningâs journey to fulfil that role for another aspiring racer.
In terms of character, Cars 3 is firing on all cylinders. Mater, a lumbering character whose tendency to slow down the action completely sabotaged the first Cars sequel, has very little screen-time here. Initially I was relieved, given that I found the character and Larry the Cable Guyâs voice performance utterly grating in the first two films. But the marginalisation of Mater does more than spare us his antics, it unlocks his potential. I actually like Mater in this film, utilised as a caring best friend whose earthy approximation of wisdom helps buoy up Lightning during moments of doubt. But Cars 3âs major asset when it comes to character is newcomer Cruz Ramirez. A sparky, intuitive trainer who harbours a secret longing to be a racer herself, Cruz is brilliantly voiced by Cristela Alonzo, who realises both her comedic and dramatic potential to the fullest extent. Her increasing importance in the narrative balances out Lightningâs gradual realisation that his racing days are coming to an end. Thereâs a pivotal argument scene that occurs at the midpoint of both charactersâ narratives during which they find themselves at the twin peaks of their melancholic realisations: he that his time on the track is limited, she that she will never be the racer she always dreamed of being. They subsequently help each other negotiate these problems for a feelgood climax that is not diminished one iota by its predictability. Fans of Pixarâs tearjerking flourishes often miss the emotionality of Cars 3 because its key scene occurs in the middle rather than at the beginning or end, and relies on a more subtle register for its impact. It is a moment that combines the existential dread of aging with the crestfallen resignation of self doubt. It is a hell of a midpoint from which to pull such a feelgood u-turn.
Cars 3âs hardest obstacle to overcome is the middling reputation of the franchise of which it is part. A lot of the problems that dogged previous instalments have been ironed out here, chiefly the inherent clunkiness of anthropomorphic vehicles as characters. By focusing on racing, a natural activity for cars, Cars 3 is far easier to buy into and the constantly improving animation technology means that it looks terrific, with the characters and settings looking more beautiful than they ever have. Randy Newman returns to provide a score that maintains the consistency of the Cars world, as does the Rock soundtrack which includes great songs by Dan Auerbach and ZZ Ward, as well as a thematically appropriate cover of Bruce Springsteenâs Glory Days by Andra Day. This adherence to the established milieu of the Cars world may have tainted Cars 3 by association for some but it also had the opposite effect for me, helping me revise my opinions on the franchise and feel open to new instalments. But Cars 3 absolutely works as a standalone film too, applying Pixarâs strong storytelling tradition to a set of characters and a world whose previous shortcomings are flattened by the momentum of blazing wheels. Cars 3 is Pixarâs unexpected rookie, rising up my ranking to the number 2 position.
1. TOY STORY
Sometimes historical firsts are enshrined on Greatest of All Time lists simply based on their trailblazing achievements. A film like The Jazz Singer, for instance, will forever be hailed, preserved and discussed for being the first sound film with synchronised dialogue, even though its other attributes might not be the most amusing to modern audiences. But then there are other pioneering works that are so successful as entertainments that their groundbreaking qualities become a secondary concern. Toy Story, for instance, is so widely beloved for its story, characters, dialogue, animation, voice work and music that its status as the first fully computer animated feature has largely become a secondary concern to most. People remember it more as the first Pixar film or the first film in a popular franchise than they do as the film that proved computer animation as a viable commercial alternative. For modern audiences, computer animation is the default for mainstream releases and the market is so flooded that it is impossible for many to imagine that it was once seen skeptically as a fleeting novelty, just like sound and colour. Released in 1995, Toy Story is officially an old film now, but watching it last night, save for a couple of kinks that were being worked out, it still looks fantastic. When it was first released, audienceâs jaws collectively hit the floor in the same way they did at early screenings of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. But it wasnât technological novelty that made Toy Story such an enduring and beloved hit, it was something else for which its parent company Pixar became consistently celebrated: storytelling.
With the Oscar-winning success of early Pixar short Tin Toy, the Walt Disney Company realised theyâd made a mistake in firing an upcoming young talent named John Lasseter, a firing primarily based on his enthusiasm for computer animation. In an attempt to woo Lasseter back to the fold, Disney inked a deal with Pixar to produce a computer animated feature. Pixar had originally proposed a half hour Christmas special, A Tin Toy Christmas, based around the main character from their Oscar-winning short, but Disney Chairman Jeffrey Katzenberg pushed for a full-length movie instead. It was one of his better ideas but Katzenberg also made it clear from the outset that he was an inveterate micromanager and his interfering eventually caused the Toy Story project to veer close to disaster. It would be a convenient narrative oversimplification itself to suggest that Katzenberg brought no good ideas to the table. It was him, for example, who suggested Toy Story become a Buddy Film, in which the main characters began as rivals and only came together in the face of adversity. However, other less fruitful demands came from Katzenbergâs side too, such as making Toy Story a Musical and doubling-down on giving it an edgy, adult tone. The former demand was navigated beautifully through the hiring of Randy Newman who provided not only a fantastic score but three great self-performed songs which complimented the story through commentary rather than intrusion. The latter demand proved more problematic. Katzenbergâs constant rejection of the scripts Pixar submitted led to the film becoming more and more like Katzenbergâs own vision. He wanted to emphasise the content that would appeal to adults, constantly calling for increased âedginessâ, until the characters became what Lasseter himself described as âthe most unhappy, mean characters that I’ve ever seen.â Tom Hanks, already cast in the lead role of Woody, observed during recording of the altered script that his character had become âa real jerk.âÂ
These developments culminated in the infamous âBlack Friday incidentâ, in which Pixar screened a rough version of the filmâs first half for Disney executives and production was temporarily shut down. A perplexed Katzenberg, wondering why the film was so bad, was informed by his Disney colleague Thomas Schumacher that it was âbecause it’s not their movie anymore; it’s completely not the movie that John set out to make.” Fortunately at this stage the self-described micromanager took a step back, allowing Pixar to rewrite the script their way. The resulting screenplay by Andrew Stanton, Joss Whedon, Joel Cohen and Alec Sokolow nailed the tone, creating a film that appealed to both children and adults without having to resort to endless wink-wink references or mean-spirited, cynical characterisations. This was something very different from the hit films Disney were turning out at the time. This was Pixarâs own voice, a voice that would reverberate through the cinematic landscape for decades to come. In the hands of its rightful parents, Toy Story became the first animated film to receive an an Oscar nomination for Best Original Screenplay.
Toy Storyâs troubled production history illustrates the crucial importance of good storytelling which was to remain at the heart of Pixarâs output. The incredible animation is not to be underestimated. Though certain elements look a little dated now (primarily the human characters, which are still a tad grotesque, although in the case of anarchic toy-destroyer Sid that works in the filmâs favour), the world of Toy Story and its characters shines with rich, beautiful detail. As the craft of traditional hand-drawn animation has been usurped by computer animation in mainstream productions, a backlash against the newer medium has been evident in some quarters. While Iâm a huge fan and supporter of traditional animation, some critics of computer animation seemed to believe it was an easy process, that you could just push a button and a film would drop out. The art of Toy Story is gorgeous, intricately and painstakingly realised. Lasseter observed âWe had to give the world a sense of history. So the doors are banged up, the floors have scuffs.â This detail-rich approach shows how the storytelling is baked into the whole process. Pixar werenât just shouting âTa-Da!â as they unveiled their new magical computer-generated creation. The real trick would be to make audiences forget they were watching something new at all. So if computer animation was the banner headline, that second word in the title Toy Story was the real key.
Often the animated films of a certain era have a group of devoted fans who grew up in that same era. I was thirteen when Toy Story came out, right on the cusp of temporarily abandoning animation as an interest before I re-embraced it as a major passion in young adulthood. Still, I went to the cinema to see it with my Mum and we both loved it. But the nostalgia that boosts my love of Toy Story is related less to that cinema trip than it is to a certain kind of false nostalgia I feel for the leafy American suburbs that littered the childrenâs programming and family films of my youth. This was my vicarious childhood, in which I played in Little League despite not really knowing what it was and had to walk to the bottom of my garden to pick up the mail rather than have it stuck through my front door. Toy Story captures that white middle-American dream so perfectly that the flood of endorphins makes me momentarily forget that its televisual and cinematic dominance was somewhat problematic. The magic of the story isnât just in the fact that toys come to life, itâs in the way the experience of childhood excitement is so accurately reproduced. The toy characters are more often than not observing and reacting to their oblivious preteen owners, a relationship that would be even more thoroughly explored throughout the subsequent entries in the franchise. In setting up this alternative perspective on the childhood the majority of its audience were still experiencing, Toy Story made us look differently not only at our toys but at ourselves.
The cast of Toy Story is crucial to its success. In hiring Tom Hanks, Pixar made the potentially tricky character of Woody into an understandably flawed but lovable lead. He is the most human of protagonists, even though he isnât! His fears of being replaced in the affections of his owner Andy manifest themselves in a petulance that gradually grows into desperation, yet his incredulity at Buzz Lightyearâs belief that he is not a toy is a frustration that is easily shared by the viewer. The famous scene in which Woody snaps and shrieks âYOU ARE A TOYâ at Buzz feels cathartic despite Woodyâs unkindness, in the same way the moment he mockingly cries âBuzz, look, an alien!â is still hilarious. Ironically, the differences that separate Woody and Buzz ultimately land them in the same predicament. Woody discovers his place as Andyâs favourite is not to be taken for granted, while Buzz realises he is not an intergalactic space ranger but a miniature plastic replica of one. This is the story of two characters becoming stronger by realising that they are not indestructible. Hanks, exceptional actor that he is, is able to completely sell every emotional stage of this journey. Tim Allenâs Buzz, meanwhile, is mostly a satirical portrait of the traditional square-jawed hero but his second act realisation sees Allen introduce a subtle vulnerability to his performance, once the initial less-than-subtle nervous breakdown has played out, that is.
The other inhabitants of Andyâs bedroom are played with beautiful broad strokes by the likes of Don Rickles, Wallace Shawn, Jim Varney and Pixarâs good luck charm John Ratzenberger. Only Annie Pottsâs Bo Peep feels out of place. In the traditionally gendered world of the 90s with which we are dealing here, her presence amongst Andyâs toys seems unlikely. The fact that this is explained by her largely being there to fulfil the damsel-in-distress role in Andyâs fantasy playtimes is a bit of a stretch and stands in the way of Potts being given any decent material to work with. Just as she gets lumbered with the clichĂ©d female role in Andyâs fantasies, so Toy Story uses her for the then-obligatory romantic subplot. Itâs telling that by Toy Story 3 her character was removed altogether. The official Pixar line on this was that because she was a porcelain figurine she was too delicate to take part in adventures outside of the home. Women, eh? Theyâre just so fragile! Of course, Bo would return in Toy Story 4 and other stronger female characters were introduced in the meantime. But in retrospect, one of the few major weaknesses of the first Toy Story film is this lack of notable female characters. It feels very 1995 that one of the only other female toys in the film is literally a pair of disembodied legs!
Allowing for the representation issues of the era, Toy Storyâs screenplay is otherwise exceptional. The film runs at a brief 81 minutes and it takes about 30 minutes to get outside of Andyâs house. This is not a problem however, since the microcosmic nature of the toysâ world allows for plenty of adventure within a comparatively small space (witness the scene in which small green army men are deployed on a mission to find out what presents Andy has got for his birthday). The set-up is so effectively concise that once Woody is cut loose from the familiar world of the bedroom you can feel the weight of alienation resting on his shoulders, an experience that is replicated with a heavier dose of pathos for Buzz in the wonderful I Will Go Sailing No More sequence, in which he finds himself separated from his entire sense of identity. Many years down the line, the famous montage in Up would be celebrated for its devastating impact using wordless images. Iâve always found this scene equally as heartrending and unforgettable, especially since it inserts humour at the exact moment of maximum devastation, with the corny Buzz Lightyear commercial juxtaposed with the absolute heartbreak of Buzzâs reaction to it.Â
Itâs easy to pick holes in Toy Storyâs plot but many of the questions audiences asked were subsequently answered later in the franchise, with Pixar seizing the opportunity to expand the world by tackling its perceived flaws. The important thing was that audiences loved these characters and wanted to see more. The themes of childhood and growing up meant that Toy Storyâs protagonists had to keep growing and changing rather than resetting for each new go round. This first film established the emotional complexity that allowed that growth to take place convincingly. In doing so, Pixar delivered the hoped-for edginess and adult-appeal for which Katzenberg had hoped, without sacrificing the heart or cross generational appeal. Toy Story remains an important film but the fact that this importance continues to be regularly overlooked in favour of its overwhelming entertainment value is perhaps one of its greatest achievements. Epoch-making stuff that still goes down easy.
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