It should be apparent to everyone that Toy Story 4 shouldn't even exist. Frankly, neither should have 3. Nevertheless, we're here, so let's talk about it.
Problem 1: The Woody Backtrack
We begin with Woody feeling neglected and ultimately without purpose due to him no longer being Bonnie's favorite toy. This serves as a springboard for his emotional voyage brought by the events of the film. During this time he'll learn to find his true purpose and source of happiness within and beyond himself. These are heavy themes for a kids' film which the industry greatly needs more of, and are executed in a lovely fashion to boot. So why is it a problem?
Remember Woody's arc in Toy Story? After Buzz's arrival--and Andy's subsequent favor of him--the bossy, self-important, and selfish Woody falls into a crisis of self. He'll have to overcome these personal obstacles to develop a friendship with Buzz and accept whatever love Andy has for him, to whatever extent it may be, and be grateful for what he has.
Fast forward to Toy Story 2, and we see a rejuvenated Woody encounter a new personal obstacle: a toy's purpose. Our new antagonist, the emotionally manipulative and portly Prospector, nearly convinces Woody that his time with Andy has run its course, forcing Woody to reexamine his loyalties and priorities. His adventures, along with his new, heartwarming relationship with Jessie, lead him to his realization that his purpose is found in making Andy happy, and proceeds to live his life accordingly.
Along comes Toy Story 3. We now have college-age Andy who has grown out of his toys, as boys tend to do. A plot-furthering misunderstanding places his toys in Sunnyside Daycare where they'll square off against Lotso, the not-so-friendly huggin' bear. Woody becomes at odds with his friends who feel Andy has abandoned them. This time, instead of Prospector, Lotso and the rest of the gang are the ones who try to convince Woody that they all need to move on. Until they learn about the integral misunderstanding, that is. Now they all know that their purpose is to be there for Andy when he needs them. Woody's arc has become flat, but that's OK because his flat arc serves its purpose: to teach the other toys what he already knows. It's derivative, but it's passable.
Which brings us to Toy Story 4. As mentioned earlier, Woody has, yet again, become uncomfortable not being the favorite toy. But now it's somehow different because...he's not Bonnie's favorite toy? Sure, we'll go with that. Later, his journey teaching Forky what he learned way back in Toy Story 2 (and already taught all the other toys in Toy Story 3) crosses paths with long-lost Bo-Peep. The duration of the plot is essentially Woody and Bo contriving a plan to retrieve Forky from Gabby Gabby, whom we'll discuss later. This journey, aided by life lessons from Bo-Peep, will invoke a self-reckoning within Woody, leaving him to reexamine his life's purpose and his source of happiness. Only this time, he decides his purpose is beyond bringing Bonnie happiness and opts to leave the gang behind to conclude his star-crossed love affair with Bo-Peep.
As you can see, Woody's purpose-of-self crisis from Toy Story 2 (and reiterated in 3) is recycled, but the outcome is different. Which raises the question, "Which is it?" Does this mean his arc in Toy Story 2 was misguided? Did he lead his friends into false happiness? Is being a child's toy just a waiting period to becoming a "free-will" toy? Or is it the other way around? What makes his situation with Bonnie so different than with Andy that it warrants a different decision? The film leaves all these questions open, and the reason is fairly clear: Pixar had written themselves into a corner, and was left with no new story to tell. Woody had already learned everything he needed to learn and had taught his loved ones all he knew. Yet, Toy Story is a household name. And we all know Disney wouldn't turn down those sweet, sweet Di$ney Dollars, regardless of whether there was something left to be said within the franchise.
Problem 2: Buzz's Devolution
In Toy Story, Buzz has one of the most powerful and memorable character arcs in nearly any Pixar film; and certainly any kids' film outside of the Pixar universe. He spends his life believing he was created to defend the whole galaxy only to find himself sucking down Darjeeling with a headless doll, "years of academy training wasted." He experiences all five stages of grief during the film, all with hilarity and poignancy along the way.
He even serves as a conduit for Woody's conscience in Toy Story 2, saving Woody from giving in to his selfish instincts. While Woody spends time away, Buzz even leads a rescue team to bring him back, all while battling his arch-nemesis, Zurg. Yet, at certain points, he falls into silliness, causing mischief with blue-belted Buzz and the Barbie dolls. He hasn't lost his personality, but the movie's kid-aimed humor came largely at his expense.
In Toy Story 3 he is essentially the same, doing all he can to do right by the other toys. He exhibits selflessness and strength, yet enough humility to learn the lesson Woody ultimately teaches them. Somehow, however, he spends nearly equal time becoming silly, tangential comic relief, predominantly seducing Jessie in Spanish. This display, albeit hilarious, isn't consistent with who he has learned to become, and can even cheapen all he has learned.
By Toy Story 4, Buzz has completely gone out the window. And I mean that literally; he jumps out a window when faced with a problem, completely devoid of any rationale or intelligence. He spends the entire film being coaxed by his "inner voice," hardly rubbing enough brain cells together to form a coherent thought. His stints with the Key & Peele toys are wacky and fun, but this is not the Buzz we know. Comic relief and child-aimed humor are basically fine, but why did it have to come at the expense of such a previously deep and complex character? There are no remnants of ending-of-Toy-Story Buzz until his final lines. His entire character views as if Pixar had no actual plan for him, but they knew they couldn't stick him in the corner with the rest of the original toys, so they figured it would suffice to make him dumb instead.
Praise 1: Bo-Peep's Quality Character-Writing
We hadn't seen Bo-Peep since Toy Story 2, and she wasn't much more than a tertiary character back then. We now learn about how she came to leave Woody & Co. behind. By the time we reunite with her, we find her empowered by years of independence. She and Woody are essentially the entire latter two-thirds of the movie, and they're excellent together. They teach each other meaningful life lessons; lessons which neither could have learned in their own circumstances. She primarily helps Woody with his task, but still has to overcome her own weaknesses in the process. What an excellent way to write a great character while taking advantage of a time-gap. Indeed, Pixar managed to write high-quality feminist overtones without thinly veiled bloviation.
Bo-Peep is a terrific example of how to write a strong character--female or otherwise--without trying too hard. The best way for writers to undermine the message that they're trying to send is to make a big deal about it. Or, worse yet, pat themselves on the back for it within their work. Bo-Peep isn't a hollow conduit for a message; she's just Bo-Peep. She's her own character first and foremost. Girls and women like her not because she's strong and a woman, but because she's Bo-Peep, who happens to be strong, empowered, and still relatable. The writers didn't write her with the message, "This is good," or, "This is bad," they simply said, "This is."
Praise 2: Gabby Gabby and the Antagonist Change-Up
As discussed earlier, the previous two antagonists in the Toy Story franchise were motivated by essentially the same thing. As far as antagonists go, as opposed to villains (yes, there is a difference), they were initially complex, but eventually became just "evil." Most of their nuance was either mostly or entirely forgotten by the third act of the film. Indeed, nobody felt conflicted about seeing Prospector and Lotso fall.
Gabby Gabby, however, not only had unique and interesting motivations but actually received redemption by the end of the film. Instead of being motivated out of jealousy or delusions of grandeur, she is a desperate toy in a desperate situation. She is left with no strictly moral options. Her problems are deep-rooted and complicated, leaving her to be described by anything but "bad." She even exhibits self-awareness regarding how deeply flawed her actions are, left with nothing more than a fading hope for a better world. One cannot help but feel somewhat sympathetic to her cause, making her redemption ever more satisfying. All three antagonists in Toy Story 2, 3, and 4 meet essentially the same end, but only one enjoys it, demonstrating the power of perspective.
In Conclusion
Toy Story 4 may be a movie we deserve, but it isn't one we need. Its charm, wit, and heart all render me begrudgingly praiseful. It might be leaps and bounds above Disney's "live-action" hoopla, but it's still a sequel to an already concluded franchise. The most frustrating aspect of Toy Story 4 is how difficult it is to critique it on its merits. Its dominant issue doesn't even lie within itself, but with the premise of its existence. This time will be viewed as a crossroads in entertainment history, and it's possible we've already traveled too far down the wrong path. The brilliance and creativity are still there; it just needs to be applied differently. At the end of the day, even Toy Story 4 exists as a result of throwing spaghetti at the wall. The fact that almost everything stuck shouldn't distract us from the action being performed in the first place.
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