I was in the audience on opening day for Toy Story in 1995. I wore out the Super Nintendo video game, I have Woody and Buzz action figures somewhere in my parents’ garage, and Toy Story 3 taps into something deeply powerful for me on every watch. Although I prefer my Randy Newman in Monk’s theme song, it suffices to say that I love and appreciate Toy Story.
2019’s Toy Story 4 challenged me though. Undeniably an impressive visual achievement and a good film, I fell into the camp that questioned unraveling the warm closure the third installment had offered nine years earlier. It felt unnecessary at best. Another Pixar sequel looking to make a few million off its finest franchise. Even though the fourth movie had its own story to tell, I couldn’t shake that it felt almost cynical.
The prospect of Lightyear struck me much the same way. The in-universe origins of the Buzz Lightyear character never interested me that much, particularly as someone who watched a lot of the short-lived animated series about him. There was no wrinkle there that demanded exploration; this was Pixar tapping into the Toy Story IP once more to force Disney to put their work on the big screen. Add in the generic sci-fi vibe and proliferation of familiar catchphrases exuded by the trailers and I was decidedly nonplussed. I made no plans to see it after watching every previous Pixar release since Coco on its opening day.
But yesterday morning an unsafe panel of sidewalk left me falling—and not in style. Landing hard on my hip and ripping open my knee, I found myself bruised, bleeding, and tremendously sore. I worked through a few chapters of revision at my computer but it was difficult to get comfortable no matter how I stood. Begrudgingly, I bought a ticket for Lightyear to force myself to rest for a few hours and, after napping for twenty minutes as an investment toward staying awake during the film, I drove over to the theater and sat for the origin story nobody needed.
And I kind of liked it?
Strip the Disney and Pixar branding out of this film and you’ve got an excellent sci-fi adventure. It’s derivative sci-fi, with a bit of Star Trek and Gravity here and a dose of Interstellar and The Martian there, and it’s tame sci-fi distilled to suit a younger audience…but it’s good sci-fi all the same. It looks good, it sounds good, it brings good emotion and a good lesson that resonates, and it’s got legitimately good humor too. This is flat-out engaging, especially once the film lets Buzz breathe a bit and become a character rather than a vehicle to say iconic toy things. That tether to Toy Story never works and is the weakest part of Lightyear, but even that stopped annoying me twenty minutes in.
Buzz (Chris Evans) and Hawthorne (Uzo Aduba) are space rangers exploring a hostile planet. Things go south fast and, in leading their escape, Buzz makes a grave error that grounds their ship and forces them, as well as the colony of cryogenically-frozen crew members, to live on the planet and try to develop the tools to finally leave and complete their mission. Buzz takes full accountability for his mistake, vowing to rectify his error, while Hawthorne deflects his self-incrimination and encourages resilience and steady progress toward their goal.
Testing out potential tech is slow, though, and there are costs to progress. But worse is the calamitous condition the planet ends up in as it is attacked by a hostile ship of robots. Facing a ruthless assailant, Buzz must protect the planet, preserve some new and viable tech with the potential to finish his mission, and coach up a motley crew of untrained cadets all the while fighting his own demons.
That story plays, as do the characters Pixar’s populates it with. Buzz is a determined and self-reliant leader, quirky (he records Shatner-esque narration for everything) but well-meaning and valiant in a way that Evans perfectly captures. But rather than let him just be that, the script inspects those traits’ toxicity. Unlike Hawthorne, who rolls with the gut punch of a failed mission, Buzz can’t let go and can’t put his faith in anyone else, not even Hawthorne, with whom he shares a convincing friendship. It’s not a spoiler to say that Buzz will have to confront these flaws; this is inevitable. But that growth really lands in the final act and it lands in Buzz’s actions. I might quibble with how often he falls back into his old habits before it finally catches on, realistic though that is, but, like so much else here, it really works—especially because his lesson isn’t limited to “learn to play nice with others.”
I already mentioned Hawthorne but her character truly is a perfect foil for Buzz. Where her partner keeps dwelling and looking backward, Hawthorne continuously gazes forward. She refuses to see Buzz’s failure as loss but opportunity. And yet she never wavers from supporting, encouraging, and pushing her friend, whose goals match a long past version of herself. Aduba nails every note of her character who feels wholly fresh (if a bit too nuanced for the 1995 childrens’ sci-fi film it pretends to be).
The rest of Buzz’s crew is endearing enough as well. Izzy (Keke Palmer) has the most to do and she voices it well, adding youthful exuberance and reverence alongside heavier emotions as they arise. Kudos to Pixar for giving her an arc as well with a particular phobia looming large; a lesser film would have ignored her for more Buzz. Mo (Taika Waititi) and Darby (Dale Soules) are mostly comic relief but they have funny moments, even if the film dips into their respective gags a few too many times in ways that telegraph too much. James Brolin brings a cagey intensity to Zurg whose story is larger and more clever than I expected.
The biggest victory, though, has to be SOX (Peter Sohn) an animatronic emotional support companion issued to Buzz by Hawthorne after a rough mission. I caught enough commercials to roll my eyes at the feline robot and dismiss it as a merchandising tool but, like so much else here, it works. SOX functions as a portable and adorable deus ex machina, capable of resolving tough predicaments in visually simple ways, and he also serves as a great source of levity during more intense sequences (there was nary a time when his “bee boop bee boop” processing sound didn’t leave me chuckling). But I also loved how he became the first entity to gain Buzz’s trust while serving as a sounding board for our increasingly lonely hero in the first half. Mostly, though, it bears repeating: SOX is funny.
All of this comes together into a sci-fi story that hits countless familiar beats and definitely has the Disney markings (plucky side characters, marketable animal sidekicks). Even with Pixar making it look great and the voice acting cast meshing wonderfully, this still might not have been anything special. Honestly: maybe it actually isn’t for a lot of people. But at its core is a message and mindset that I hold dear to. During the pandemic, I designed and explicitly taught a lesson about the message at its heart. It’s a powerful message and a difficult one to internalize, but Lightyear nails this message. Hawthorne’s character, the climactic battle, hell the entire movie: these all land for me because they tap into that lesson. I love that they are distilled so well in this film because it means more people will have that kernel put into their minds.
This is all to say: I know I’m going to be much higher on this movie than a lot of people. I went in fully cynical with a swollen hip and bloody knee. I didn’t want to like it. But graft a silver linings story onto a sci-fi adventure with sufficient heart and I’m in. Lightyear will be a film that I reference any time I share that lesson and mindset for the rest of my life. That makes it a win for me.
Is this a great Pixar film? Not even close! But it earned my affection and sometimes that is enough.
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