The Real Hero's Quest
or "Only Once Is All We Get..."
"Long ago, the world was full of Wonder. It was adventurous, it was exciting, and best of all, there was magic. And that magic helped all those in need. But, it wasn't easy to master. So, the world found an easier way to get by. Over time, magic faded away."
Ian Lightfoot (voiced by Tom Holland) is an elf, with a lot changing in his life: he's turning 16, about to enter high school, and he's scared of everything. His Mom (voiced by Julia Louis-Dreyfuss) has a new boyfriend (who's a policeman...and a centaur, but let's not be specist), his older brother Barley (voiced by Chris Pratt) is a lout, obsessed with with RPG's, especially quest-themed games based on the past, and there's a lot he doesn't like about his life right now, wondering if he had the guidance of his father—who died before he was born—that he wouldn't be so unsure of himself. But, with a change in schooling comes an opportunity for change of self. Ian makes himself a list of things he wants to do: speak up more; learn to drive; invite people to his birthday party; "be more like Dad." Each item has an empty box next to it that he'll check off when accomplished...at the end of his first day, all of those boxes are empty.
Life in New Mushroomtown
So, it's not the best of birthdays, until after he survives the ignomy of brother Barley picking him up from school in front of potential friends (who invites—and then dis-invites to his birthday party). Mom reveals that Barley and Ian's Dad has bequeathed a boon to the boys when both of them have reached the age of 16. It is a wizard's staff ("I KNEW it! Dad was a wizard!" "No, he was an accountant...") with a parchment written with the very words that start the movie (and this post).
InOnward*, the world was one of wizards and magic. But science and technology took over. You know longer needed an enchanting mage to provide light, once electricity was channeled and utilized, infrastructures built, grids connected, roads built, cars invented and mass-merchandised. As it was said, the world found easier ways and magic in the every-day faded, replaced by industrial wonders and suburbs and highways and gas stations and fast-food restaurants. The world became democratized and needs fulfilled. Oh, there are still elves and centaurs and manticores and sprites and unicorns (knocking over garbage cans and eating the best bits), but society is more about convenience and getting through the 9 to 5. Oh. And dragons. Pet dragons. If they're troublesome, squirt 'em with a water bottle (especially the fire-breathing ones!).
So, for these suburban elflings to get a magic staff, well, that's amazing! Especially for Barley, who's into that sort of thing. And there's another thing in the parcel—a Phoenix Gem. Dad's gift is a means to conjuring himself up for 24 hours (and 24 hours only) to spend it with his sons—handy to spend as little time in the troublesome teen years and to completely avoid diaper-duty. Not handy to be dead, though.
Ian and Barley attempt to magick up Dad, but fail. But, when Ian—who has the greater need (never having seen his father)—tries, he has more success to a certain degree. It being his first spell-attempt, there's some wasted energy (teens!) and the Phoenix Gem empties and dissipates, with only half-a-Dad showing up from the waist down ("I definitely remember Dad had a top part!")—the rest just being an expectant shimmer-layer of pixie-pixels. This is an issue, especially if you're expecting any meaningful conversation beyond foot-taps.
So, that's the set-up of the story; the rest of the movie is a hero's quest for another Phoenix Gem to complete the spell...and Dad...before the 24 hours is up in order to have quality time with a Dad who's more than only part-way there. Simple goal: check. Limited amount of time to do it in: check. Complications, of course, ensue, and, of course, important life lessons are learned along the way. But, being this is a Pixar film, there is an emotional heart to the film beyond what we've come to expect from animated films from other digitizers. Goals may be achieved on the surface, but they are not as important as those achieved, unseen, in the heart. Audience tears may drop.
That's where Pixar excels—in the subtext (although, the subtext is a little more obvious in this one than in the absolute best of the studio's films). Onward is an ingenious blending of RPG games and real world in the ingeniously constructed and exquisitely rendered tradition that we've come to expect out of the Uncanny Valley in Emeryville. Sure, it's in a fantasy world, but there are moments where you would swear that something was filmed rather than rendered, and, beyond the RPG setting, director Dan Scanlon—this is a Giant's sized step up from his work in Monsters University—manages to squeeze in other "quest" touch-stones that might be recognized (there is an ingeniously updated reference to the opening of Raiders of the Lost Ark that has a hilarious capper).
Ultimately, what goes unspoken is the trope that it's not the goal rather than the journey itself, but it does it in such a subtle and smart way that one could be excused for not recognizing it as such, and in a way that might (just "might") frustrate those who are looking for connect-the-dots movie-making. Pixar is better than that, and the results are sublime and well-earned. Lesson learned.
It is not Pixar's best—I just had to rank the Pixar features for The Large Association of Movie Blogs and I would say Onward is solidly in the top third of their output (I still think Ratatouille is the best one they've ever done from a depth perspective, but your results may vary), and one awaits breathlessly for their new one—Soul—in June of this year.
* Onward is not accompanied by a Pixar short, but one of the newly-acquired 20th Century Fox properties—The Simpson's—entitled "Play-Date with Destiny," featuring the non-verbal Maggie Simpson. One may be horrified that the anarchic Simpsons play in front of a Pixar movie, but this one is very clever—the more adult jokes are only written out to be read, so there's nothing that might "weird-out" the kindergartners. The makers of The Simpsons are an ingenious lot.
The Existential Angst of Contemplating One's Own Shelf Life or "Thanks a Lot, Inner-Voice!"
“When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things.”
1 Corinthians 13:11
I have a nasty habit of burying my lede. I start a post with what should be the last line of the thing, the zinger. But, I start writing with what I feel is the most important thought and find that when I finish up, the last line falls a bit flat. I'm not happy with it, at least. Should have ended the entry with the first line of it. It disappoints me. But, I'm gonna do it again, because it's the most important thing to say: Pixar is the most amazing producers of the finest films extant. You fan-boys can have Marvel—their percentage is nowhere near what Pixar manages to do. Marvel's film series usually peter out with the second one. The Harry Potter films were a mixed bag. And nobody's done what Pixar has done with their Toy Story series—each new chapter of the story is better than the last one, the most recent (that being Toy Story 3) was an emotional wringer and the best of the films.
Best one, that is, up to that time. Because Toy Story 4 is an improvement over it on all fronts: animation, story, presentation, screenplay, and direction. And it's deeper and more profound than anything we've seen yet, sophisticated in its themes, and makes changes to the characters and the dynamics of established tropes and story assumptions to challenge the audience and bring them along for the ride of growing up.
And it's about toys. Toys, for pity's sake. And it does all that while still being funny and extraordinarily entertaining to boot (with a snake in it).
When last we left Andy's collection of toys, they had been saved from incineration, and transported by Andy to little Bonnie, a shy 4 year old toddler with a rich inner life. The movie begins in flashback with a crisis: it's raining and Andy has brought in his toys from playing outside. All except one. The mechanical race-car, RC, has been left outside and is struggling to keep from being swept away in a gully-washer. Woody (voiced again by Tom Hanks) organizes a rescue party and with the help of Slinky-dog (voiced by Blake Clark) rescues RC. But, another toy is about to be lost—Bo Peep (voiced by Annie Potts) and her three-headed sheep is being given away as her lamp is no longer needed in Andy's sister's room. Woody tries to rescue her—it's what he does—from being exiled to another home, but Bo Peep will have none of it. She accepts her fate. "Sometimes, toys get lost in the yard or put in the wrong box. It's okay. I'm not Andy's toy. It's time for the next kid." And she gets carted away, while Andy can only watch hopelessly, lying lumped in the car-port in the rain.
Cut to now—and Bonnie's world. Woody organizes the toys—it's what he does—calming their fears as they're consigned to the closet on cleaning day. Bonnie comes back from the dust-up and pulls the toys from their temporary confinement, all except Woody, who can only watch and wonder what's changed.*A lot, it turns out. It's the end of summer, and Bonnie is now five—time for a big transition (there a lot of them in Toy Story 4), as the shy little girl is about to be thrust into the world of an unprotective collective—kindergarten, and she is required to go to "orientation." Bonnie has always been a shy child, tremulously so. And the prospect of going to kindergarten without a parental leg to hide behind is devastating to her, causing a melt-down. What she needs is a sheriff to come to the rescue—or, at least, that's what Woody thinks—so he stashes himself in her back-pack, a stowaway to school.
It's a scary place with other kids, kids without borders or boundaries and unchecked id's. When she sits down for activities, another child swipes all her arts supplies. Woody observes all this and manages to find a way to sneak out of his hiding place and toss Bonnie with supplies in the trash. She's inspired to take a stick, a spork, pipe-cleaners, and some play-doh and makes her own toy and companion—"Forky" (voiced by a wonderful Tony Hale)—who manages to sustain Bonnie through the day and give her a sense of accomplish. Good enough. But, when Bonnie gets home ("I finished kindergarten!!" "Uh...honey?"), Woody introduces Forky to the other toys.
But, Forky has issues. He's a bit pre-verbal and can't quite see himself as a toy, but, rather as trash. It's an instinctual fixation and he must be restrained from constantly throwing himself in the nearest dumpster. Leave that to Woody, who has his own instinctual fixation—it inspires composer Randy Newman (Yay!) to write a lovely gospel song entitled "I Can't Let You Throw Yourself Away" exposing Woody as a plasticene guardian angel, a caretaker—and he wails to Buzz Lightyear (voiced by Tim Allen) "I don't know if you remember what it was like when Andy was a kid, but, I don't remember it being this hard!"
A road trip with Bonnie and her parents as a final Summer fling before school provides ample opportunity for Forky to trash himself and for Woody to come to the rescue, whether the little spork wants him to or not. It also provides him the opportunity to re-unite with Bo Peep, who has changed considerably after leaving Andy's house and, ultimately, escaping from an antiques shop called "Second Chances" (heh).
As Bo tells Woody, "I don't want to sit on a shelf waiting for my life to happen." But, Woody is in a different place. For Woody, it's all about The Child, or any toy in crisis that might adversely effect said child. It always has been. And so much of his time has been about taking care of other's needs—he's taken his fake sheriff's badge too literally—and the movie spends much of its time with Woody coming to the rescue and realizing that seems to be his sole reason for existence, because he knows no other pattern of behavior.
Bo provides another perspective; she has a good life on her own without the need for a child in her life. But, Woody is stuck in his ways—there are only so many phrases in his talk-box if you want a literalness to the concept. It's all in service to the child. It always has been and always will be.
That's the crux of the movie: a toy's need to be needed, and the damage that such activity can cause to one's own shelf-life. Along the way, Toy Story 4 delves into parallel stories of toys' needs to be given purpose—of the toys at the antiques shop waiting to be given a chance at being taken home, and a pair of prizes that never seem to be claimed at a shooting arcade at a nearby carnival—all the while the toys are working overtime trying to get Forky back to Bonnie.
The major story is at the antiques store, which is given a creepy atmosphere recalling Kubrick's The Shining—at one point, an old 78 plays "Midnight, the Stars, and You"—with the long-abandoned Gabby Gabby (Christina Hendricks), a talking doll with a damaged voice-box that she believes is keeping her from being taken home to some needy child. She keeps Forky hostage in the hopes of taking Woody's so she can have her chance, and she runs the antiques store like her own personal führerbunker with demented ventriloquist's dummies as her shock-troops. Creepy.
Then, there are the plush arcade animals, Ducky and Bunny (voiced hilariously by Keegan Michael-Key and Jordan Peele), who've been hanging around as shooting gallery prizes for so long they've developed something of an attitude waiting for kids to just hit the damn targets. They get roped into the whole "Second Chances" plot and they have a rather aggressive way of handling problems. Probably been at the range too long. Also aiding is a Canadian stunt-toy called Duke Kaboom, whose stunt skills are used for an elaborate rescue, and who is voiced by Keanu Reeves, still nailing the mock-heroic voice.
Pixar ups the artistic quality a notch—the world is a bit more complicated and messier with dust-bunnies, cob-webs and dust-motes that dance in sun-beams, little details that one didn't realize were missing until the animators made it essential (Andy, too, in the flashback sequences looks far more real than the crude animator grids in the first movie allowed). But, it's also more sophisticated in the way the film questions the series trope—that a toy is useful only if it's needed by its possessor. This one dispels that idea as a given and makes it relevant, not only to the film's characters, but to the larger issues of the audience's as well...as we all (as Bob Dylan observed) gotta serve somebody. And that's if we're a caretaker, or just a work-a-day 9 to 5'er, a Mom or a sheriff. Yeah, we gotta serve. But we also gotta know that we're not just what we work at. We gotta know when the job is done. We've got to know ourselves.
Remember Toy Story 3? Remember how it had the perfect ending, even though it was kind of sad and changed things? How it worked outside your comfort zone, but you also knew it was the perfect ending for the story? Turns out that it was for its time. But, another story needed to be told. We just didn't know it yet. And Toy Story 4 tells it with such care and such skill...and wisdom—without taking its eyes off the entertainment value—that you might think it's a perfect ending.
You might even think—like me—that it was even better than Toy Story 3, which, as I said at the beginning, was the best of the series so far. And I wept like a baby at it. I'm at the point, now, where I wouldn't mind another Toy Story movie, so good are these creators at telling a story and making it essential. Making movies that matter and increasingly raising the bar...for themselves and for us.
So exceptionally well done.
* He is consoled by some other toys, which Pixar casts with some essential voices—Alan Oppenheimer, Carol Burnett, Carl Reiner, Mel Brooks, and Betty White. That seems so right. Maybe not essential, but a lovely gesture.
** Newman does another brilliant score with two new amazing songs, and I always imagine Seth McFarland gritting his teeth and thinking "I write better stuff than THAT." No. No, he doesn't. But he tries so hard to do something better than what Newman seems to do so effortlessly. That's because Newman is a genius who makes it look easy. McFarland just studies and copies...and comes up short. Professional jealousy is a terrible thing...and not very professional
