No spoiler in the title of this post for the film, unless you *haven't* seen the trailer, in which case, see the trailer, and then all will be made clear (the spoiler, yes, is that Andy, the kid from the original film, leaves for school as a grown-up boy). My heart was smashed in the process of watching a little boy grow up and leave for college. Smashed and made whole and smashed again. And cycled. But I didn't come here just now to tell you about the movie. Instead, I must report on the viewing experience, *my* viewing experience of Toy Story 3.
Some background is required.
Toy Story was the first truly beloved Pixar film in our house. Before my kiddo was born, my brother, in the Nineties, loved Toy Story. He collected several film posters, which were all left behind with the rest of his things when he removed himself to crazy-people-who-hang-about-under-bridges lands. My parents, when my son was very small, asked if we'd like to have the blue-and-white-clouded homage to Woody and Buzz art from the collection of posters. I said, oh, lordy, yes, because Jack was already besotted with those two. In fact, the only things we gave him for his second birthday were the Woody, Jesse, Buzz and Bullseye dolls I spent much time earning on ebay in advance of the day. He was mad about them, too. Still is. Still plays with each of them. Ironically, though we've been to Disneyland three times since he began his idolization of Woody, we have yet to encounter him. Well, not entirely true. The second trip brought us face-to-face with Woody and Jesse but the line for photos had been closed only a moment before we discovered them. Disappointing, but we figure we have lots of times left to find Woody and get some photos with his kindly yellow-plaid Sherriff's arm draped about our kiddo's shoulder. (And honestly, we were thrilled on our last trip to find both Buzz *and* Jesse and get some snaps.
And by we, I DO NOT ACTUALLY MEAN ME. Please know that I haven't lost my mind to that extent. Jack was the happy one. I was only glad to participate in his excitement. You believe me, right?
*sigh*)
So this movie. I cried for about the first ten minutes, give or give ten + more minutes. SHUT. UP.
It's good. I know you've heard about the positive reviews on rottentomatoes.com. WE ALL HAVE, LADY IN THE THIRD ROW OF THE THEATRE WHO WAS PROUD TO KNOW THINGS THAT GO ON ON THE INTERNET.
*ahem*
(The lady in the third row wasn't, in case you were wondering, me. Probably.)
So after I got through crying and focused on the moment, because I did a quick mental check and realized I was doing what I already do in life, I focus so hard on how it will end and how I need to be prepared to feel about the ending I forget to be here, now, living it. I kind of feel like I'm not alone, here, with this manner of dealing with how life comes at us, tsunami-style, but it's something I'd like to change nonetheless.
Then -- the movie. The improvement on the art alone is worth the price of entry. The story is, well, it's Pixar. You need feel no less trust in their ability to take your heart and shine it up and then drive a freight train over it and then lovingly kiss and clean it and shine it back up again, good as new, no, BETTER, than you ever have had before.
THEN I kept having to shush Jack. He was randomly talking VERY VERY UNQUIETLY during the film. At first I simply said, babe. We need you to whisper if you have something to say. But his stage-whispers shook the seats, they were so ALSO UNQUIET. After a few repetitions of the whisper-requests, I simply started to say, also in not-so-quiet whispers, WE DON'T TALK DURING THE MOVIE. But then, he said one thing more, one last statement, and -- I thought about it. His comment was a reference to the film's action taking place. After I shushed him, I heard, *really heard* his sentence. It broke through. It wasn't "MAY I HAVE PLEASE HAVE SOME MORE LICORICE PLEASE" and it wasn't "I DON'T WANT ANY MORE WATER THANK YOU" and it wasn't "I HAVE TO GO POTTY DADDY/MOMMY." It was (and here I am refusing to spoil with recognizable plot line references) a comment on what was taking place in the film. And he said it loud. Not because, I slowly realized, he had forgotten to whisper.
He was trying to reassure himself that everything was going to be okay.
After that, I took his hand and I said, "babe, everything is going to be okay. Remember, Woody and Buzz and Jesse and Bullseye and the others are all smart and awesome and they love each other and they're GOING to BE OKAY." (Guess who felt better after hearing that. It wasn't the child whose ears were the objective of the statement. *points with thumbs at self*)
Then I held his sweaty paw and we watched. It got kind of scary, I suppose, if you're a little kid. I mean, it *definitely* got scary if you are a little kid whose parents haven't let you see the Wizard of Oz yet, or even the old-school Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. (We are NOT that overprotective. We're just waiting until we know he can handle seeing those images and still sleep that night and for the rest of the week's worth of nights after *that*. What. Okay. We *might* be a little overprotective. Of our nighttime rest. IT'S JUST WE REALLY LIKE SLEEP. DO.NOT.JUDGE.US.) It's a wild ride. A great, exhilarating, thrilling, SCARY wild ride. During the most intense part I took Jack onto my lap and held him close while he sobbed and shook. I wanted to be a part of the action for my own sake, in that moment, but I wanted more to care for him while he rode out the difficulty of it. I let go of my own needs, my own desires, in that moment. And cried harder than he did again at the end when I was still holding him and Andy was saying goodbye and leaving, though Jack sobbed quite surprisingly hard in his own right.
(It was also interesting and eye-opening and heart-saddening to think of my brother while I watched, because I know he loved the original Toy Story and I can't help thinking of his having left boxes of things at my parents' house, never to be reclaimed. I would give anything to pass that poster on to *his* child. A child I know won't ever exist. So -- that's pretty sad. It's also comforting, somehow, to know that at least I have the child who loves those films. And that my brother can take some random, unknowing comfort in his presence on Earth fractalized and carried on by my kid. Jeff, if you ever read this -- yeah. That.)
And all of these epic revelations and epiphanies, it's because of a Pixar movie. The Toy Story 3 film. The one that took me beyond myself.
If a movie can do that, uh, yeah. It's a pretty good movie. Go see it.





































