The sort of film that, when looking back over Dinsey's animation triumphs of decades ago, very much holds a case for a position in said canon.

Rating: 8/10 (16 July 2010)

Amongst a lot of other things, 1995's Toy Story is a mixing of basic filmic conventions in the form of character arcs and genre demands blended with highly effective comedic content, all combined with a high concept into a piece thoroughly enjoyable and worthwhile. Its energy unmistakable; its inspiration unequalled and its charm unmatched, in what is a milestone in animation for reasons much more than the fact the computer generated imagery was as fresh as it was. Vaugely, the memory of seeing it for the first time many years ago stands in rather stark comparison to whatever I recall of the rest of that viewing when it was revealed Toy Story was to be, quite literally, about the toys and their coming to life so as to interact and engage with their surroundings. In starting in the manner it does, with a young boy named Andy animating his toys to as to bring them to life and interact with what's around them as it ran on whatever meek story he could come up with and not knowing a thing about the premise or indeed content, ignorantly, I led myself into believing the entire piece would be of this ilk; quite literally, a toy story about toys being what they are: inanimate objects being interacted with by a child. Imagine the sense of surprise mixed with awe and glee when Woody sits up in Andy's room and announces that "the coast is clear!" to the rest of the toys.
The film starts like one of those short cartoons you'd see before the beginning of a feature film, years ago. The opening is a diverting mini-narrative involving each of the main characters going through whatever motions a child can muster; the lead toy of whom is Woody (Hanks), a cowboy doll which is promptly taken downstairs and around the house as it's emphasised he is Andy's favourite, and has been for a while. I suppose what happens when they come alive might be read into as a deconstruction of these toys; that they are, indeed, so much more than just inanimate objects whom don't think nor feel, each of them coming alive once the humans have vacated then operating within said space; maintaining relationships and feeling an array of emotions such as fear, angst and lust. Some are friendlier than others; some more confident and some have certain elevated relationships with each other. Amongst them, Don Rickles' Potato Head doll; a wonderful creation of physical comedy whose detachable body parts are the source of persistently funny jokes. He's joined by a Slinky Dog (Varney); a green plastic dinosaur Rex (Shawn) and, curiously, Andy's piggy bank Hamm (Ratzenberger).
Interestingly, Andy's toys seem infused by true-to-life western iconographic imagery, or are indeed representative of 'type' in their attitudes. Rex is a dinosaur, thus feels the need to be able to scare people with his 'roar' for reasons that must be linked to the fact T-Rex dinosaurs from billions of years ago did exactly this. Somehow, Rex is aware of this. Likewise Andy's small toy soldiers, led by a sergeant voiced by R. Lee Ermey, are as militarian as you'd expect but is there a written rule that says they must show expertise in special ops and must behave in the military manner they do? Remember those grey plastic soldiers of similar size you could get? I guess they'd be equally militarily efficient but could speak in a German accent. I had some yellow soldiers of similar size once; God only knows how they'd sound. There can be no surprise that the toys of Syd (von Detten) cannot speak, due to their forced hybridising with other toys under said child's tortuous regime which sees heads and bodies swapped with other toys thus falsifying their image.
It can be no coincidence the two principal toy characters of the film are the two that most resemble human beings in their appearance, with Andy's other toys marginalised due to their animistic or unnatural characteristics. Woody's perfect existence is thrown into disarray by Buzz Lightyear (Allen), a spaceman toy Andy gets on his birthday; the revealing of the gift at the end of the present opening session starting this huge build up as to what Buzz is. Buzz's presence is an example of an item of a more futuristic; more science-fiction orientated nature coming into the house and taking over as older items are rendered more obsolete and therefore replaced thus rendering the issue one of a modernity driven nature, and is an item Toy Story 2 explored much more broadly in terms of genre replacing genre when toys of Woody's ilk are rendered nothing but mere museum pieces. But it is additionally representative of America's obsession with consumerism, in that I've no doubt Buzz is a part of a kind of franchise and Andy's gradual replacing of Woody posters/merchandise etc. This, as he and his mother occupy this blissfully suburban infused street which is systematic of the nation's own attitudes towards mass produced products.
Woody and Buzz's overall ultimatum is issued to us, out loud, by Woody when they are stranded at a petrol station: Andy's due to move house shortly and both need to get home, so a lot is at stake and tension runs persistently high. Buzz's own tale of realisation is effortlessly inter-cut with this plight, along the way learning of a new existence and garnering a new lease of life as their relationship feeds off a rather Hollywoodised 'buddy' combination no doubt inspired by American films of the 1980s through to the early 1990s of this ilk. Apart from pioneering your now token 'chase' finale, of which encompasses all the elements and is seen nearer the end of mostly every CG animated film made since (see 2002's Monsters Inc. or 2009's Up), Toy Story is a wonderfully made, supremely nourishing film that opens our eyes to a whole new world within our own and enthrals and entertains in equal measure.