Toy Story 3 - Pixar hit another home run

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I went to see Toy Story 3 last night, and before I went in, I was torn between outright trepidation and child-like excitement. I remember going to see the first one at the cinema when it first came out, and thinking it was one of the best things I'd ever seen, and when the second one was better, Pixar managed to win me over to the idea of sequels. But a third one? In my opinion, only Back to the Future ever managed to make a third film that was as good as the preceding two.

I've already spoken before about exactly why I love Pixar, but Toy Story 3 just proves my point. Yet again, they have concentrated on making a film with a good plot, plenty of adventures, and characters that you care about. Let me say that last part again - they've created characters that you can really root for, or loathe, depending on whether they're good or bad. Pixar delight in telling a good story, and they put this love of storytelling above everything else. It's good, old-fashioned escapism. They also make damn good short films, and the Day & Night short that accompanies Toy Story 3 really explores the boundaries of animation.

The Toy Story films have always been films that celebrate the power of imagination, and the wonderful worlds you can create with a handful of toys, cardboard boxes and household detritus. As a writer, this is a concept I can back 120% (meaning I could backtrack 20%, and still be completely behind it). But as a 27-year-old who has problems with the concept of 'growing up', it really speaks to me on a different level. I was the kid who didn't have any friends where I lived, and would spend hours playing with different toys by myself. They were mostly my brother's, as I favoured Lego and Micro Machines, but I also had an awesome toy farm that my dad built for me, and more stuffed animals than I knew what to do with (I am the extremely proud owner of a full set of Gummy Bears).

I freely admit that I still have a fierce attachment to a lot of my animals now. Nowadays I just collect them, getting a new one whenever I go somewhere new (and people bring them back as souvenirs for me, so my friend Mark brought me a toy Kiwi from New Zealand), but a lot of those stuffed bears and dogs mean a lot to me. In the aftermath of break-ups, or redundancy, or difficulties in social interactions, my toys were still there. The photo illustrating this post is of Aston, a cuddly dog I got in Hamley's a few years back. So where adults, particularly parents, were upset by Toy Story 3 for the concept of children growing up, and leaving home, I was more upset by the idea that you could outgrow your toys. Sure, I don't play with mine any more, but they're still there. One scene near the end even had me in tears - and I'm such a hard-hearted bitch, the last film that made me cry was probably Bambi. For Pixar to wring such emotion out of an essentially cold person is incredibly impressive, and to do so in such a mature way, using simply facial expressions on animated toys...other filmmakers need to study their methods, they really do.

In essence, I only have two problems with Toy Story 3. The first is that it made me cry - I don't like it when films make me do that, because it reminds me I have emotions and therefore vulnerabilities. The second is that there just wasn't enough Timothy Dalton! Honestly, I could listen to that guy all day. Still, there's plenty of the delightful Michael Keaton to keep me happy, who is so perfectly cast as Ken that all the other studios that make celebrity-stuffed CG suckfests should sit up and pay attention - i.e. do not cast a celebrity for their status, cast them because their voice suits the role.

I realise I haven't discussed the plot or the characters, but to be honest, I'd rather you just went to see it. Please, for my sake. Go and enjoy the stunning visuals, the sparky dialogue, the bonds between the characters, and the genuine heartfelt passion for storytelling. Then come home, fish out a childhood toy, and remember how you felt when you were little, when anything was possible in your imagination. If you think carefully, maybe it still is...

Imagination

Tweet I finally saw The Imaginarium of Dr Parnassus at the weekend, and as much as I'd like to discuss the film as a fantastical swansong for the much-missed (by me, at any rate) Heath Ledger, I'd much rather discuss the film in slightly more highbrow terms. Terry Gilliam presents the film as a meditation on the inherent benefits and downfalls of immortality, particularly the peculiar form of immortality presented by a life captured on celluloid (see the rather ham-fisted attempt during the Johnny Depp segment to prove that those that die young, e.g. James Dean, Princess Diana, will always live on). However, scratch the surface of this visually impressive, though occasionally slightly gaudy, piece, and you'll find that at its heart, the film would much rather discuss the dichotomy of Imagination vs Temptation.

Christopher Plummer's Dr Parnassus represents Imagination, a fertile inner land particular to every individual. In this mental expanse, stories are born, and these stories offer the path to Immortality. Indeed, he firmly believes that the universe is sustained because someone somewhere is always telling a story. The film itself tells a story, and thus maintains this belief in the mind of the viewer.

However, his nemesis is film's old friend, the Devil, played here to excellent effect by Tom Waits, and he, as ever, represents Temptation. It's not such a stretch to boil these two opposing forces down to the Mind (or Soul) vs the Body. It has long been held by many schools of thought that the Body is somehow dirty, and sinful, and purity can only exist within the Mind, and by extension the Soul. Clearly, if we pursue this particular theory, Dr Parnassus represents Good, while the Devil represents Evil. So far, so typical.

Yet this eternal struggle between Imagination and Temptation goes back further than Terry Gilliam's concept for this film. Indeed, the poetic genius that was John Keats continually tussled with the two throughout his career, perhaps reaching its apogee in his epic, Lamia. In it, Lycius must choose between the pure world of Apollonius (the Imagination) and the senuous world of Lamia (Temptation). Apollonius exposes the cruel reality of Lamia, and the deprivation of one option proves too much for the young chap and he dies. Keats believed that only a balance between the two could sustain man, and that by living by one or the other, he was only living half of a life.

What does this then mean for Dr Parnassus? In forcing humans to make a choice between Imagination or Temptation, these people are surely doomed to living their lives to only half of their potential. Or is there in fact a deeper paradox within the entire situation, since in order to choose the path of the Imagination, one must first be tempted by it?


Top image: Lamia, by John William Waterhouse