By Toy Story 5, the toys’ story has already been told.
The first film, through Woody and Buzz, grappled with the fear of being replaced. The second, through Jessie, asked whether love is still worth choosing when it will inevitably end in loss. The third found grace in that loss, as Andy’s goodbye became a handover to Bonnie. The fourth went further still, sending Woody in search of meaning after he could no longer define himself through a child’s love.
That leaves the fifth film with an obvious problem: what is left for these characters to learn? The answer is not found in the toys themselves, but in Bonnie.
It feels natural in retrospect, but that pivot is jarring. The film begins similarly to the first one – a new object has entered the bedroom, threatening to replace the toys we know and love. This time, it is Lilypad, a tablet device that renders the toys as obsolete as Buzz Lightyear once rendered Woody.
But we have heard that story before, and we know how it ends. These toys are far more equipped to deal with that now, so where are the stakes?
It is frustrating at first. But then, as the film zooms out, we learn the crisis this time is not only for the toys.
Screen life does more than just replace traditional toys. We see people across the town glued to phones and tablets, disconnected from everyone around them.
These sequences are perhaps the most dystopian we have seen in a Pixar film since Wall-E (also directed by Andrew Stanton) set in a distant future where humans are so engrossed in entertainment and treats that they have lost their autonomy altogether, and forgotten how to live. For a moment, Toy Story 5 feels almost like a prequel, setting the stage for the world that film imagined.
Screen life begins affecting Bonnie in ways that even her parents seem blind to. They seem vaguely aware that her time on the tablet should be limited, but cannot see that it is also damaging a part of what makes her special.
The reason Andy chose Bonnie to receive his toys in the third instalment is that he could see she had an exceptional imagination, and used toys to unlock it just as he once did. Her imaginative power is so great that she brings an inanimate object to life, turning a spork into Forky.
But the social pressures of screen life may be too great. Bonnie cannot seem to make friends, and neighbours gawk at her from afar. The girls in her class, whose approval she wants, mock her for bringing toys to a sleepover, causing her to anxiously shove them back in the car.
All children grow up. That much we know. In the second film, in one of the franchise’s most affecting sequences, we flash back to Jessie’s years with her owner, Emily, a blissful existence that ends when Emily comes of age and moves on to other concerns, shoving Jessie into a donation box.
But because of the world of social media, Bonnie is not only growing up too fast. She is losing her imagination and the joy that fuelled it. Her need for acceptance may outweigh her sense of self.
What is the solution? Toy Story 5 tackles this more realistically than its set-up first suggests. Screens are not the enemy – being blind to their dangers is. It may be hard to find them in an era in which we are disconnected from one another in the real world, but there are people out there who share our passions, fuel our imaginations and are not ashamed to be themselves.
The greatest thing about social media is that, if we use it right, we can find those like-minded people and, through those friendships, become the best versions of ourselves. But if we are not careful, we can lose ourselves entirely.
The toys’ story may already have been told, but they represent something bigger here. They are imagination. They are the inner child. They are the parts of ourselves that should not have to be abandoned to fit in. If we can keep hold of who we are, they will always have a place in our stories.
Toy Story 5 releases in cinemas Thursday across the Middle East
