Toy Story 3! Toy Story 3! Toy Story 3! Woody! Buzz! Ham! Barbie and Ken! Hooray, hooray, hooray!

Oh, wait. I’m a grown up.

Ahem.

In the third of their nuanced and powerful studies of the fleeting nature of youth, the transformative possibilities of love and the crass commercialism inherent in decaying Western society, Pixar have delivered yet another…

Oh, who am I kidding? It’s Toy Story 3, man! And it’s just as brilliant as the first two, which, how often can you say that about a second sequel to, well, anything?

The plot: Andy’s a big boy now -- can you believe it’s been fifteen years since the first Toy Story? Huh. -- and is off to college. The toys are worried, thinking that they’ll be dumped by the side of the road, Jessie in Toy Story 2-style, and find themselves left with nothing but a haunting Sarah MacLachlan ballad. But they’re not dumped by the side of the road, of course! That would be silly. No, they’re dumped (accidentally!) at a day care center. A day care center with a dark side. And Woody is determined to get them back to Andy, “’cause we’re Andy’s toys!”. It’s like The Great Escape, but with even more at stake. (And with more detachable parts.)

So, shenanigans. Tomfoolery. All kinds of alarums and excursions. I honestly don’t remember the last time I had so much fun at the movies… and, also, I don’t seem to remember a lot about what I actually saw. Gag after gag, toy after toy, a lot of nostalgia and rosy-hued memories and some suspense and agonizing uncertainty. But as for specifics? It’s all kind of a blur. But an absolutely delightful one. And one I hope to enjoy again very shortly.

For all that this movie is wonderfully-written, gorgeously rendered (the Pixar team has truly outdone itself), and full of interesting metaphor, it is difficult to imagine that it would have such profound impact were it not for its main stars. Tom Hanks is just such an affable, likeable guy, even when you can only hear his voice. It has emotional resonance, you believe that this toy is running the gamut of many conflicting emotions, without recourse to a funny accent or a bellowed roar; Mike Meyers only wishes he had this level of talent and presence in his voice-over bag o’ tricks. It helps that you can see shades of Hanks in Woody, and that is, as always, a credit to Pixar’s stable of animation talent. Not just in face or in mannerisms but in his every action, the manic carryings on of our favorite pull-string Sherriff are reminiscent of Hanks in Big, or even in The Money Pit, just as the stoic, superior character of Buzz gives off that heroic yet dim air that Tim Allen employed to such Shatner-devastating effect in Galaxy Quest.

Of the supporting cast, there is not a false note struck; special mention must be made of the distinctive voice-stylings of Flight of the Concords’ Kristen Schaal as nerd Triceratops, Trixie, and of Michael Keaton, who is simply splendid as the long-ignored Ken. Also, Lotso (Ned Beatty) and Stretch (Whoopi Goldberg) and Mr. Pricklepants (oh, there you are, Timothy Dalton!) and… wait a minute!

That’s a whole new bunch of toys you’ve introduced there, you cheeky, sneaky Disney Pixar marketing juggernaut, you. I see what you’re up to! This isn’t about any kind of “when I was a man I put away childish things” exploration of the human condition. This isn't about loyalty, and family, and letting go. You just want every parent in America -- nay, the world -- to have to fork out for a Buttercup, a Dolly and a Chatter Telephone. Nefarious, aren’t you? Dastardly, even. I’d be mad, except… well, even I kind of want a Chatter Telephone now, and I once considered that the most pointless piece of Fisher Price I owned I owned (well, except for those stacking cup things Where is that fun in those?). I loved this movie that much.

There is only one thing that could have made my Toy Story 3 experience more complete: Bo Peep. I can only hope that she comes back for Toy Story 4.

Please tell me there’ll be a Toy Story 4?

  -- Rachel Hyland

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