Toy Story 3

I was four years old when the first Toy Story movie played in theaters. I had just entered kindergarten, my hair was constantly tied in pigtails or pleated into braids, and my brother was only a year old at the time. It wasn't my favorite movie at the time, mainly because I was going through my "pink" phase and Bo Peep wasn't interesting enough to appeal to my fondness for heroines. Nevertheless, I watched the first installation of the Toy Story series probably at least fifty times in my childhood, as my then-two-year-old brother insisted on watching the movie on our VCR every day for nearly a year.

Fifteen years later, I am nineteen years old and one year ahead of where Andy is in his life. I'm sure the film touched everyone of all ages, but I can't help but think that this last installment is especially poignant for those of us who grew up in the nineties. For me, this film was a gentle reminder that, like Andy, I've grown up. Not in the sense that our imaginations aren't allowed to run rampage anymore, but in the sense that once we reach that liminal state between high school and college, we're expected to assume the responsibilities that come with being an adult.

I was like Andy once. I created ridiculous stories in my head and acted them out with an ensemble cast of dolls, Happy Meal toys, Beanie Babies, and stuffed animals. A select few were lucky enough to have the privilege of sharing my bed (or perhaps not so lucky, for many times they'd be crushed or flung off the bed during my slumber). As soon as I left for college, my mother jumped at the chance to clean up my room; though she knew I would have thrown a fit if she'd thrown out any of my beloved toys, she'd instead stored them in plastic boxes in my closet to make room on my bookshelf for SAT prep books. The few times I've been home since I've gone to college, I hadn't even bothered to look for the boxes.

Before I watched Toy Story 3 with my mother and cousin this afternoon, my mother (who had already seen it with my father and brother) told me that Toy Story 3 was probably the best of the three. I didn't believe her. I loved both Toy Story 1 and 2, so how on earth would it possible to top BOTH of them? After walking out of the movie theater, however, I had to agree. Not only did I laugh the hardest that I've laughed in a long time, one of the emotional sequences nearly put me to tears. Granted, I never cry for movies -- not The Notebook, not The Pianist, not even the tearjerker three-minute sequence in the beginning of Up; the only movie that has ever made me cry is Grave of the Fireflies, which has got to be one of the most depressing movies ever made. Period. But despite the fact that I don't cry easily when it comes to movies, I can definitely feel it. And I connected with Andy at the end of the movie in a way that I've never felt with any other movie character.

The humor was brilliant through and through. Not wanting to give away any spoilers, all I will say about my favorite humorous moments of the film were 1) Buzz Lightyear in Spanish mode (especially the seductive salsa), 2) Ken, decked out in safari print, short shorts, and an ascot, with insecurities about being a "girls' toy" and "accessory", and 3) Mr. Potato Head's multiple body transplants, including a tortilla and a cucumber.

Since the movie is still in theaters, I don't want to give away too much to anyone who hasn't seen the movie already. All I will say is that I could not have come up with a better ending for the trilogy. Sure, it was sentimental -- but in a way that struck a chord with me unlike anything I've watched in a long time. And once I returned home, I went through my closet and retrieved my beloved stuffed polar bear Cubby and snow leopard Momo and all my other childhood toys from the storage containers. I never said good-bye to my toys before I left for college, and Toy Story 3, despite its heartwarming messages, made me feel rather guilty for having forgotten a part of my past.