in which you are welcome to change my mind

When it comes to movies, certain movies at least, I’m gullible. There is complete willingness to suspend disbelief. In Toy Story, I am willing to believe that toys come to life when no one is looking, that their ultimate source of happiness is to be played with (preferably by their owner), and that they can be remarkably agile and durable when they have to (I must confess, though, that I’m having trouble suspending disbelief when it comes to Slinky. His springs should have been stretched out long ago).

That said, Toy Story 3 is definitely the most mature of the three Toy films – as mature as a film about toys can get, that is.  It’s not just petty rivalry, endless mishaps and  chase scenes here; the toys are dealing with very adult themes of loss, letting go, disillusionment,  question of self-worth, and – at one manipulatively harrowing point that was just starting to get corny until the three aliens came to the rescue – even death.

Eventually, of course, a happy ending was had by all, although, at the back of one’s mind, the nagging thought still lingers – what happens when that little girl grows up, and the toys have to face all that drama all over again? Will they even survive up to that point? Will they have suffered whatever fate meted out to Bo Peep? To those who will make it, I guess, they will be more realistic.  They will realize right away that there are far worse things than being stuck in the attic with the Christmas decorations.  In that sense, could it be that this film is not about (or not just about) growing up and letting go, but about settling for what you can have? That is definitely something to be afraid of.

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