Dear Pixar: Heartstrings are for tugging, not hanging weights from… Dial it down a notch m’kay?
Sometimes I think folks making media forget how powerful their tools are, how finely they’ve honed their craft, and how potent their magic is at work in little hearts, minds, and bodies. Kids literally convulsed from weepy sadness when Woody and company simply lowered their heads and joined hands while resigning themselves to certain fiery death in the swirling mouth of Hell (in a scene that lasted nearly ten minutes and was more like LOST than Toy Story.)
My son begged me in tears to leave the theater at that point, but I knew (as I am adult and can predict that no jackass would end a kids movie with all the hero toys dying and get away with it) things he didn’t. By the time Woody and the gang were all miraculously saved, my son’s face was buried in my chest and now he goes through life pretending that Toy Story 3 doesn’t exist, much in the same way I treat the Matrix films.
Really, Pixar? Sad clowns? Homophobia? Latino stereotypes? Sociopathic bipolar purple bears that smell of strawberries, sound like the prison guard from Cool Hand Luke and physically and verbally abuse dolls that look more like babies than dolls? Really?
Please. Must you be reminded that kids are not as desensitized as adults and don’t need to “go there” with the lowest lows to be able to feel any sort of high? Surely someone over there must have known this? A focus group? An intern?
It’s like “Invasion of the PIxar Snatchers.”
Who stole my PIxar and left this eerily similar yet somehow evil clone in its place and what does it want?!
This is how I felt when the nerdy fanboys that grew up watching the Simpsons took over as writers for the Simpsons – stuck watching a creepy, manipulative, immature, histrionic mimic of true artistic genius – in Disney Digital 3D.
Joe Ranft must be rolling in his grave because of this film.