Toy Story 5

Thirty years after Pixar’s groundbreaking original, Toy Story 5 arrives not with the fanfare of a conquering hero, but with the quiet anxiety of a franchise pondering its own obsolescence. It is a surprisingly fitting theme for a series that has, in many ways, mirrored the journey of its audience from childhood to adulthood. While it may not recapture the flawless magic of the original trilogy, this latest installment, directed by Andrew Stanton, is a charming, emotionally resonant addition that places Joan Cusack’s Jessie firmly in the spotlight as it confronts the 21st-century threat of technology.

The film finds Bonnie (now eight and voiced by Scarlett Spears) struggling to connect with her peers in a world where children are glued to Lilypad tablets. In a move that will feel agonizingly familiar to parents, Bonnie’s well-meaning parents introduce one into her life, and the device (voiced by Greta Lee) quickly commandeers her attention, leaving her toys, led by a distressed Jessie, feeling abandoned. This premise is a natural evolution for a series that has always been about the fear of being replaced. Jessie, who carries the scars of being left behind by her first owner Emily, is the perfect emotional anchor for this story. Her journey back to her original home is genuinely moving, allowing the film to revisit its own history in a way that feels organic rather than nostalgic. The use of Randy Newman’s “When She Loved Me” is enough to guarantee a tear or two, adding another layer of complexity to what could have been a simplistic narrative.

How does it compare to its predecessors? The first two films remain untouchable classics, their blend of invention and heart setting a bar that few sequels—this one included—can ever hope to clear. Toy Story 3 delivered a staggering emotional crescendo that felt like a perfect farewell, while Toy Story 4 functioned as a thoughtful, almost philosophical epilogue for Woody. Toy Story 5, by contrast, is a leaner, more intimate affair, but it sometimes buckles under the weight of its own ambitions. A bizarre but delightful diversion involving a shipwrecked crew of “upgraded” Buzz Lightyear toys provides comedic relief, yet its narrative necessity is questionable. The film also struggles to balance its ensemble; while Woody (Tom Hanks) and Buzz (Tim Allen) are present, their roles are noticeably diminished in favor of Jessie, and one cannot help but miss the electric chemistry of the duo that defined the franchise’s golden years. The film lacks a definitive “Let’s-freaking-go!” moment between the two iconic friends, and that absence is keenly felt.

Still, the film’s handling of its central theme is surprisingly nuanced. It doesn’t simply preach that technology is bad; it acknowledges its benefits while exploring the anxiety of childhood in a screen-saturated world. A powerful visual gag of a room full of people—adults and children alike—oblivious to the toys moving around them because they are fixated on their screens, is classic Pixar: sharp, funny, and pointed. The introduction of Smarty Pants, a piece of obsolete tech voiced with manic energy by Conan O’Brien, adds another poignant layer, reminding us that obsolescence is a universal condition. There is a quiet melancholy running through the film, a sense that these characters are no longer the center of anyone’s universe, and it is this melancholy that gives the film its unexpected weight.

Will this be the last? Toy Story 5 doesn’t feel like a definitive conclusion. The central message of the film is not that play is dead, but that it can co-exist with technology. It advocates for a balance, suggesting that the “age of toys” may not be over after all. This is a franchise that still has plenty of life left in it. It may not be as groundbreaking as its predecessors, but Toy Story 5 proves that these beloved toys still have the power to make us laugh, reflect, and feel deeply.

Elven Ho