Let’s be honest: nobody was asking for Toy Story 4. The third film closed out Pixar’s flagship series with a poignancy that felt final. It was elegiac, cathartic, and beautifully packaged—a near-perfect ending. So when Toy Story 4 arrived nine years later, the collective response was cautious. Would this be a cash grab? A dilution? Or something more? What emerged in 2019 was a film not just worthy of the Toy Story lineage, but one that took a thematic risk: it suggested that even beloved toys—like the franchises that contain them—can evolve past their original purpose.
The history behind Toy Story 4 is as messy and winding as you’d expect from a sequel no one really knew how to write. Early ideas emerged as far back as 2010, and Tom Hanks himself let it slip that Pixar was tinkering with another installment. The film was officially announced in 2014 with John Lasseter set to return as director, pitching it as a romantic comedy centered on Woody and Bo Peep. But this direction quickly fell into flux. Rashida Jones and Will McCormack were brought on, then exited over “philosophical differences.” Eventually, Josh Cooley, a Pixar alum making his feature debut, was handed the reins and reworked the story—making it more introspective and character-driven, shifting from reunion fantasy to existential reckoning.
Production delays plagued the process, not helped by a complete script overhaul that reportedly discarded three-quarters of the previous draft. Yet Pixar, operating on its usual axis of creative perfectionism, soldiered on. Composer Randy Newman returned (because, of course), and a bevy of new characters were introduced, including Forky—the suicidal spork that somehow became a poster child for 21st-century identity crises. While early drafts leaned heavily into Bo Peep’s rescue, Cooley’s version gave her autonomy: she’s not a damsel, she’s Mad Max in a bonnet.
Casting choices ranged from the reliably nostalgic to the absurdly inspired. Tom Hanks and Tim Allen reprised their roles, naturally—though both admitted the final recording sessions were emotionally brutal. Annie Potts returned as Bo Peep, now reimagined as an agile, fearless lost toy with more dimension than any previous outing. New additions like Tony Hale as Forky, Christina Hendricks as the gently menacing Gabby Gabby, and Keanu Reeves as the hilariously theatrical Duke Caboom were not just padding—they were revelations. Reeves, in particular, elevated a one-joke Canadian daredevil into a surprisingly poignant figure of rejection and resilience. In true Pixar fashion, even the gags have emotional weight.
The plot itself is both familiar and uncharted. Woody, now peripheral in Bonnie’s playroom, clings to purpose like a fading vaudevillian. Forky, cobbled together from trash, challenges what it even means to be a toy, while the setting—a gorgeously rendered antique shop and a chaotic carnival—opens up new textures for this universe. But at its heart, Toy Story 4 is about letting go. Woody’s decision to leave his friends and stay with Bo Peep isn’t just surprising—it’s radical. This is Pixar daring to unhook its most iconic character from the continuity he’s anchored for 25 years.
Critically, the film was greeted with open arms. It holds a 97% on Rotten Tomatoes and won the Academy Award for Best Animated Feature, making it the rare fourth entry in a franchise to be both a box office smash and a critical darling. But more impressively, it provoked real conversation: Did Woody make the right call? Was the film necessary? Was it the right kind of ending? And the fact that those questions even arose speaks to how seriously this franchise continues to be taken.
As for its legacy, Toy Story 4 may not be the cultural monolith its predecessors were, but it is perhaps the most mature of the quartet. It shifted the story’s emotional center away from childhood nostalgia and toward adult reflection: about purpose, agency, and reinvention. Woody is no longer Andy’s toy—or Bonnie’s. He is his own. And for a series that began by personifying childhood imagination, that’s a bold and earned evolution. Whether Toy Story 5 undermines that arc remains to be seen, but if the saga had ended here, it would have been enough.
In the end, Toy Story 4 didn’t need to exist—but I’m glad it does. It’s a wistful, elegant denouement in a franchise that somehow still finds new emotional terrain to explore, even as it nears its third decade.
⭐⭐⭐⭐ (4/5 Stars)
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