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Toy Story Theory: Texts and Readers, Toys and Children

What if Toys were Texts? The children who play with their toys are
readers: they absorb the details of character – Buzz Lightyear, Wheezy the
Penguin, etc. -- and they do further imaginative work, animating the
inanimate. The toys on the shelf can be brought together, and the fictional
worlds they inhabit (Woody's Roundup Gang; Buzz Lightyear's epic battle
with Zurg) can be cross-referenced and interwoven.

In the Toy Story Theory of the Text, the toys/texts have lives of their
own, which turn on when we readers are not around to play with them. They
are intelligent, but in Toy Story Theory they are not fully autonomous -- that
would be too easy. Their one abiding desire is to be read ("played with"),
with affection.

[Update/ A Thesis of a Kind: Looking at the interaction between toys and


children in this way, we see a version of the interaction of texts and readers,
with some of the usual dynamics turned on their head. What I do below is
not 'reader-response' criticism but, in some sense text-response criticism.
Though of course, it comes back to the adult reader in the end, as it always
must.]

Some time after the events of Toy Story, presumably the following
summer, Andy rips his Woody doll while playing with him and Buzz. Woody
is placed on the shelf, where he finds another broken toy, the penguin
Wheezy, and begins to fear he'll soon be thrown away. When Wheezy is set
out for a yard sale, Woody tries to rescue him, but ends up in the yard sale
himself, where he is stolen by Al, an obsessive toy collector and proprietor
of "Al's Toy Barn". Buzz and several other toys set out to rescue Woody.

The fictional world in TS2 exists in parallel with the 'real', human world,
and has to continually interact with it. There are, in particular, two kinds of
humans to contend with, Andy, the imaginative child who loves his
toys/stories, and Al, the evil Toy Collector, whose only goal is profit. After
Woody is abducted, he experiences his moment of Peripeteia -- not as
dramatic perhaps as the famous sequence in Toy Story (i.e., where Buzz
Lightyear realized he was only a toy) -- but still a powerful moment: Woody
actually has a family he never knew about:

Woody is taken to Al's apartment, where he is greeted by Jessie,


Bullseye, and the Prospector (an unsold toy still in its original box). They
reveal to him that they are toys based on a forgotten children's TV show,
Woody's Roundup. Now that Al has a Woody doll, he has a complete
collection and intends to sell the toys to a museum in Japan. Woody initially
insists that he has to get back to Andy, but Jessie reveals how she was
forgotten and eventually abandoned by her owner as she grew up, and the
prospector warns Woody that he faces the same fate as Andy ages. Woody
agrees to go with the "Roundup Gang" to the museum. (Link)

When a blockbuster story comes face to face with its less successful
peers, the initial response is confusion. Why aren't you as good a story as
me? Social constructionists point out that stories with clear heroic lines are
easier to digest than those involving figures like “Prospector Pete,” the
sputtering, morally ambiguous protagonist of a depressing work of historical
fiction. Deconstructionists take it a step further, pointing out that Prospector
Pete, the old man in the box, is the essential truth of every text/toy: no toy
is ever really opened. Feminists point out that Emily loves Jessie as much as
Andy loves Woody. (And Chloe loves Olivia – note the intriguing
homoeroticism of the child/toy bond!)

The endearing thing about the Toy Story universe is that it is aware of
the constructedness of toy popularity, and it doesn't attempt to pretend that
it can be undone by creating a world where there are no cool toys and Every
Toy is Of The Same Value. What it does instead, by forcing the toys to band
together in a small “nutty cluster” (Eve Sedgwick's phrase; she was talking
about Dickens, but it applies here too), is suggest the power of a group of
idiosyncratic personalities working together. It is only by working together,
for instance, that the toys can drive a human-sized car (on which, more
below).

“Japan” also plays an interesting role in all of this. The name stands in for
pure commercialism, which might seem odd, considering this is a movie
about commodifiable toys, which has as one of its aims the re-
commodification of “Buzz Lightyear” and “Woody” toys in our real (human-
humdrum) world. For the children whose parents have already shelled out
$20 for the TS2 DVD, there will be another $30-40 to spend on further real
editions of the simulacra they have already consumed.

But Japan is also an exotic, bizarro world where the toys that are
forgotten 'here' – relegated to life under beds, on forgotten shelves, are
enshrined as attractions in museums and worshipped like Gods. In a sense,
“Japan” is the biggest and best stage these toys can possibly have. To go
there, as Prospector Pete points out (in the movie – it's not in the synopsis
above), means eternal life of the spotless kind, even if being sent there in
boxes results in a kind of irreversible separation from the space of TS2.

Buzz and his friends search for Al at Al's Toy Barn, where Buzz gets into a
scuffle with another Buzz Lightyear doll (who, like Buzz in the first movie,
doesn't realize he's a toy), and the new Buzz sets off with the other toys for
Al's apartment, believing it to be a genuine rescue mission. The original
Buzz frees himself and follows them to the apartment.

When they get there, Woody tells them he doesn't want to be rescued
and intends to go with his new friends to Japan, since he's now a "collector's
item". Buzz reminds him "you are a child's plaything... you are a toy!"
(ironically, Woody says exactly the same thing to Buzz in the first film)
Woody is unconvinced and Buzz's group leaves without him. But Woody
then has a change of heart and invites Jessie, Bullseye, and the Prospector
to come home to Andy with him. The first two agree, but the Prospector
locks them in the room, saying that the museum trip is his first chance
(since he was never sold) and won't have Woody messing it up for him.
(Link)

Prospector Pete is a story that is so proud of itself, it doesn't even want


to be read. It simply wants to be seen, known about, admired, and
“collected.”

Al takes the toys to the airport, where Buzz and his group manage to free
Woody and Bullseye from the suitcase, and stick the Prospector in a little
girl's backpack so he can "learn the true meaning of play-time". Jessie
remains trapped in the suitcase, and Buzz and Woody ride Bullseye to
rescue her from the plane's cargo hold. (Link)
This is my favorite part of the movie (actually both Toy Story movies) –
where the living toys have to navigate the human world. They are too small,
so they have to find creative ways to make the sensors on automatic doors
notice their presence. (Living stories inhabit our world like ghosts, stymied
by automatic doors that demand material, rather than imaginary, weight.)

And crossing a wide, busy street becomes a task of Scylla-and-


Charybdean difficulty. In TS2, the toys hide under traffic cones that seem to
move across the street of their own, mad volition. The toys manage to
sneak across, but their little journey has led to a series of human accidents,
and a massive traffic jam.

And then the strange, terrifying airport, and the toys jumping out of the
baggage compartment of a moving plane, and .... oh, it's just too good,
analysis fails me. [Perhaps we could say: overly bright, automated places
like airports are Toy Story's version of hell.]

At home, the toys are greeted by a fixed Wheezy, who regales them with
a concert. Buzz asks Woody if he's still worried about his eventual fate.
Woody replies "it'll be fun while it lasts. And when it's all over, I'll have Buzz
Lightyear to keep me company... for infinity and beyond." (Link)

And this is perhaps the real point of Toy Story Theory, the painful
anagnorisis that all sentient toys/stories must experience before the credits
roll: just as every toy is eventually going to be put on the shelf and put
away, every story has a shelf-life in the mind of its reader, and must die.

Eventually the reader will “grow up,” which is to say, she will fully absorb
the pleasures and possibilities of the fictional world embodied in both toy
and story. She will want to go somewhere else, and have a different kind of
experience.

In TS2, it is implied that the grown up “Emily” (and presumably also


“Andy) give up their toys in favor of things like record players and
telephone. They give up their toys –which have narratives attached to them
(like Mr. Potato Head's “angry eyes”), for "cool" objects that don't have any
kind of inherent narrative association.

We often joke that our gadgets (cellphones, cameras, etc.) are “toys,”
but actually they aren't toys in the Toy Story Theory, not even remotely.
They are objects or tools, elements perhaps, of things that can become
narratives, but they don't take us anywhere by themselves. Though the
conceit of Toy Story is the idea that a child's toys are actually alive, the
living world of the toy/story is contrasted to an adult world constituted by
affectively detached objects -- narrative dead weight.

(from http://www.lehigh.edu/~amsp/2005/08/toy-story-theory-texts-and-
readers.html)

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