After a run of original, diverse movies like Soul (2020), Luca (2021) and Turning Red (2022), it may seem disappointing that Pixar is dipping its toes back into the franchise pond with Lightyear, a movie inspired by a character from the Toy Story movies.
And it’s true that Lightyear lacks the depth of Soul and the irreverent adolescent humor of Turning Red, content instead to be a derivative science fiction story peppered with knowing winks to Pixar’s most beloved films. But the studio still does animated movies better than almost anyone else, so it should be no surprise that Lightyear is also a fun and occasionally exciting adventure, with a few grace notes that elevate it beyond the typical kiddie flick.
Here, Buzz Lightyear (Chris Evans) is an intrepid Space Ranger leading an exploratory mission in the outer reaches of the galaxy alongside co-pilot Alicia Hawthrone (Uzo Aduba). When a mission failure strands everyone on Buzz’s ship on the planet, he dedicates himself to solving the problem of hyperspeed — requiring trips that take several decades, but feel like mere minutes to Buzz. In turn, everyone around him ages but Buzz remains the same. One one return, he finds that the planet has been taken over by alien robots called Zurgs, and he teams with Alicia’s granddaughter Izzie (Keke Palmer), a robot cat named Sox (Peter Sohn), and a group of bumbling cadets to protect his hyper crystal and complete his mission.
The film’s opening frames posit that this is the movie that young Andy from Toy Story saw in 1995 that became an obsession for him. The introduction is unnecessary and reveals the film’s biggest failure of imagination: Lightyear in no way looks or feels like a movie from 1995. There’s no effort to recapture the look and tone of schlocky (or even good) sci-fi from the 1990s, such as Independence Day, Men in Black or The Fifth Element. It’s not necessary to the narrative, but one can’t help but think that at its prime in the late 2000s, Pixar animators would have leapt at the chance to do something aesthetically creative and challenging.
Indeed, Lightyear just feels like a slightly more action-packed Pixar movie, complete with the studio’s formulaic journey narrative and the presence of multiple comic relief characters. The journey is a derivative mish-mosh that weaves in killer robots and icky bugs like any good sci-fi B-movie, but never seems interested in engaging or exploring its concepts. The comedy is reliable, particularly when it comes from Taika Waititi, as a fearful soldier who’s always ready to quit, or when it lets Sohn go weird as a robot cat who can cough up flamethrowers and likes to chase the laser that comes from his eyes. And Pixar understands how to keep a story moving; the film is filled with several fun action sequences, particularly an airlock escape late in the film that delivers some genuine suspense.
Evans acquits himself well in a role that has to compete with Tim Allen’s iconic take on the character. This “real” Buzz has problems playing well with others and a disdain for mistakes. This Buzz deals with self-doubt and loneliness, and the film lingers for a second when he experiences the death of a close friend. But again, the film’s intro undercuts its attempts to humanize Buzz Lightyear; the film has already said “this is all a movie,” so the stakes never quite feel real or important (maybe they will when Pixar ultimately makes the movie about the actor cast to play Buzz in the movie that inspired the toy). It’s also worth noting that none of the moments of Buzz’s self-doubt hit as hard as the moment when he finally accepts that he’s a toy in Toy Story, accomplished only with a fall set to a Randy Newman song.
Pixar’s greatest strength is weaving in moments of adult-centered reflection and emotion into its fantastical plots. And Lightyear continues that trend. Perhaps the benefit of not feeling like a movie from the 1990s is that it’s able to be more diverse, with a cast of characters from different ethnicities and sexual orientations. The film’s matter-of-fact depiction of a loving same-sex couple might seem like a small step toward progress (it comprises less than five minutes of the film’s run time), but it’s a step that Pixar’s cousins at Marvel and Star Wars have as of yet been unwilling to take. And the film powerfully uses that relationship to set up what Buzz doesn’t have: a life at home and people who he loves.
The film’s themes about interdependence, mortality, not being defined by your mistakes and learning to let go of your own obsessions are sometimes woven in a bit messily, and the story has a tendency to be too on the nose with its lessons. A third-act twist might hammer home the idea that Buzz can be his own worst enemy a little too hard. But as a whole, these elements elevate the film into something slightly more engaging and worthwhile than another empty sci-fi spectacle. Another pass at the script might have turned this into something special.
Lightyear never quite reaches infinity (and beyond) to stand alongside Pixar’s best. The world-building and science fiction never reach the heights set by WALL-E. The Incredibles still has the best action sequences, and there are at least three better movies featuring Buzz Lightyear. But the film has its own charm and energy, a likable collection of characters, and a few moments of genuine emotional weight. It might never fly, but it manages to do slightly better than just fall with style.
