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And, sadly, the film’s plot and characters are no more distinctive than its visuals. The overall look of the film is disappointingly unimaginative, a conglomeration of elements borrowed from the canon of science fiction cinema-the bug aliens from Starship Troopers here, the light trip from 2001: A Space Odyssey there, and set designs cribbed from Star Wars all over the place. In practice, though, the film is one of Pixar’s least inspired releases to date, a slickly produced but soulless spectacle whose jokey banter and wall-to-wall space-opera action drowns out the story’s emotional beats. In theory, Lightyear’s premise is a clever route out of the nostalgia trap, for playing on our knowledge of and presumed affection for Buzz Lightyear, while allowing the filmmakers to craft something completely new. The Good Dinosaur is the sort of bland holiday time-killer that exhausted parents might describe as “cute” as a way of evading their indifference to it. Arlo is a collection of insecurities that have been calculatedly assembled so as to teach children the usual lessons about bravery, loyalty, and self-sufficiency. There’s barely a villain, little ambiguity, and essentially no stakes. But the film abounds in routine, featherweight episodes that allow the hero to predictably prove his salt to his family, resembling a cross between City Slickers and Finding Nemo.

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The Good Dinosaur has poignant moments, particularly when a human boy teaches Arlo, the titular protagonist, how to swim in a river, and there are funny allusions to how pitiless animals in the wild can be. And while CG people are hardly needed to give a Pixar film humanity, it’s perhaps telling that this, one of the animation house’s few fully anthropomorphic efforts, is also its least humane.

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Having undeservedly spawned more merchandising than a movie that’s literally about toys, Cars’s cold commercialism can still be felt today, with a just-launched theme park at Disneyland. Cars is the first of Pixar’s films to feel like it’s not just catering, but kowtowing, to a specific demographic. Or maybe it’s just that a routinely plotted movie about talking cars is miles beneath Pixar’s proven level of ingenuity, not to mention artistry (okay, we’ll give those handsome heartland vistas a pass). Maybe it’s that Larry the Cable Guy’s Mater is the Jar Jar Binks of animated film. Maybe it’s my general aversion to Nascar.

Unless, that is, they had a douchebag older brother in the family who spent most of his childhood speaking in funny accents and hoarding his piggy-bank money to buy his first hot rod. Conversely, the effect of Cars and its infinitely worse sequel, toons about dudes-as-cars not quite coping with their enormous egos and their contentious bromances, is entirely craven in the way it humorlessly, unimaginatively, and uncritically enshrines the sort of capitalist-driven desires that Pixar’s youngest target audience is unable to relate to. These films, with scant manipulation and much visual and comic invention, thrive on giving toys a conscience and imagining what adventures they have when we turn our backs to them. They appeal to anyone who’s ever cared about a toy-one they outgrew, gave away, or painfully left behind somewhere. The effect of the Toy Story films is practically primal. Keith WatsonĮditor’s Note: This articale was originally published on June 21, 2013. On the occasion of its release, here’s a ranking of every Pixar feature.

The wisecracking MCU-style banter and prominent Black and lesbian representation of the film may separate it from a blockbuster that would’ve existed in 1995, but it still manages to reproduce some of the worst excesses of the tent poles of yore, namely a more-is-always-more approach to action. Such is the case with Lightyear, which opens with on-screen text informing us that what we’re about to see is the film that captured a little boy named Andy’s affection and spawned the Buzz Lightyear action figure that he was given for his birthday in 1995. We’ve been living so long in a realm of perpetual nostalgia, of sequels, legacyquels, reboots, and reimaginings that it was perhaps only a matter of time before Hollywood tried to reverse engineer a nostalgia-ready blockbuster.