Most people remember Toy Story 2 as the movie where we met Jessie the Yodeling Cowgirl and learned that Woody was actually a rare collector's item from a 1950s TV show. It’s a classic. But honestly, the fact that this movie even exists—and that it’s actually good—is a straight-up miracle. If you look at the history of Pixar, this wasn't just another sequel. It was a chaotic, high-stakes rescue mission that almost broke the studio before they even reached their prime.
The Sequel That Almost Didn't Happen
Initially, Disney wanted Toy Story 2 to be a direct-to-video release. Think about that for a second. In the late 90s, "direct-to-video" was basically code for "lower quality." Disney had a rhythm going with sequels like The Return of Jafar or The Little Mermaid II, which were profitable but didn't have the cinematic weight of the originals. Pixar’s main team, including Steve Jobs and John Lasseter, were busy working on A Bug's Life. They figured a secondary team could handle Woody and Buzz’s next outing.
They were wrong.
When the Pixar leadership finally sat down to look at the work the "B-team" had done, they panicked. The story wasn't clicking. The stakes felt low. It didn't feel like a Pixar movie. With only nine months left before the hard release date, Pixar made a terrifying choice. They decided to scrap the majority of the film and start over.
✨ Don't miss: Who was the voice of Yoda? The real story behind the Jedi Master
Nine Months of Digital Chaos
You’ve probably heard of "crunch culture" in video games, but the production of Toy Story 2 was the cinematic version of a marathon run at a sprint pace. Employees were working 36-hour shifts. People were sleeping under their desks. It’s reported that a staggering 80% of the crew suffered from repetitive strain injuries during those final months.
There is a legendary story about a technical error that almost erased the entire movie. A systems administrator accidentally ran a "delete" command on the main server where the character models were stored. Woody’s hat vanished. Then his boots. Then Woody himself. They lost months of work in seconds. The only reason the movie exists today is because Galyn Susman, the supervising technical director, had been working from home to care for her newborn baby and had a backup of the film on her personal computer. She literally drove the computer to the office wrapped in blankets like a precious cargo.
The Jessie Factor
What makes the movie stand out isn't just the technical rescue, but the emotional depth they managed to inject during that frantic rewrite. Jessie’s backstory, set to Sarah McLachlan’s "When She Loved Me," is arguably one of the saddest moments in animation history. It changed the franchise. It shifted the theme from "Will my kid still play with me?" to "What happens when my kid grows up and leaves me behind?"
🔗 Read more: Not the Nine O'Clock News: Why the Satirical Giant Still Matters
That is a heavy, adult concept for a movie about plastic toys.
Why the Roundup Gang Changed Everything
Introducing the "Roundup Gang" allowed Pixar to explore the idea of legacy versus love. Woody is forced to choose between being a museum piece—preserved forever but never touched—or going back to Andy, knowing that Andy will eventually outgrow him.
- Woody: The hero who realizes his "ancestry" as a TV star.
- Jessie: The tragic figure who represents the fear of abandonment.
- Bullseye: The loyal companion who doesn't need words to show heart.
- Stinky Pete: The cynical antagonist who chose bitterness over the risk of being hurt.
Stinky Pete is a fascinating villain because he’s not "evil" in the traditional sense; he’s just a character who has never been loved and wants to control his environment so he can never be rejected again. He's the antithesis of Woody.
💡 You might also like: New Movies in Theatre: What Most People Get Wrong About This Month's Picks
The Technical Leap from 1995 to 1999
If you watch the first Toy Story and then immediately jump to Toy Story 2, the visual difference is jarring in the best way possible. In 1995, humans looked... creepy. Sid’s dog, Scud, looked like a plastic model. By 1999, Pixar had figured out how to render dust motes in Al’s Toy Barn and the subtle textures of dog fur on Buster.
The "clinch" moment for the tech team was the scene where the Cleaner (who is actually Geri from the short film Geri's Game) restores Woody. The way the paint covers the "ANDY" on the boot, the sound of the tiny drawers opening, the fine-tipped brushes—it was a flex. Pixar was showing the world that they weren't just making cartoons; they were creating digital tactile reality.
The Legacy of Al's Toy Barn
Al McWhiggin, the owner of Al's Toy Barn, is a perfect caricature of the obsessive collector. We all know an Al. He’s the guy who keeps things "NIB" (New In Box) and sees toys as financial assets rather than things to be played with. This was a meta-commentary on the very industry Pixar was a part of. By making Al the "human" villain, the movie argues that the true value of an object isn't its price tag on eBay, but the memories attached to it.
Actionable Steps for Animation Fans and Collectors
If you want to appreciate this movie on a deeper level today, there are a few things you should actually do.
- Watch the "Cleaner" scene with high-quality headphones. The foley work (sound effects) in that sequence is considered some of the best in the business. It’s ASMR before ASMR was a thing.
- Look for the A113 easter eggs. This is the classroom number at CalArts where many Pixar animators studied. In this film, it appears on the license plate of Andy's mom's van.
- Research the "Deleted Scenes." There is an early version of the opening sequence that involved a different version of the Buzz Lightyear video game. Seeing how the storyboard evolved tells you a lot about Pixar’s "story first" philosophy.
- Check your own vintage toys. If you actually own an original 1990s Woody or Buzz, look at the packaging. The movie's success caused a massive surge in toy production, but the "movie accurate" versions are the ones collectors still hunt for.
Toy Story 2 proved that Pixar wasn't a one-hit wonder. It established their habit of taking massive creative risks under impossible deadlines. It taught us that being "broken" (like Woody’s arm) doesn't mean you're worthless. It just means you've been loved enough to have a history. Without the trial by fire that was this production, we likely wouldn't have had Finding Nemo, The Incredibles, or the emotional gut-punch of Toy Story 3. It was the bridge between a tech experiment and a legendary studio.