Pixar almost didn't make it.
Think about that for a second. We look at the desk lamp logo now and see a multi-billion-dollar juggernaut, but back in the early nineties, they were basically a struggling hardware company trying to convince the world that a computer could make you cry. It sounds like a tech-bro fever dream. But then came Toy Story and Toy Story 2, and suddenly, the entire trajectory of cinema shifted on its axis.
People forget how weird Toy Story looked to audiences in 1995. Before Woody and Buzz, "animation" meant hand-drawn cels, the Disney Renaissance, and sweeping musical numbers about magic carpets or lions. Then, this scrappy team in Richmond, California, decided to make a movie about plastic. It was a smart move—plastic is easy to render. Human skin? Not so much. If you go back and watch the first film today, the humans, especially Andy’s neighbor Sid and his dog Scud, look a bit like nightmare fuel. The textures are flat, the lighting is basic, and the hair looks like solid blocks of geometry.
But it didn't matter.
The story was so tight that you stopped seeing the polygons within five minutes. You just saw a cowboy having an existential crisis because a space ranger was taking his spot on the bed.
The Impossible Birth of Toy Story
Most people assume Toy Story was a guaranteed hit. It wasn't. Disney actually shut down production on "Black Friday" in 1993 because the early scripts made Woody look like a total jerk. He wasn't the lovable leader we know now; he was a cynical, sarcastic bully. Tom Hanks and Tim Allen hadn't even found the rhythm of their chemistry yet. Steve Jobs was pouring his own money into the studio just to keep the lights on.
When it finally hit theaters, it changed everything. It wasn't just the first feature-length computer-animated movie. It was a masterclass in buddy-comedy writing.
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Wait, let's look at the "buddy" dynamic. Woody is the establishment. He's the guy who has everything figured out until the new guy shows up with better features. Buzz Lightyear, meanwhile, is a deluded astronaut who doesn't realize he's a mass-produced piece of merchandise. That tension is where the magic happens. Honestly, the scene where Buzz tries to fly and ends up "falling with style" is perhaps the most important sequence in Pixar history. It's the moment the film transitions from a gimmick into a story with real stakes.
The Toy Story 2 Disaster That Almost Deleted the Movie
If the first film was a miracle, Toy Story 2 was a flat-out accident.
It started as a direct-to-video project. Disney wanted a quick sequel to cash in on the brand, similar to how they handled The Return of Jafar. Pixar, led by John Lasseter at the time, realized the quality wasn't there. They decided to overhaul the entire thing and turn it into a theatrical release, but they only had about nine months to do it.
Then, the unthinkable happened.
A stray command—rm -rf * for the tech geeks out there—was run on the drive where the movie files lived. Woody’s hat disappeared. Then his boots. Then entire sequences. The movie was literally being deleted in real-time. The only reason we have Toy Story 2 today is that Galyn Susman, the technical director, had been working from home to take care of her newborn son and had a backup of the film on her home computer. They literally drove a computer across town wrapped in blankets like a precious cargo to save the studio's future.
Why the Sequel is Actually Better
Most critics will tell you that the second film is the rare sequel that surpasses the original. Why? Because it stops being about "who is the favorite toy" and starts being about mortality.
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When Woody meets Jessie, Bullseye, and Stinky Pete, he’s presented with a choice: go back to Andy and eventually be forgotten or broken, or live forever behind glass in a museum in Japan. That’s a heavy concept for a kids' movie. Sarah McLachlan’s "When She Loved Me" is basically a weaponized tear-jerker. It explains the trauma of being outgrown.
We see the flip side of the Buzz/Woody dynamic here, too. This time, Buzz is the one who has to snap Woody out of his delusion. The irony is delicious.
Technical Leaps Between Films
The visual jump between Toy Story and Toy Story 2 is staggering if you look closely. In the first film, the world feels a bit sterile. By the second film, Pixar had figured out how to do "clutter."
Think about Al’s Toy Barn.
The dust on the shelves, the hundreds of Buzz Lightyear boxes, the way the light hits the floor—it felt lived-in. They also figured out how to make humans look... well, human. The cleaner who fixes Woody (the old man from the short Geri's Game) is a triumph of skin texture and micro-movements. You can see the liver spots on his hands and the way his glasses magnify his eyes. It was a massive leap in rendering technology that set the stage for movies like Monsters, Inc. and Finding Nemo.
The Legacy of the First Two Films
What’s wild is how these two movies created a formula that almost every animation studio has tried to copy since.
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- The Secret World: Toys come to life when we leave the room. Cars talk. Emotions have little people inside their heads.
- The Odd Couple: Two characters who hate each other have to work together to get home.
- The "Adult" Layer: References for the parents that go over the kids' heads, like the 2001: A Space Odyssey nod in the second film.
But while many have copied the shell, few have captured the heart. Toy Story works because it treats its characters' problems as life-and-death. To a toy, a yard sale is a death sentence. To a toy, a new birthday present is a hostile takeover.
Common Misconceptions
People often think Toy Story 2 was always meant to be the epic it became. Nope. It was almost a bargain-bin sequel. Another myth is that Pixar and Disney were always best friends. In reality, their relationship was incredibly strained during the late nineties, largely over the rights to these characters. Steve Jobs and Michael Eisner famously clashed, and for a while, it looked like Disney might make Toy Story 3 without Pixar involved at all (look up "Circle 7 Animation" if you want a rabbit hole of weird "what-if" history).
How to Appreciate Them Today
If you're planning a rewatch, don't just put them on as background noise. Look at the framing. Look at how the camera stays at "toy level" for 90% of the runtime.
When Woody is trapped in Sid’s room in the first movie, the camera angles make the room look like a Gothic horror castle. When the toys are crossing the street under traffic cones in the second movie, the scale is genuinely terrifying. This is intentional cinematography that most live-action directors struggle to pull off.
Also, pay attention to the voice acting. This wasn't "stunt casting" like we see today where every celebrity gets a voice role regardless of fit. Don Rickles as Mr. Potato Head and Wallace Shawn as Rex are perfect. They aren't just playing themselves; they are inhabiting these neurotic, plastic bodies.
Actionable Steps for Your Next Watch
- Watch for the "Easter Eggs": Look for the Pizza Planet truck in both movies (it's in almost every Pixar film). In Toy Story 2, look at the books on the shelf behind Woody; they are named after Pixar’s early short films like Knick Knack and Tin Toy.
- Compare the Lighting: Watch the scene in the first film where Buzz "flies" around the room, then watch the scene in the second film where they are in the vent system. The way shadows are handled shows a massive evolution in their software, RenderMan.
- Check the Commentary: If you have the Blu-rays or access to the extras on Disney+, listen to the directors' commentary. The stories about the production hurdles are often more dramatic than the movies themselves.
- Analyze the Script: If you're a writer or a film buff, pay attention to the "Rule of Three." Pixar is obsessed with setting something up early and paying it off later. The "Claw" in the first movie is a perfect example of a payoff that feels earned.
These movies aren't just nostalgia bait. They are the foundation of modern digital storytelling. Without the risk Pixar took on a nervous cowboy and a spaceman who didn't know he was a toy, the landscape of movies would look fundamentally different today. It’s a reminder that even when the files get deleted and the script gets trashed, a good idea—and a lot of stubbornness—can change the world.
There is a reason we still care about Woody and Buzz thirty years later. It isn't the technology. It isn't the marketing. It's the fact that we've all felt, at some point, like we were being replaced, and we all just wanted to find our way back home.