Review: Toy Story That Time Forgot

Who doesn’t love Christmas Specials?

With the release of a Toy Story Halloween Special, it was only a matter of time before Pixar followed up with a Christmas one, and of the two, I think Toy Story That Time Forgot has the tiniest edge over its spooky counterpart. Whereas Tale of Terror was very much built around horror tropes that befitted the holiday it was celebrating, this one is only tenuously linked to Christmas, and yet it builds such an immersive world with its Battlesaur characters that I get wrapped up in the adventure every single time.

Released in 2014, it is longer by its predecessor by exactly one minute, and once again employs a female character as its protagonist (is it annoying that the likes of Jessie and Trixie have to wait for television specials to enjoy the limelight? Yes, but this is the last time I’ll mention it, I promise).

In this case, Trixie the triceratops is frustrated at being cast into the role of anything but a dinosaur in Bonnie’s elaborate games, only to realize that her purpose as a toy is to sublimate herself to her child’s needs. This is a lesson she imparts to the episode’s most important new character, Reptillus Maximus, an anthropomorphic dinosaur action figure that (like Buzz nearly twenty years earlier) doesn’t realize he’s a toy.

It’s basically the same epiphany that the toys learn in all these movies – except, bizarrely, the fourth one. But we’ll get to that in due course...

The bulk of the story takes place in the bedroom of Bonnie’s friend Mason, a boy who has received the motherload for Christmas: what looks like the entire toy-line of Battlesaur action figures and their adjacent sets and accessories. As Buzz sardonically comments: “no one’s THIS good”, and he’s undoubtedly right. That’s just the writers’ sneaky way of acknowledging that they needed a LOT of toys to create the immersive “land that time forgot” world within the confines of Mason’s bedroom.

And it’s gorgeous. The orange-tinted blank wallpaper and carefully-angled “toy’s eye view” shots make the plastic sets feel like a real world-within-a-world; a prehistoric realm with its own distinct culture and mythos. The writers went to great lengths to bring context to this imaginary toy-line, including a theme song and anime-style opening credits to their own show:

That’s commitment. You can easily intuit how this show and its storylines would have played out, and draw connections between how the toys are designed and what their original characters might be like. As a child of the eighties, I well-remember the dinosaur craze we all went through, from Denver the Last Dinosaur to Land of the Lost, though I suspect most of the inspiration for Battlesaurs came from Dinosaucers, which very much captures the aesthetic of warrior dinosaurs in futuristic armour.

Man, we watched some weird shit back then.

Our introduction to this world is also ingenious: after a “crash landing” in Mason’s room (Bonnie flings her backpack through the door) Woody, Buzz, Trixie and Rex emerge to discover that all of Mason’s toys are mysteriously absent. “Where's Sock Ape and the little wrestlers and the Eco Force gang?” Trixie asks, before they’re distracted by a dog-like dinosaur that leads them into the unknown…

There’s a transition scene in which our characters run horizontally through a wide shot – under some furniture, between unopened presents – that feels like something from The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe: specifically, the way the children move from the back of the wardrobe and into Narnia. It’s just magical, so although we’ve been given an early red flag of danger ahead (with mention of those missing toys) there’s reason to be just as excited as Trixie is by the city of Battleopolis. Finally, she gets to be an actual dinosaur!

She and Rex get decked out with new armour accessories, there’s a volcano and a gladiatorial arena and a “Triassic Tower of the Dream Elders through which distant beings convey cosmic wisdom from another dimension”, and their leader Reptillus is very clearly smitten. Voiced by Kevin McKidd (who I always get mixed up with both Steve Waddington AND Tony Goldwyn) he’s the quintessential embodiment of the Proud Warrior Race, complete with no indoor voice and overdramatic body language.

The enthusiasm with which Trixie explores her new surroundings and the heady attention that Reptillus pours upon her is a pretty clear signal to any savvy viewer that she’s about to be disappointed. Assuming that he’s just deeply into roleplaying, Trixie is horrified to see Reptillus attack Mason’s toys and realize instead that they’re taking everything deadly seriously. Turns out that this micro-society is being run by an evil pterodactyl Cleric, who is taking advantage of his fellow dinosaurs’ ignorance of their true nature in order to eke out power for himself (though what degree of “power” he thinks he’ll gain in a child’s bedroom remains unanswerable).

And when I say the Battlesaurs take things “deadly seriously”, I mean it. The story doesn’t shy away from the violence that’s inflicted on Mason’s toys, and when Woody and Buzz are marched away, the spinning fan in the air conditioning unit is established as very fatal should they be thrown into it.

In the midst of all this, Woody and Buzz are rendered supporting players: first being forced to fight in the arena (but defending themselves reasonably well) and then shouting for Trixie to seek help from Bonnie. That’s not a criticism though: it’s actually nice to see them take a backseat for a change, and in their new role as Those Two Guys they bounce off each other really well. (This special is definitely the snarkiest that Buzz has ever been).

It’s during Trixie’s race to get Bonnie’s attention, with Reptillus in close pursuit, that we reach the emotional climax of the story: Reptillus learns he’s a toy and that happiness is to be found (as Trixie puts it) in: “giving yourself over to a kid”. 

There are some interesting scenes strewn throughout the story that play around with this idea, from Trixie’s initial irritation at never getting to play a dinosaur, to the Battlesaurs reacting with horror when they notice Trixie has Bonnie’s name written on her foot, calling it “the mark of obedience.”

Like the Battlesaurs, Trixie initially wants to be what her manufacturers have designed her to be, only to become an advocate for “surrendering” to the creativity and imagination of a child, insisting: “it’s your kid that choses who you’re going to be.” As it happens, Reptillus buys into this new identity and world-view much faster than Buzz did, even going so far as to partake in a trust fall when Mason reaches under the television to find out what’s caused it to switch off.

There’s an interesting subtext here that’s difficult to parse, and I came across some rather strange takes on the whole thing while writing up this review: someone took umbrage with what they felt was a pro-submission, anti-freedom message, in which the characters learn to bow to the whims of a child rather than be themselves. It sounds a bit over-the-top, but then – who are Trixie and Reptillus really? Dinosaurs or toys? What makes up the defining aspect of their identity? What if they prefer their fictional roles to their assigned ones? What if not being who they want to be makes them miserable?

If these issues occurred to the writers at all, then some of Pricklepant’s dialogue at the beginning of the story may have been designed to assuage them: he frames playtime as essentially performative in nature (and as Buzz says later, they’re tired of “Shakespeare in the Park” among the dinosaurs, whereas Trixie is keen to continue interacting with those she describes as being “so committed to their roles”).

This context largely removes the question of identity. Whether playacting as a reindeer or dinosaur, goblin fairy or ghost clown, Trixie isn’t betraying herself when she submits to Bonnie’s will, just agreeing to be what a child needs her to be.

Leave it to a Toy Story short to throw up all these weird considerations. The truth is that a toy’s experience of play has absolutely no real-world analogy, and there’s only so deep you can go with a half-hour Christmas Special. In comparison to Buzz’s existential crisis or Woody’s empty nest syndrome, Trixie’s grievance is fairly lightweight, but it exists in stark contrast to the wrong-headed devotion that the Battlesaurs demonstrate towards the deceitful Cleric, who wants to keep them trapped in a false reality and deny them their true selves (one might even call him a false prophet if you really want to get into the Christmas spirit).

It’s not in ceaseless violence for its own sake, but by surrendering to the will of a higher power that Reptillus finds peace, and with that in mind there’s a lot to be said about the unique generosity of toys: that they give up their time, self and (sometimes) dignity in order to be present for a child. When Trixie realizes this, she discovers who she really is.

Not bad for a thirty-minute holiday special.

Miscellaneous Observations:

This special also contains what is possibly the most adult joke Pixar has ever made. Check out this screenshot:

Reptillus and Trixie lie next to each other, the former staring upwards with a look of rapture on his face, the latter watching him as he wonderingly states: “that was… glorious.” Please don’t think I’m a pervert, but surely this was meant to evoke the post-coital glow, right? Right?!

Mason also gets something of an arc here, though it's combined with a dig levelled at children who end up sitting front of a screen all day. Initially caught up in Optimum X (it looks like a Playstation with headgear), he’s eventually distracted long enough to get caught up in Bonnie’s imagination, transferring his attention to the rest of his Christmas stash.

Angel Kitty is the singular character that reminds us that this is in fact a Christmas Special, but she certainly makes her mark: intoning words of wisdom throughout the story, and then mysteriously disappearing at the end. But many of her lines, such as “the joy that you give to others is the joy that comes back to you” and “limitations are the shackles we bind to ourselves” pretty nicely sum up the themes of the whole thing.

And she’s so cute.

One has to wonder what exactly the Cleric’s master plan was: just to lord it over the other Battlesaurs while they beat up the other toys? It's apparent that he was aware of his own true nature, and was using the various sets to brainwash the rest of the Battlesaurs into thinking they really were sentient dinosaurs from another planet, but how did he come to self-awareness when the others didn’t? And what would happen if a child entered the room? How would they all know to be still? Towards the start Trixie says they’re “fresh out of the box”, so perhaps they never even got a chance to interact with Mason before things kicked off.

But you have to admit, the Cleric had a pretty ingenious setup, and the attention to detail when it comes to how he manipulated the others could have easily been adapted for a feature-length film: using the communication device on the tower to convey orders to the Battlesaurs (rather like the Wizard of Oz) or using the controllable claws on the armoury to turn Rex into a helpless automaton. One suspects he also utilized the theme song as a sort of nationalist anthem to keep the others all pumped up on adrenaline. 

And did you catch the Emperor Palpatine shout-out? (It's not as funny as it used to be; I just want that character to go away already).

In any case, the Cleric manages to get a surprisingly soft ending (especially compared to the likes of Stinky Pete and Lotso): on realizing that he lights up, we last see him sighing happily over the fact that he’s being utilized as a nightlight.  I guess Christmas got to him.

One little detail that I loved was Bonnie’s mother reminding her to say please and thank you when they climb the steps to Mason’s house. Every kid gets that reminder on visiting a new place.

I’m not sure what to think of Reptilius’s comment to Trixie about how she’s: “not like our females,” followed by a female foot soldier screeching randomly. Probably best not to overthink it.

I checked, and Mason’s toys do appear safe and sound in the final playtime montage: the knitted monkey, the penguin, and what looks like a Fisher Price man – all of whom were rather viciously attacked in the arena.

Finally, it’s sweet that Trixie eventually puts on the pipe-cleaner reindeer antlers herself… though you have to wonder HOW she did it.

That was Toy Story That Time Forgot: like all the offerings in this franchise it’s bursting with creativity and charm – I honestly don’t know how they manage it every time. You expect a few duds sooner or later, but Toy Story just refuses to fall into that trap. I might have to watch it again before Christmas Day...