Since its cinema release in June, Pixar’s Lightyear has attracted a considerable amount of criticism.
One BBC review has dubbed it a ‘frustratingly slow, melancholy drama‘ with other sources also dubbing the film’s plot to be weak and its characters incompetent. This, however, seems like a needlessly negative spin on things. Ever since the film was announced in 2020, people have been expecting to dislike it simply because it is an expansion on a character we have already seen before. Over half a year before Lightyear’s release there were already articles calling it “the Pixar movie nobody wanted.” Although some criticisms of Lightyear are valid, others feel like critics are simply determined not to enjoy it. Perhaps partly as a result of this, the film has proven to be a box office disappointment, falling well short of expectations.
Although some may accuse Lightyear of being a money-grabbing opportunity—the Toy Story franchise the titular character originates from ended several years ago, after all—it can surely be given the benefit of the doubt. Despite the occasional plot hole, the film does what it intended to do. It is intended to be a nostalgic love letter to a character, and a fun space movie. If grown-up fans are searching for a film about being stranded on a planet that has complex science and smarter plot beats, they might want to find the screen showing a re-release of The Martian, because they’ve walked into the wrong one.
When you watch Lightyear, the amount of fun being had by everyone who had a hand in creating it is palpable. The voice actors are having the time of their lives. Despite scepticism in recent years over films casting actors for voice roles due to their fame rather than voice talent, Chris Evans and Taika Waititi in particular do a stellar job. The irony of Evans playing a second character who has unwittingly travelled through time is not lost, although at least this time his character decides not to meddle in his friend’s life via time travel. Particular care has been taken to emulate other examples from across science fiction—the soundtrack, created by Star Trek and Rogue One: A Star Wars Story composer Michael Giacchino, has notably Star Wars-esque features, especially during the film’s more tense moments.
Additionally, another of Lightyear’s strengths lies with its characters. Far from too melancholy, the film’s development of Buzz is linear and, above all, human. Every instance in which he criticises somebody or dwells on their faults happens doubly so to himself. He is haunted by his mistakes, critical of his own flaws and mourning a best friend who has spent six decades without him in what has felt like less than a year to him. Lightyear does not glorify Buzz or his achievements. It is not a film about how great he is or how many aliens he can blast, although those things come into play. Some viewers may have wanted that kind of film, or expected it even. That, however, is the Buzz we see at the beginning of Toy Story. That would be a very surface-level kind of film.
Instead, Buzz is given more depth by being forced to work with ‘rookies’—his least favourite people—and learning to forgive his own mistakes via helping them learn from theirs. There is an emphasis throughout Lightyear on the importance of forming deep platonic bonds with those around you. When Buzz loses his best friend he feels even more cut off from his own world than he already had. It’s his newfound connections to his teammates that save him.
One common complaint about the film is that the incompetence of the characters is weaponised; that the plot relies on their failures, until it doesn’t. It can be agreed the plot leans somewhat on the characters messing things up, but that’s rather the point. Within the film, the main villain is oneself in more than one sense, be that in a physical manifestation or a metaphorical one. Aside from a tangible ‘final boss,’ the main obstacle to the characters getting what they want is their own failures, and to get what they want they must move past those failures. Given that this is a reasonably common plot device it’s a little bizarre that some critics are seeing it as a flaw of the film (with one saying the story is “almost entirely dependent on the heroes being clumsy“). To the protestations that the characters’ mistakes are repetitive, it can easily be argued that so are ours. Nobody makes a mistake once and never makes it again—learning is a constant process, not a static one. When we learn from one mistake, we often make a different one later. Buzz, Alisha, Mo and the rest of the protagonists are realistically and charmingly fallible without being obnoxious.
Although Izzy’s marriage and family life are beautifully portrayed, romance is not at the heart of the film. Much like in The Martian, when astronaut Mark Watney wishes to escape from Mars and go home for himself and his friends rather than for a love interest, it is shown in Lightyear that a plot can be centred around a group of friends and the stakes can be just as high as when romance is involved. Romance is not, however, belittled—one of the many important things Buzz realises is that Izzy’s life mattered as it was, unaltered, because she got to find love and have a family. Being a space ranger is not presented as a nobler or higher goal than this, or vice versa. This message, that many choices in life are equally valid, is an important thing to show to young audiences. So is the concept that you should forgive yourself for mistakes. This is no small thing in a social climate where children of all ages face increasing pressure to be perfect, to deliver good results and grades, and to not make the mistakes that the characters show we’re allowed to make.)
Just like its characters, Lightyear is flawed and repetitive and occasionally a little clunky, and that is absolutely beautiful.
Lightyear is available to watch on Disney+ from 3 August.
Words by Casey Langton
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