As someone of Woody’s age, that was not shocking to see. All of my friends are balding. On a particularly windy day, I hold onto my hair because I’m paranoid about the last follicles blowing away. My recent trip to Scotland was spent with my hands cradling my head. I apparently have resigned myself to carpeting in my bathroom; the rug being my dearly departed hairs.
It was the shock and gasps from my fellow Toy Story 5 audience members that got me. And then their uproarious laughter, each time Woody’s bald spot was used for another sight gag and joke.
As the rest of Toy Story 5 unfolded, I had so many other moments of realization about how much time has passed, how old I’ve gotten, my curmudgeonly impulses because of it, and how painfully emotional that all is.
I know we all have sequelitis, and are conditioned to assume all IP-related major releases are shameless money grabs. But I had a feeling while watching Toy Story 5. Geriatric millennials (most offensive moniker ever created) need this installment of the franchise, just as we needed the other four. Yes, this is a great movie that kids will get a kick out of. But I also felt like it was made for me, for us, those for whom Toy Story has been our defining franchise.
I know we like to think of blockbusters, spandex, and light sabers as the movie franchises that define and excite us. But I think it’s actually Woody, Buzz, and a Randy Newman song (I won’t be discussing that utterly “meh” of a Taylor Swift song in Toy Story 5) that is actually the millennial franchise of our time.
