While Pixar’s Toy Story certainly made game-changing technological achievements as the world’s first wholly computer-animated feature film, it never detracted from its thematically rich narrative that is so brilliantly attuned to the traumatic existential crises we humans experience. The impact of this intimate connection with the viewer is further enhanced by the similarity of its two main characters’ struggles. Being his owner Andy’s favorite toy, Sheriff Woody has enjoyed the luxuries of constant playtime and the role of authority figure among his plastic brethren, developing a fierce loyalty for Andy alongside a concerning selfishness, so when he discovers Andy’s new birthday present, a high-tech action figure named Buzz Lightyear, he responds to this possible replacement with a cutthroat hostility in the hopes of avoiding the bottom of the toychest, directly contradicting his posse’s philosophy of simply “being there for Andy”. But through a series of trials and tribulations, Woody comes to reach an emotional synthesis with Buzz after an understanding of his own struggles: this new toy never intended to be a threat; he was simply fulfilling Andy’s needs, yet was also facing an inner crisis himself, upon realizing he actually was a toy, not the elite Saturday-morning cartoon space ranger he’s modeled after. Catharsis is finally reached not only when Woody regains respect among his friends, but when he inspires and reminds Buzz of his endless worth as the most revered figure in his young owner’s life. While Toy Story certainly works as a witty buddy-comedy-adventure, its superficial entertainment all plays second fiddle to these toys’ sophisticated psyches struggling to find common ground, and it boasts analogous parallels with those facing midlife crises, a child fearing a deficit of love and attention when a newborn sibling comes around, as well as those taking the next step from childhood bliss to the strenuous real world.