Infinity and Beyond: Toy Story 3 Review

The first Toy Story was more notable for the ways it changed animation than in the way the story or characters stuck with you, which made the emotional content of Toy Story 2 so surprising. In the decade since the sequel, Pixar has established that earned emotion as its house style, and built a commitment to story and character unparalleled not only in animation but in any area of pop culture. Their last two films especially, Wall-E and Up, have appealed more to adults than children. It would be hard (but not impossible) for a child to understand to solitary longing of Wall-E, or to emotionally connect to the devastating montage of Carl and Ellie's life together in Up.

The Pixar that brings us Toy Story 3 is, then, not the same Pixar that brought us the first sequel, and the film is all the better, wiser, and more resonant for it. Without the success, financial and critical, of the films that preceded this one, Pixar might not have dared to take the story in the sometimes very dark directions that it must to pack an emotional wallop at the end. But the film does get dark-even taking these adorable little characters into the depths of a literal hell. The climactic moment of that sequence is a breathtaking piece of animation, subtle and simple and pure (I won't go into great detail, not only for fear of spoiling, but because I'd like to get through writing this without tearing up). The “performance” on the face of Buzz Lightyear in that scene is the rival of any flesh and blood actor's performance in recent years. But one of the primary reasons that moments like this succeed is how fun the rest of the film is (a sequence in which Mr. Potato-Head finds his body replaced with a tortilla is a comic set piece that recalls Buster Keaton in its fluid brilliance). Toy Story 3 is so deftly plotted and kinetic in its direction that the emotion simply creeps up on you. The film is infused with wit and sadness, and the bittersweet accomplishment of growing up.

Toy Story 3 caps what is, beyond the shadow of a doubt, the greatest of all film trilogies. Every other attempt before it has hit a weak patch: for Star Wars it was the Ewoks, for Lord of the Rings it was the dreadfully boring Aragorn/Arwen segments that weighed down The Two Towers, for the Godfather films it was Sofia Coppola, and for the Matrix movies it was...well, pretty much everything past the first one. But with Toy Story we finally have a trilogy that builds on the strength of each installment to a logical, emotionally satisfying conclusion. It is the greatest film yet from a studio whose artistic achievements dwarf all others.

Toy Story 3: A+

"How are you here?": "The End" of LOST

Finales are practically never satisfying to everybody-and in the end that usually doesn’t matter. People who desperately wanted visual evidence that Tony Soprano died at the end of the series will never be satisfied by the cut to black. It’s too ambiguous, and not bloody enough. People (like me) who expected some kind of answer to what exactly Starbuck was after her return on Battlestar Galactica will never be satisfied by the “well, apparently she’s an angel” theory. All a finale ultimately has to do is wrap things up in a way that’s appropriate to the show itself. The Wire’s finale works because it shows the ways in which the cycle of violence and escape is perpetuated—which was the central thesis of the show. The cut to black works for The Sopranos because it is a visual representation of the absence of salvation, the ultimate end of Tony’s nihilistic worldview and self-serving behavior. Galactica’s robot montage may be goofy, but it certainly underscores the theme of the show, which is that man is trapped in a cycle of creation and destruction.

So then, in considering “The End” of Lost, we’ve got to first see if the ending was appropriate to all that had come before it. The answer is yes (and no). The show is about fate vs. free will and reason vs. faith. It may be unsatisfying for the more rational fans that the show came down so singularly on the side of “faith”, but that’s always been where it was heading. Lost is not science fiction, it’s fantasy. It’s not Star Trek with its technical jargon and legitimate basis in physics and quantum theories—it’s Star Wars with its Force and its destiny (let’s make this clear-it’s original trilogy Star Wars, before fucking midichlorians. Seriously, fuck midichlorians). I suspect that this philosophical divide is behind some of the more vitriolic responses to the finale. There are plenty of reasons to love or to hate the finale (and in extension the series), but the war waged online right now is pretty ridiculous. The worst posts are by those that loved the finale and are smugly lording over people who hated it and therefore “didn’t get it” or “didn’t pay attention”. The finale does work, and does make sense unto itself-however, the developments in the finale muddy much of what came before it in the series, and in that way is legitimately unsatisfying.

Lost has always functioned on two fundamental levels: as a character study, and as a mystery show. That yields two basic types of fans: those who want to see what happens to Jack, Sawyer, et all, and those that want to know what that damn Smoke Monster is after six seasons. But ultimately, both aspects of the show are central to its appeal, and to deny either side is to take away a great deal of what made Lost so much fun. In the weeks before the finale aired, Damon Lindelof and Carlton Cuse tried as hard as they could to insist that it was the characters that mattered, and that the mysteries weren’t important—because, likely, they knew just how much they’d failed at providing resolutions to the mysteries they’d sprinkled throughout the show. Some things-where the Dharma supply drop came from, for example-are ultimately irrelevant to the storyline and need no explanation (they will, however, stand out upon rewatch and give the mystery fans even less reason to ever re-examine the series as a whole). But some things that are incredibly important to the understanding of the universe that the show has presented us have been left up to the viewer to determine.

Perhaps Lost functions better as mythology than mystery-where answers can be left open to interpretation, subjective rather than verifiable. But that’s certainly not the way the show was presented during the course of its run—we were promised answers, the show didn’t deliver. At that end, Lost conclusively fails.

But the only answer that the finale really had to provide was what the Sideways World was, and it did that-while still leaving much up to interpretation. The “Sideways Purgatory” offered a chance for some pretty important closure for many of our characters, but a question lingers: was Sideways World really necessary? Was the Lost creative team so used to having a twin-narrative structure that they forced an unnecessary split into the last season? Could the final season’s storyline just been told in a straightforward manner, focusing only on the island narrative and its conclusion? Maybe, but not really.

The Sideways World was an inelegant way to offer resolution to many character arcs and relationships—most specifically allowing Jack to come face to face with his father at the end. Christian’s absence during the series, and his emotional absence throughout Jack’s life, is right at the core of the show. It’s corny, sure, but that moment of atonement at the end of the series is key to who Jack is and what Jack died for, and also mythologically necessary. But, again, we are left without a definitive answer to an important question: Where exactly did they Sideways World come from anyway?

In the very first scene of the Season Six premiere, “LA X”, we are shown Juliet detonating Jughead, and then Jack sitting on alt-Oceanic 815. There is an implied causality there, especially since the next time that we are shown Juliet detonating Jughead we are shown Jack, Kate, and everyone transported to their correct time. So if the second flash sent them back, then the first flash created the Sideways World. This would seem to be supported by Christian Shephard when he says that this is a place that they all made together to find each other. The only point in the series where we could have witnessed that creation is the Incident. So what exactly happened when Jughead went off? A massive amount of atomic energy interacts directly with the exotic matter “Source” of the island, put there by the future guardian of the island, Jack Shephard. Jack’s intent with Jughead was to end his suffering (and arguably that of his friends). With that act, Jack does create a world in which that very thing can happen-a place where he and the people he cares about can process and finally let go of their doubts and fears. You can even look at the Sideways World as a gift from the Island to Jack and his friends for their role in protecting it. This is a key difference in Jack’s role as Island Guardian as opposed to Jacob or Hurley’s—the idea of salvation being not just achievable, but a physical location.

Jack Shephard is Lost’s Jesus figure (though Desmond has often filled that role as well). The finale dropped all pretenses, providing him with a savior’s death and Christ’s side wound, and a descent into hell to defeat the devil. Christ in the New Testament is a surprisingly rash figure, and his overturn of the moneychangers in the Temple is similar to the fury Jack displayed when he destroyed the mirrors in the Lighthouse.Then, to top it off, we have Jack providing a world for those he loves in which they can be with each other in the presence of the divine “father”.

Now consider that Jacob offers no such afterlife to his followers, but the one who followed him does.

Jacob is Yahweh, the God of the Old Testament-the one who unleashed the devil upon the world, yet refuses to be directly involved in his defeat. He is alternately caring and furious, screaming at Richard and ambivalent to Ben (“What about you?”). And in Jewish tradition, there is no afterlife.

Hurley is Buddha—the middle road. All signs point to Hurley's time as guardian focusing more on providing his followers with gentle reminders of their humanity (such as his beautiful conversation with Sayid in the Sideways World) than with bogging them down with arcane, confusing rules (like Jacob did).

Ultimately, this is what Lost is about: humanity’s search for reason and purpose throughout the millennia. Witness the stained-glass window that appears in the Church behind Christian Shephard during his conversation with Jack—six panes, each filled with the symbol of one of man’s major religions-- and realize that the Sideways World is not only representative of Catholic purgatory, but of the Hindu / Buddhist notion of "Maya", that the world as we see it is an illusion, a construct of our minds that we use to process life before travelling on past fear and suffering and into the divine (“Buddha” even means “awakened one”).

But beyond both of those references, the Church, and the Sideways World, and The Source at the heart of the Island are entirely their own thing, and as decent a metaphor for the unknowable divine as any storyteller has ever given us. This is why the finale works, in spite of lingering questions we might have about plot points. Ultimately, Lost is about self-reflection (hence the importance of those long glances in the Sideways mirrors). Are we who we are meant to be, or who we choose to be? In Season One, Locke tells Shannon that everyone gets a chance at a new life on the island. Locke, pathetic and filled with rage, becomes the capable hunter he’d always wanted to be. Jack, hindered by his father’s greatness and disapproval, becomes a leader. And so on down the line.

But those are just my explanations, and everyone who’s watched the show will bring their own to it. When primitive man discovers a bright, glowing light, he assumes it’s a God. When modern man finds it, he calls it electromagnetism. We bring out own perspective to every aspect of our existence.


Beyond those explanations (and in spite of the need for explanation at all), the finale was remarkably exciting television. Among my favorite moments:


•The opening montage of our characters and their Sideways counterparts preparing for the end. Lost has done a lot of montages in its time, most of them pretty damn sappy, to be honest. But this one carried the proper mix of melancholy and impending doom.
•Bernard and Rose (and Vincent!) saving Desmond. I love that they broke their rule for Des, and I was genuinely afraid that Smokey was going to kill them. Terry O’Quinn’s face is harsh and filled with purpose in that scene. Really scary stuff.
•The overall pace and mood, especially of the first half of the episode, is fun and adventurous—a spirit often missing from the past two seasons.
•The moment where Desmond’s face goes “Oh. Fuck.” as the light turns red, and the bloody chaos that follows.
•The Jack vs. Locke showdown really delivered. First of all, I love that Jack hisses at Smokey that he’s “disrespecting” John Locke by wearing his face. Then their actual fight is one of the most intense moments in the history of the show (as it should be!). I also love Smokey’s guttural “you died for nothing!”.
•Sawyer and Juliet’s flash. By this point in the episode, the “wake-up” flashes were getting just a bit numbing, but the acting in this scene really, really sold it. I don’t know if Josh Holloway really has turned into a great actor, or being in scenes with Elizabeth Mitchell just makes him one, but when he hoarsely whispers “I’ve got you, baby”, I fucking lost my shit. Probably the most emotional moment in the history of the show.
•Ben and Hurley. These two haven’t ever gotten to share many scenes, but Garcia’s charm always mixes well with Emerson’s natural comic sensibility. Also, Ben’s decision to stay in the Sideways World to atone a bit more, and maybe spend some more time with Alex to help her wake up and finally let her know what she meant to him was nice.
•Ben and Locke. Just always great to have those two actors share a scene, and how appropriate to have Ben be the one to tell John that he can walk again.
•The fact that Jack and Kate do not cause each other’s flashes. I think that Jack and Kate do love each other, and I’ve never hated them as a couple, but to imply that their arc has had any of the emotional resonance of Jin and Sun’s, Sawyer and Juliet’s, or even Charlie and Claire’s would have been disingenuous. Instead, Kate flashes on Aaron who she raised, and Jack flashes on his father’s coffin—the start of his long journey and the beginning of his search for answers.
•The music, as always, the music.

And then, of course, there is the closing of the circle. Jack’s (and the show’s) final moments are beautiful and simple, and I suspect it will be more emotional to watch the pilot again afterward knowing that those are the first charging steps on Jack’s march toward the eternal. At the end of the pilot episode, Charlie asks “Guys, where are we?” The question lingers over the entire series and, really, we never get a full explanation. The closest we ever get is at the end of Season Four when John tells Jack that the island needs to be protected, Jack says it’s just an island, and John says “it’s a place where miracles happen”. In the finale, that question of where—a dodge all along—is replaced with the real thesis of the series, when Christian asks Jack “How are you here?” There’s a quote about the mystery of life that Kurt Vonnegut swipes from his son Mark that I’ve always loved: “We’re here to get through this thing, whatever it is”. The central mysteries of existence are unsolvable, whether through religious exploration or scientific experiment—and all we owe each other is the service of pulling each other out of the rubble every now and then.

The weight of lingering mysteries and loose ends definitely drags down the series as a whole, and Season Six in particular, but the finale makes perfect sense unto itself and illuminates the themes that have propelled the series all along. It’s filled with moments of high melodrama and cheap cornball, and also infused with flashes of rare, lyrical beauty. In other words, it’s everything that Lost ever was.

Lost series finale, “The End”: A
Lost Season Six: B-
Lost: B+