So I saw Toy Story 3 this weekend. I was psyched to see it; Pixar is always reliable (Cars being the exception to the rule), so I had no fear of going.
In retrospect, with a lifetime of kid-dominated movie choices awaiting me, I probably should have opted for something more gratuitously violent or naked. Too late for that I guess. But I’m glad I saw this BEFORE my kid is born because if I had a toddler in the theater, expecting to see a light-hearted, family friendly romp featuring his favorite toy-based characters, I’d be covering his eyes more than my dad covered mine during Temple of Doom.
This movie is INTENSE. You’ve got torture, near-death-by-shredding, near-death-by-flames, a terrifying psycho-Golem of a baby doll (part Sloth, part Darth Vader in Return of the Jedi), and more. The toys in this flick are in constant peril, and most of it is pretty real – despite the animation. It’s got to be scary for kids, and I’m not sure it’s appropriate.
I’m no prude. My parents were showing me R-rated flicks by the time I was 10 (I saw Aliens in the theater, god bless em). Back in the day, we had PG movies that were more hardcore than todays Rs. But the last thing I need when I’m in the theater is a bunch of crying toddlers scared Woody and Mr. Potato Head are about to have their faces melted off. The 3-D already gave me enough of a headache.
Bottom line, I enjoyed the movie a lot – nothing better describes the Toy Story movies than ‘clever’ – but it is not for little kids. Or for adults, really. Half the reviews I’ve read feature middle-aged parents crying their eyes out. But not me. I don’t cry.
And neither will my baby, if he knows what’s good for him. The clientele at the bars we’ll be frequenting don’t take kindly to crying babies. Even in Park Slope.