There's a moment maybe twenty minutes into Toy Story 5 where Jessie the cowgirl stands in Bonnie's room, watching her kid scroll mindlessly through a tablet instead of playing, and says something that hits harder than it has any right to in a children's animated movie. "I can't do this — I can't love another kid just to find out I never mattered." It's the kind of line that sneaks up on you. For kids, it's a sad toy moment. For adults, it's basically a mirror.
That's the thing about the Toy Story franchise at its best. It wraps genuinely difficult ideas inside bright colors and funny voices, and somehow makes you cry at a cartoon about plastic figurines. After the divisive Toy Story 4 back in 2019 — a film that many fans felt pushed the franchise a step too far — the fifth installment had a lot to answer for. Seven years later, directed by Andrew Stanton (the guy behind Finding Nemo and WALL·E, so no slouch) and co-directed by Kenna Harris, Toy Story 5 arrives with a $250 million budget, a Taylor Swift song, and a central question that feels oddly urgent for 2026: what happens to the things that love us when we stop having time for them?
Spoiler-light answer: it's very, very good.
What Toy Story 5 Is Actually About
Set two years after the events of Toy Story 4, the film returns to Bonnie's room — but Woody has been away. He's been out with Bo Peep helping lost and abandoned toys, which neatly sidesteps having to deal with the messy emotional aftermath of the fourth film's ending. Smart move, honestly. The gang left behind — Buzz, Rex, Hamm, the Potato Heads — are now being led by Jessie, who has quietly stepped into the role of caretaker in Woody's absence.
Then Lilypad arrives.
Voiced by Greta Lee (who most people will recognize from Past Lives), Lilypad is a sleek, AI-powered tablet who immediately becomes Bonnie's obsession. She's not a villain in the traditional sense — and that's actually one of the film's more interesting choices. Lilypad genuinely believes she's helping Bonnie. She schedules her day, speaks to her in multiple languages, and provides the kind of frictionless, always-available attention that no stuffed animal can compete with. The confrontation between Jessie and Lilypad isn't between good and evil. It's between two very different ideas about what a kid needs.
Running alongside this is a subplot involving fifty commemorative Buzz Lightyear action figures — still in toy mode, completely unaware they're toys — who crash-land near Bonnie's town after a cargo ship accident and begin searching for Star Command. It's classic Pixar absurdist comedy, and it works brilliantly as both comic relief and an oddly moving meditation on purpose and identity. Buzz, who knows exactly what he is now after four films of existential confusion, finds himself having to guide versions of himself through the same journey he once took. There's something genuinely clever in that.
The story also takes Jessie to a farm, where she encounters a nine-year-old named Blaze (voiced by Mykal-Michelle Harris) who lives in the house of Jessie's original owner. That thread provides the film's emotional core and its most tearjerking moments.
Jessie Steals the Whole Movie
Let's be direct: this is Joan Cusack's film, and she's never been better in this role.
Woody and Buzz are present and fun and very much themselves, but Stanton and Harris made the right call in stepping them back slightly and giving Jessie the full spotlight. Her arc — fear of abandonment, a lifetime of being someone's second-choice, the terror of loving a child who is slowly growing out of needing you — is the emotional spine of the entire movie. Cusack plays it with a vulnerability that doesn't feel performed. You genuinely believe she is afraid.
Tom Hanks and Tim Allen, for what it's worth, seem to be having an absolute blast. Their bickering-but-inseparable dynamic still works even after thirty years, though Stanton clearly recognized it would start to feel tired if kept front and center. Giving them secondary roles here was wise, and both actors rise to the material they're given without stealing scenes that aren't theirs to take.
The real surprise of the cast, though, is Conan O'Brien as Smarty Pants — a potty-training device with an enormous personality and an endless supply of toilet humor. He is, without exaggeration, one of the funniest new Pixar characters in years. Kids will love him for the obvious reasons. Adults will appreciate how much of his humor lands on multiple levels at once.
The Animation Has Gotten Ridiculous (In the Best Way)
Pixar has always pushed what animation can do, but Toy Story 5 has moments that are genuinely jaw-dropping. The film shifts between a photorealistic style for real-world sequences and a painterly, pastel-toned aesthetic for Bonnie's playtime imaginings — and the contrast between the two is beautiful. It's not just a stylistic flex; it does real narrative work, making it visually clear when we're in the world of imagination versus reality.
Some specific sequences stand out. A foggy loading-dock scene where dozens of Buzz Lightyears emerge from cargo containers has a genuinely cinematic texture — damp air, streetlamps cutting through mist, shadows behaving like they do in real industrial spaces. A sequence on Blaze's farm has the warm, amber glow of a Western. And a moment where Jessie falls face-first into a dog bowl (you'll know it when you see it) is both revolting and kind of gorgeous, which is a difficult thing to pull off.
The technology improvements to render Blaze's tight, natural curls are also worth mentioning — it's a technical achievement the studio has explicitly discussed, and the result on screen is seamless. It also points toward greater visual diversity in future Pixar work, which is a welcome development.
The Theme That Hits Differently in 2026
Every great Toy Story film has a central theme that hits adults harder than it hits children, and Toy Story 5 is no exception.
The film is, at its core, about screen time and what we lose when physical play gets squeezed out of childhood. That might sound preachy on paper — and there are a few moments where the film does lean a little too hard into its own message — but for the most part, Stanton and Harris approach the subject with genuine nuance. The film isn't simply anti-technology. Lilypad isn't a monster. There's a touching subplot involving a GPS device named Atlas and a children's digital camera called Snappy, who help Jessie understand that technology and play aren't always enemies.
The stance the film actually takes is more specific than "screens bad." It argues for one-on-one human connection. For unstructured time. For the kind of imaginative play that a tablet can facilitate in some ways but can never fully replace. Given where most families are right now — with kids spending significant chunks of their day on devices from increasingly young ages — the film feels unexpectedly timely. Think about a parent watching their six-year-old ignore a birthday present in favor of a YouTube video on an iPad. That tension is exactly what this film is navigating.
What saves it from becoming a lecture is the emotional honesty around Jessie's fear. The movie isn't really about Lilypad. It's about what it feels like to be replaced, and whether being replaced means you never mattered. That's a question adults recognize immediately.
Where the Film Falls Short
For all its strengths, Toy Story 5 isn't perfect, and it's worth being honest about where it stumbles.
The first act is structurally busy. Multiple storylines are introduced — Jessie's leadership of the group, the Buzz Lightyears' arrival, Bonnie's social troubles at school, Lilypad's growing influence — and juggling all of them simultaneously makes the opening thirty minutes feel a little scattered. Critics who saw early screenings flagged the same thing: the setup is enjoyable but slightly unwieldy, and it takes a while before the film figures out which thread it's most interested in following.
The script also holds back slightly in its third act. There's real anger simmering beneath the surface here — reminiscent of the quiet fury that made WALL·E and The Incredibles feel radical — but the film softens its conclusions in ways that feel, if not dishonest, then at least a little safe. A bleaker, more honest ending was arguably available, and the film edges toward it before pulling back toward warmth. Whether that's a flaw or a feature probably depends on what you're looking for.
And while Taylor Swift's original song "I Knew It, I Knew You" (co-written with Jack Antonoff) is genuinely a perfect fit for the film's emotional register — and its chart performance speaks for itself — its placement does feel slightly calculated in a way that Randy Newman's contributions never have. That's a minor note, but it's noticeable.
Does It Justify Its Own Existence?
This is the question hovering over any fifth installment in a franchise. Does Toy Story 5 need to exist?
Opinions, even among critics who liked it, are split on this. Some argue the franchise already told its most profound story in Toy Story 3, that the goodbye with Andy was the natural endpoint, and that everything since has been a case of diminishing returns. Others — and this reviewer leans here — think Stanton and Harris have found something genuinely new to say, and that the "toys vs. technology" premise is rich enough to merit another chapter.
What the film gets right is understanding that each Toy Story sequel has had to justify itself by finding a theme the previous films couldn't explore. Toy Story 2 examined the tension between being loved and being preserved. Toy Story 3 was about letting go. Toy Story 4 was about self-determination. Toy Story 5 is about relevance — about what it means to matter in a world that is moving faster and has less patience for the analog, the tactile, and the slow. That's not a small subject.
The film earned its place in the franchise. It doesn't crack the top two, but it's better than Toy Story 4 and arguably on par with Toy Story 2 — which is high company.
Box Office and Audience Reception
Numbers-wise, this one isn't going to disappoint Disney. Opening projections put Toy Story 5 on track for a $160–$170 million domestic opening weekend, which would be a franchise record and the biggest animated opening of 2026 so far. The first day alone crossed $71 million. These aren't just nostalgia numbers — audiences are actively responding to the film's emotional weight, with early social media reactions using words like "generation-defining" and "exactly the story we need right now."
Critics have landed largely positive. The animation and voice performances receive near-universal praise. The script criticism is consistent — the first act's busyness and the slightly softened finale — but it doesn't overshadow the overall response. The verdict seems to be: not the all-time best Toy Story, but a worthy and surprisingly moving addition to a franchise that keeps finding new ways to justify its own existence.
Final Verdict: Go See It
Toy Story 5 is the rare sequel that earns its runtime by actually having something to say. It's funny in the ways this franchise has always been funny, heartbreaking in the ways it's always been heartbreaking, and visually it may be the most technically accomplished entry in the series. Jessie's story is the best arc the character has ever gotten. Conan O'Brien as Smarty Pants is an instant classic. And the central theme — about what children lose when physical play gets crowded out by screens — lands with a quiet force that will follow you out of the theater.
Is it worth the hype? For most people, yes. Families will love it. Adults who grew up with the original will cry at least once. Film enthusiasts will appreciate what Stanton and Harris pull off technically. And anyone who has ever watched a kid ignore a perfectly good toy in favor of a glowing screen will recognize exactly what this movie is trying to say.
The toys are back. Somehow, they still matter.
Rating: 8.5/10