Toy Story 4

Woody falls out the window. That’s the scene that changes everything in the first Toy Story—one moment of jealousy, a push that goes too far, and the toy that runs Andy’s room is suddenly separated from everyone, stranded in the yard and headed for what might as well be oblivion at the neighbor kid Sid’s house.

I watched the first three films growing up, and they hit different. The third one destroyed me every time. That ending where Andy finally lets the toys go, passes them to Bonnie, watches Woody and Buzz and the rest drive off into their next life—it never stopped hurting the way it was supposed to hurt.

The setup is simple. Woody’s the favorite in Andy’s room until Buzz Lightyear arrives with all his modern polish and technology. Woody can’t accept the shift in power. He tells everyone Buzz is just a toy playing a game, that he’s not the real Buzz Lightyear they all think he is. The confrontation escalates. Woody pushes Buzz, tries to knock him into a closet, and Buzz goes out the window instead. The other toys blame Woody. Worse, Buzz ends up at Sid’s house next door, which in the logic of this world is a kind of death sentence.

That conflict between them, that separation and the whole cascade of consequences—it’s where the movie gains its force. And the series keeps moving forward from there. By Toy Story 3, Andy’s older. He’s ready to let go. He passes the toys to Bonnie, a younger kid who’ll love them the way he did. That’s where Toy Story 4 begins, with these characters already in their next chapter, with Andy grown and the toys still moving forward.

The first three films felt complete. They had an ending. But something about the persistence of these toys, the way they keep living these lives across different children, across different moments—there’s enough there to follow where it goes next.