After a mistake during launch damages their spaceship and leaves them stranded on a vengeful planet, Space Rangers Buzz Lightyear (Chris Evans) and Alisha Hawthorne (Uzo Aduba) make the decision to wake the crew from their sleep so that they can begin to repair the damage to their vessel and return home. In order to do so, they need to reach hyper speed, but every time Buzz returns from a test flight, years have passed for those still on the ground. Missing a whole generation of friends and colleagues growing up to lead lives of their own, Buzz returns to find that the community has decided to move forward with colonizing the new planet instead of returning to Earth. 

The most innovative thing about Disney Pixar’s Lightyear is its place within the larger Toy Story universe. It is not a sequel or a reboot – even if Buzz is notably not voiced by Tim Allen, here – and it’s not a prequel in a traditional sense, either. Rather, Lightyear is the movie that Andy saw back in 1995 that ignited in him the space craze which led his parents to buy him the Buzz Lightyear action figure setting into motion one of Pixar’s most enduring friendships between the Space Ranger and a cowboy. 

The film, directed by Angus MacLane from a Jason Headley script – his second with Pixar after Onward (2020) – had a lot to prove right out of the gate, the least of which is its ties to the Toy Story legacy. Relying on the pandemic as an excuse which held less and less merit with each use, Disney had cut short Onward’s theatrical run and funneled it to Disney+ and then bypassed the big screen completely for Soul (2020), Luca (2021), and Turning Red (2022) while fighting exhibition for screens, even in a day-and-date release, for its Disney Animation and Marvel Studios titles. To put it simply, it has been two-and-a-quarter years since a Pixar film hit the big screen, and their grand reentry to cinemas is a stale, ill-conceived, fifth entry into an established franchise that – presumably – only saw showtimes in 4,255 theaters because Disney felt this was a safer bet than any of the far more personal, nuanced, and affecting stories that, ironically enough, garnered a strong and vocal fan base. 

The many flaws of Lightyear all compound on themselves and it makes it difficult to point to what the major shortcoming is. For starters, the story is incredibly complicated, yet waves off any real explanation of science or logic in the world. It is not uncommon for these late-era Pixar films to deal with more advanced themes that older children can begin to identify with and understand while younger audiences can be captivated by the colors and beauty on screen. Lightyear has none of that. There is no real theme here to unpack, the plot is convoluted and not well-paced or supported, and the actual style here is not becoming to the eye. The frames are filled with darker colors, the creature design seems incredibly menacing, and there is very little texture to this world; everything appears to be smooth to the touch, yet cold, hard, and rigid at the same time. 

Breaking open the story there are two main aspects of it. First is the ill-fated launch which leads into an Up (2009) style sequence that shows a family growing up and growing apart due to the death of the matriarch. Without giving too much credence to the dissenters, it is revealed here that Hawthorne is in a same-sex relationship which Disney was quick to tout as a symbol of their inclusiveness after they botched their response to Florida’s “Don’t Say Gay” bill and originally lobbied Pixar to remove the brief moment in which Hawthorne and her silent partner share a kiss together. The film then quickly abandons this interesting setup for a space adventure that revolves around the loose concept of time travel, killer robots, and a ragtag group of Space Cadets to which Buzz quite vocally ranks just slightly higher than automated assistants on the totem pole of usefulness. What follows, rounding out the too-long 100-minute runtime, is a formulaic learning to be a team story in which the characters share very little chemistry together. Izzy Hawthorne (Keke Palmer), the leader of this group, constantly reminds us that, unlike her grandmother, she is terrified of space. Darby (Dale Soules) is a convict and Mo (Taika Waititi) is just an oaf and the pair rely on the same joke recycled countless times throughout the narrative. 

The one glimmer of delight through the stale action is SOX (Peter Sohn), a robotic therapy cat, who, while also recycling the same few jokes over and over, seems to be the only aspect of the film that the creative team enjoyed working with. SOX’s interaction with the environment is incredibly enjoyable to watch and perfectly serves the purpose of a cute sidekick with comic relief. The team behind the film had fun putting SOX into situations that he had to get out of or be looked after by the other characters. Would the character work as well if the rest of the script was stronger? Probably not, but as often occurs with these cute ancillary characters, they steal the spotlight from the main characters and the same is true here for SOX. To continue with the Up comparison, SOX fills the Dug role, here, but has less to do than the canine counterpart. 

Overall, Lightyear is a shining example of corporate greed interfering with good storytelling.  The origin of the film feels like little more than a scheme to push merchandise, however, even looking at the film through such a cynical lens it is hard to say that it is even a success in that right. It is an exercise in the unnecessary, and a futile one at that. With its uninspired script, confusing themes, overly dark color palate, and frightening character design, Lightyear, much like the catastrophic launch which opens the film, stumbles instead of soars right to the lower tiers of the Pixar filmography.