Playtime itself is under threat in Toy Story 5, the latest installment in Pixar’s long-running animated franchise, opening in Prague and cinemas worldwide this weekend (including English-language screenings at Kino Světozor, CineStar Anděl, and most Cinema City locations in the Czech capital). Two decades after the original film redefined animated storytelling, this fifth entry most predictable chapter in the series so far, but recaptures enough magic to make it an easy recommend for fans.
Set two years after the events of Toy Story 4, the film follows Jessie (Joan Cusack) as she takes on a leadership role among Bonnie’s toys after the departure of Woody (Tom Hanks). When Bonnie (Scarlett Spears) receives a new tablet device called Lilypad (voiced with sly warmth by Greta Lee) her attention quickly shifts away from her toys and toward the digital world. What begins as harmless entertainment soon becomes obsession, leaving Jessie and the remaining toys abandoned and scrambling to reclaim Bonnie’s imagination.
At its core, Toy Story 5 is structured around a familiar conflict: old forms of imaginative play versus the seductive convenience of technology. Jessie, now positioned as the film’s emotional center, leads the effort to reconnect Bonnie with her friends and real-world creativity.
While Cusack delivers a spirited vocal performance, Jessie’s unwavering altruism makes her a somewhat limited protagonist, defined more by samurai-like duty than inner conflict. Woody and Buzz Lightyear (Tim Allen) have character flaws that make them more interesting protagonists, but both are notably sidelined here, with Woody in particular reduced to a peripheral figure operating outside Bonnie’s immediate world.
The main storyline involving Lilypad and Bonnie’s growing dependency on screens is both timely and well-intentioned, but it unfolds with few surprises. The film telegraphs its emotional beats early, and while its themes are relevant, especially in how children form friendships in a digital age, the resolution feels inevitable long before it arrives. The question of whether traditional toys and new technology can coexist is frequently raised, but never meaningfully challenged.
More compelling is a parallel storyline involving a group of shipwrecked Buzz Lightyear units, stranded in demo mode and drifting across the world like lost ronin in search of purpose. This subplot expands the franchise’s ongoing fascination with identity and function, pushing the film into unexpectedly philosophical territory. Here, the toys are not simply characters in a child’s playroom, but beings grappling with existential uncertainty: what happens when the purpose they were designed for no longer exists?
That question—what is the purpose of a toy’s existence?—hangs over the film more thoughtfully than its main plot suggests. The idea that toys exist solely to serve a child is gradually complicated by darker implications: obsolescence, abandonment, and the quiet terror of being placed in storage and forgotten. These sequences, particularly those framed around solitude and waiting, introduce a surprisingly reflective tone, echoing samurai-like notions of duty, impermanence, and preparing for one’s symbolic death when usefulness ends. Heavy thematic territory for a children’s film, but one the series has frequently touched upon in the past.
It is in these philosophical detours that Toy Story 5 feels most alive. The Buzz Lightyear subplot, with its scattershot quality that feels more like Small Soldiers than a Toy Story outing, offers glimpses of a richer film that explores identity beyond function. By contrast, the central Jessie-Bonnie narrative, while emotionally accessible, feels more conventional and safe, adhering closely to franchise patterns of separation, misunderstanding, and eventual reunion.
Despite the narrative predictability, Toy Story 5 remains competently made and often engaging. Pixar vet Andrew Stanton directs with confidence, maintaining the franchise’s clean storytelling rhythm and emotional clarity. The pacing is brisk, and even when the plot feels familiar, the film rarely drags.
The voice performances remain strong across the board, and Randy Newman’s returning score provides the franchise’s familiar emotional shorthand, balancing nostalgia with gentle momentum. The film’s supporting cast adds texture without overwhelming the central arc, though none of the new characters fully match the memorability of earlier Toy Story additions.
Toy Story 5 succeeds more as a continuation of a beloved universe than as a bold new chapter within it. It contains enough warmth, humor, and thematic sincerity to satisfy longtime fans, but it rarely surprises, and it too often retreats into familiar storytelling rhythms. Jessie’s elevated role provides a fresh perspective, but the absence of Woody and Buzz from the emotional center leaves a noticeable gap in the franchise’s dynamic core.
Still, there is something undeniably effective in the way the film treats its central idea: that playtime is not just entertainment, but a deeper way of understanding the world. Even when it leans on repetition, Toy Story 5 remains rooted in that simple truth. And while it may not reach the heights of its predecessors, it still reminds us why these stories mattered in the first place: because growing up always comes with the uneasy question of what we leave behind when we do.
