“We must learn to regard people less in the light of what they do or omit to do, and more in the light of what they suffer.”
– Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Letters and Papers from Prison.
Pixar Fumbles the Empathy Ball on Toy Story 3, Sacrificing it for a Few Moments of Suspense
I remember stepping out into the hot desert heat from the Red Rock Resort Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas on the afternoon of June 23, 2010, after watching Toy Story 3—but it wasn’t necessarily the heat that struck me. No, it was something else – something about the movie that left a bitter taste in my mouth that I couldn’t quite put my finger on.
While I enjoyed it, as did many others in attendance, I couldn’t help but feel something was off. After watching it again, I better understood why I felt the way I did. Putting it into context—a vast summer family film—left me wondering what the folks at Pixar were thinking with some of their story choices.
My concern stemmed from the film’s misuse of empathy, choosing to take a tone centered on vengeance or “comeuppance” that is perhaps a reflection of our society in general, but hardly the qualities and attributes one might expect from a spectacle like the Toy Story Trilogy that is catered toward children more so than adults.
As discussed in the previous article, a film such as The Woodsman was able to take an unsympathetic character in Walter—a recently released child molester who’s just served twelve years in prison—and allow for him a measure of forgiveness and redemption begs the question: why couldn’t Pixar do the same for a strawberry-scented teddy bear?
The problem begins with the awkwardly conceived revelation of Lotso’s backstory. I say awkward because its function in the story is unclear, considering the outcome. However, it provides a perspective of how Lotso became the iron-paw ruler of Sunnyside, and who he is today. Its immediate function is to alert Woody to the problems his friends face at Sunnyside since he assumed he left them in good hands.
When the toys divulge that Sunnyside to be a place of despair, Woody asks them, “How do you know that?” But rather than giving them firsthand accounts of their own experiences, they turn to Chuckles the clown to recant Lotso’s sad story:
Woody could have easily discerned the trouble his friends were in had the other toys recanted their own personal tales – but Pixar opted to include a two-and-a-half minute flashback to give both Woody and the audience Lotso’s backstory, creating – at least for the audience – a sense of empathy.
Do we like what Lotso has become? No, but we understand why he became the way he is via the emotions expressed – but the filmmakers were just teasing us with any hope of Lotso’s redemption, making the backstory’s inclusion a somewhat frustrating experience. Empathy, after all, is a change agent – allowing us to see another’s perspective and understand it, sometimes to the point it makes us feel compassion toward them despite their actions.
When Woody has a chance to confront Lotso, he merely recants the story told to him, vehemently noting that Daisy only replaced Lotso and not the others. What’s striking about this is the fact that there was an opportunity for Woody to empathize with Lotso and try to influence him to change, for Woody himself knows what it feels like to be “replaced”—that was essentially what the original Toy Story was about with the introduction of Buzz Lightyear.
In this sense, Woody dealt with the same jealousy as Lotso towards new toys (and toys in general), just not to the same degree – which would have made him a perfect mentor for facilitating change.
Furthermore, Lotso represents the negative arc of what happens when one can’t let go and move on (a theme throughout the film with toys and humans, Andy being the cornerstone of each.) Having been forgotten on a picnic, Lotso eventually finds he’s been replaced and jealously twists his heart, making life for any “new toy” as miserable as possible. Rather than attempt to be “re-discovered” by Daisy, Lotso leaves—projecting his abandonment onto Daisy when he later says she abandoned him.
This is thematically relevant for Woody because he refuses to let go of Andy and argues that the toys should be there for him even though Andy has grown older and will move on to another phase of his life. Such a dichotomy should have made Woody more empathetic toward Lotso’s plight, especially considering the similar predicament he’s faced with himself: Will he be able to let go of Andy and move on himself?
There were all sorts of angles to be explored here contrasting Woody/Lotso, but the interesting narrative choices continued down an unredeemable path. Once the toys are thrown together and face their imminent doom, Woody does what is expected and lends a hand to Lotso, saving him. Lotso, in turn, seems grateful yet humbled with his “thank you, sheriff.” Finally, the bear with a heart that seemed worthy of being saved was hinted at in his backstory before being lost.
This continues into the next story beat as Lotso notices the button that needs to be pushed that could save them all. The scene’s focus is that Lotso courageously makes his way upstream, yelling, “Sheriff! The button—help me!” Getting the needed boost from Woody and Buzz, the filmmakers let Lotso reach the top – inches from earning redemption and becoming a hero – only to have him turn vile again. And for what? Prolonging the toys’ collective sense of doom, only to have a deus ex machina moment with a claw?
Like most villains in any given movie, the filmmakers gave Lotso his “just desserts” as he was picked up by a garbageman and strapped to the front of the truck, horrified by the thought of his open mouth catching flies. While the resolution to Lotso’s story thread provided for a humorous story beat, it’s quickly forgotten as the central story’s more heartfelt resolution unfolds with Woody et al. saying goodbye to Andy.
Regardless of what happened to Lotso, this ending was immensely satisfying. It made most people leave the theater feeling the way they did . . . even if there was a slightly bitter aftertaste in Losto’s people’s mouths.
In an article written in Psychology Today, Vengeance in Disneyland?, David Lunberg Kenrick noted:
A recent study by Mario Gollwitzer and Markus Denzler compared two theories of what makes revenge bitter or sweet: According to the “comparative suffering” hypothesis, we will feel better if the person who hurts us has something bad befall him, even if we had no hand in it.
According to the “understanding” hypothesis, we will feel better if our offender signals that he understands why he was being smitten. Using a measure of implicit goal satisfaction, they found that people felt better only if their offender understood the reason for his punishment. This research suggests that, if a movie-maker wants to make revenge feel good for the audience, the perpetrator should express understanding. That didn’t happen in Toy Story 3.
David Lunderg, “Vengeance In Disneyland?” – Psychology Today
David Lunberg Kenrick’s point puts the focus of empathy onto Lotso’s shoulders, which could very well have enabled Lotso to express regret – but even so, that understanding could have been facilitated by Woody. As is, the back and forth of perspectives between the two is never resolved and leads nowhere other than a false sense of hope: Lotso appears to be humbled and change, only to cling to his perspective that toys aren’t meant to be loved.
He never truly sees beyond the walls he’s erected as defense mechanisms to keep himself from being hurt again and believes it’s how it ought to be for every toy. In that sense, he shares the same ideology of “sticking together” as Woody, but his methodology and how he chooses to fulfill this are drastically different.
Kenrick goes further to explain:
There’s of course, another alternative to the revenge route. It’s going the way of positive psychology– and forgiving your offender. University of Miami psychologist Mike McCullough reviews evidence that people who forgive are more agreeable and emotionally stable than the unforgiving. McCullough also reports that we’re more likely to forgive another if we feel empathy, if we make generous attributions about our offender, and if we don’t ruminate on how he or she done us wrong.
Reading this passage alone, one would almost think he was talking about the scene in The Woodsman between Walter and Robin, an R-rated movie with strong sexual content vs. a G-rated family fantasy. This is ultimately the power of empathy as an agent for change – something that should be weighed with a critical eye when used in a story regarding audience reception.
Having Woody as that vessel for empathy and change would have tied the series together more meaningfully had he reminded the toys that, at one time, felt anger towards him as well because of his jealousy of Buzz in the original Toy Story.
As Kenrick concludes, we want positive psychology in a kid’s movie – especially considering the power of story and narrative to influence behaviors. That the filmmakers went the “vengeance” route is perhaps a reflection of our society in general; we’re very much “an eye for an eye” in retribution, always seeking some form of retribution against the unjust.
It would be a shame if the filmmakers fashioned their outcome for Lotso based on test screenings, catering to an expectation of this kind of comeuppance rather than something more positive that facilitates healing and growth. After all, as writers, we know that what a character wants is rarely what it actually needs . . . and the same could often be said of audiences, too.
Written By: James P. Barker
15 Responses
Bravo, man. You hit the nail on the head and through the wall. This week has been outstanding, hats off. This’ll come in handy later on. What are the coming attractions?
Thanks! Not sure yet – I’ll kick around an idea or two tomorrow unless somebody else has one to offer up!
Exactly. This is why I hated this movie. I don’t know how you’re still able to praise it. Horrid. Brought me down. Left me empty.
Well put, sir.
I liken movies to people: they’re rarely perfect and try to appreciate them for what they are, warts and all, as there’s usually some redeeming qualities within. 🙂 But yes, it’s hard to overlook in this case (and perhaps harder not to dwell on, which prompted me to write about it.)
Because it is an objectively well-crafted and fantastic film. Films leaving you “empty” also isn’t a negative; they can actually be proof of the opposite. Narrative emotional impact is designed to leave you with uncomfortable moral questions long after the story is over. So if anything, your own feelings can be used as an argument against you disliking it. If you still don’t like it, sure, but this point stands unrefuted. I’ve also directly addressed the points about Lotso so they no longer hold any weight, leaving me wondering if you would like it if you ever see this.
Wow, that just explained why the movie felt so wrong!
“Getting the needed boost from Woody and Buzz, the filmmakers let Lotso reach the top – inches from earning redemption and becoming a hero – only to have him turn vile again. And for what? Prolonging the toys’ collective sense of doom, only to have a deus ex machina moment with a claw?”
You make it seem as if that deus ex machina moment wasn’t immensely satisfying in the context of a movie made to entertain. In that sense, having the movie go down the path of redemption for Lotso would’ve eliminated the harrowing moments in the incinerator where the toys accept their fate and look to each other for final comfort, drawing upon the history of their bonds built up over the trilogy, which for me was an incredibly powerful scene. It may also have changed the eventual ending with Andy, another powerfully moving scene.
I’m sympathetic to Lotso’s fate (to a point), even to where I’d maybe accept slight changes to his story, but as a movie, I don’t think redeeming Lotso to hero status would’ve allowed Toy Story 3 those two powerfully moving ending scenes that involved the main elements of the series: the toys’ relationships to Andy and the toys’ relationships to each other. If it’s one or the other, I’ll take the latter. I think the empathy for Lotso was adequately displayed when Woody went to save him; if having Lotso go vile was the cost to allow the rest of the movie to ratchet up it’s intensity, I’m fine with that choice.
Lotso doesn’t need to be successful in order to have redemption; he could very well have made an effort, failed, and left the characters in the very same predicament.
The question is: why would the author/filmmakers give the character a compelling backstory that makes an audience empathize with him, only to have the rug pulled out from underneath them?
Audiences feel the empathy characters have toward one another, and yes, Woody makes an attempt, but ultimately all that happens on the screen has to be understood – at least on a subconscious level – by the audience. Here, again, they’re asked to empathize and invest themselves emotionally into a character setting up an expectation of redemption, but it doesn’t happen. Instead, they get regression which left some people asking what the point was.
A better handling of the story would have been for Woody to have a self-revelation upon his attempting to help Lotso understand that he needs to let go. It would have fit perfectly into the theme of the story and forced Woody to realize where his own personal issues reside.
Such a point would not have changed the ending of the story at all – it would have made it more organic having Woody realizing first-hand the negative impacts of holding on to something that’s no longer there.
Lastly, you’ll be hard pressed to find many story analysts and editors who condone the use of deus ex machinas. Even Spielberg has taken a certain amount of grief over their use in some of his films as they ultimately void any meaning within a story’s structure.
That wasn’t necessarily the case with Toy Story 3 because the moment didn’t occur at the story’s climax – it was just the climax of that particular sequence. The real climax is when Woody is forced to make his decision with Andy.
Honestly, very good character analysis of Lotso. 10/10
I’m not sure if you even use this article or comment section (whatever you call it anymore), but just in case you do, I’ll give a quick drop on my perspective in case you see it.
I saw you reply to another comment made 4 years after this post which is why I wonder, but it’s 2026 now so it seems awkward but I stumbled across this while researching Toy Story 3.
Anyway, I highly disagree with the core conclusion. You make a lot of points, but the most important and overall conclusion you’ve drawn is the mismatch between Lotso’s sympathetic backstory and his eventual actions. There’s a problem here: tragedy doesn’t equal sympathy.
Lotso exists as a dark and cautionary reflection of Woody. He and Lotso experienced the exact same trauma, yes, but the thing you’re saying should be used to contribute toward a redemption arc for Lotso would arguably be a weaker thematic point as opposed to what we got. Woody constantly faced the agonizing fear of being replaced (first by Buzz, then by Andy growing up), yet his priority always remained the happiness of his kid. By contrast, Lotso let his heartbreak mutate into permanent bitterness and instead of mourning his loss, he weaponizes his pain to control others which dictates that because he wasn’t loved, no toy could ever truly be loved. This directly contrasts choice with backstory/trauma (using Woody as the counterexample), and shows how Lotso’s deep commitment to his worldview prevents him from being able to see alternative perspectives.
TL;DR: Lotso’s lack of redemption is part of the point the movie is making, and a redemption arc would arguably weaken it.
Thanks for dropping by and taking the time to write such a detailed breakdown. I always appreciate thoughtful pushback, even years after posting.
I see where you’re coming from regarding the contrast between Woody’s choices and Lotso’s bitterness, but I think you’re missing the core issue with how that contrast is executed.
A villain can certainly serve as a dark foil without needing a redemption arc, but for a cautionary, “negative” reflection to hold genuine narrative power, there usually needs to be a moment of internal recognition—where the protagonist actually sees their own dark potential in the antagonist. Without Woody recognizing his own possessive tendencies mirrored in Lotso, Lotso doesn’t function as a true thematic catalyst for Woody’s character growth; he simply becomes a tragic backstory weaponized for third-act stakes.
Furthermore, arguing that an audience feeling “empty” is automatically proof of high art or “objective” quality overlooks the difference between earned tragic resonance and mechanical manipulation. When a film spends significant time building empathy for a character’s deep trauma only to turn around and use it as a shock-value twist to justify extreme cruelty, it crosses from nuanced storytelling into emotional bait-and-switch.
You can argue the mechanics of the plot, but you can’t objectively invalidate the viewer’s reaction when the execution leaves a sour, unearned taste—this is the subjective reality of some viewers and their reception to the author’s choices. It’s a moment for the audience where dissonance becomes negative; for some, they won’t understand why they feel the way they do, while for those more nuanced in storytelling, they outright question the purpose of the decision.
What’s really missing here is the social psychology aspect of mutual recognition. Woody has spent three films wrestling with the terror of obsolescence, replacement, and the agonizing choice of letting a child go. If Woody had recognized that shared existential terror in Lotso—that both of them were abandoned and broken by heartbreak—it would have forced Woody to confront his own shadow. That moment of mutual recognition could have been the very thing that showed Woody how to let go. By seeing the literal manifestation of what bitterness does to a toy who refuses to move on, Woody finds the grace and maturity to release Andy.
By refusing to let Woody see himself in Lotso—and by refusing to let Lotso change—Pixar chose safe, traditional villain stakes over a much more challenging, resonant psychological climax. It substituted a standard “good vs. evil” defeat for what could have been a deeply profound exploration of trauma, empathy, and closure.
Perhaps your understanding of what I wrote would be stronger if you weren’t conflating sympathetic with empathetic; I never used the former to describe Lotso, and the difference is profound when describing audience experience.
There’s a good point here subjectively, but my problem is that if you apply your rule to, like, 90% of stories similar to Toy Story 3, they’re also disqualified. It isn’t a general rule of storytelling. Many effective foils operate through parallel structure or audience-level recognition rather than an explicit on-screen epiphany. Take Walter White vs. Gale Boetticher as a good example. There’s no moment where Walt looks at Gale and has an epiphany about his own descent into villainy. The audience watches the structure unfold, he initially uses Gale as a replacement for Jesse but then, to save his own skin, begins to set up his murder. The revelation belongs entirely to the audience, who realize Walt destroyed his own pure scientific ideal.
Similarly, Woody already spends the trilogy wrestling with jealousy and the fear of replacement (most clearly in the 1). Lotso is the externalized “what if” of that path. The film doesn’t need Woody to verbalize “I could’ve become him” because that’s obvious to all viewers of Toy Story 1. The creators themselves designed Lotso this way and have described him as a version of Woody who made the wrong choices under similar circumstances
Confronting Lotso with the truth, risking himself to save him, and then watching Lotso still choose cruelty IS the confrontation with the shadow. The film then gives Woody the actual climax that matters, his decision about Andy. Your preferred version, like I said, would be arguably be a different character entirely. That doesn’t necessarily make the movie as is “safe”, what it does do though is make it a story that trusts the audience to hold the parallel without a lecture.
And I’d say “emotional bait and switch” is an overclaim. Giving a villain a tragic backstory and having them remain irredeemable isn’t manipulation. As I said before, this would then have to apply to multiple other pieces of fiction and invalidate them which is a standard that comes off as subjective once you see it that way (Walter White, Syndrome from The Incredibles, Tony Soprano, etc.). It’s a deliberate choice about character consistency and thematic contrast. The film spends time on the backstory so the audience understands why Lotso is the way he is, not to set up a redemption arc. It then shows him repeatedly rejecting the alternative (lying to Big Baby and Chuckles, maintaining the system at Sunnyside, refusing the stop button after being saved, etc.). Prioritizing the sharp contrast of choice under equivalent trauma and refusing to soft-pedal Lotso’s agency is also a challenging thematic path and honestly the bolder one.
As for the distinction between sympathetic/empathetic, my argument didn’t really hinge on the different meaning between the two. The original complaint still rested on the idea that investing the audience emotionally in Lotso’s trauma creates an expectation of (or at least openness to) redemption that the film then denies, but that expectation isn’t an inherent rule, it’s a subjective preference that the film knowingly declines to satisfy
You’ve articulated your perspective clearly, but your examples actually highlight the exact flaw in your defense.
You mention Syndrome in The Incredibles or Walter White in Breaking Bad, but those backstories and foils directly cause the plot and force the protagonist’s choices. Syndrome’s origin is the literal inciting incident of the entire movie: Mr. Incredible’s past arrogance directly created the monster he has to fight, forcing him to reckon with his hero complex.
Now apply the ultimate test of narrative economy to Toy Story 3: If you completely remove Lotso’s backstory, what changes in the story?
Nothing.
Lotso is still the dictator of Sunnyside, Woody still rescues his friends, Woody still saves Lotso at the incinerator, Lotso still betrays them at the stop button, and the Aliens still rescue the gang. Woody’s choices, internal realization, and ultimate decision about Andy remain 100% identical.
When a major emotional sequence can be cleanly excised from a film without affecting the protagonist’s arc, the antagonist’s choices, or the plot’s outcome, it is not serving a structural purpose. It becomes mere exposition—a decorative tragic vignette inserted to pull on audience heartstrings and heighten third-act suspense.
Removing that backstory wouldn’t alter the narrative mechanics at all, but it would remove the manipulative, sour taste left by weaponizing trauma solely for shock-value cruelty. In the case of keeping “dead weight” exposition, it doesn’t something worse than serving no purpose: it creates negative feelings within some audience members. The question then becomes: is the zero-sum value of its inclusion worth the potential negative risk of alienating a segment of its audience?
Absolutely not, especially in light of the call for positive psychology in children’s films.
At the end of the day, we can argue the author’s/filmmakers’ intent until we’re blue in the face; the bottom line is, even with test screenings and a three-year writing process, they still make mistakes and have no control over the range of an audience’s acceptance of their choices. One needs to look no further than the other comments on this essay to see that.
Lotso’s backstory is crucial to explaining how he became who he became though. If you strip Lotso’s backstory, he becomes a generic daycare tyrant instead of a motivated embodiment of the path Woody has been resisting across three films. The incinerator betrayal loses its core thematic point of Lotso still choosing cruelty even as he understands Woody and that he has a chance to change, and he loses the foil parallel that the creators deliberately built which becomes thinner and more abstract. Woody’s confrontation scene and the subsequent rejection lose much of their weight, etc.
I’ll ignore the other points as they’re less relevant and I’d rather keep this shorter and more focused, but the sequence of events can still occur while the meaning and purpose of those events change (and worsen). Many effective elements in strong films aren’t required for the plot to function yet still serve structural purposes and are important to character and theme. Lotso is a perfect example of this. Not only the bare causal chain is structural
And I don’t think you can edit comments in this thread, but I would like to add that your alternative (Woody having a self-revelation while trying to help Lotso let go) is not necessary. Woody’s arc is already complete and organic by the time he makes his final choice about Andy; the incinerator sequence, plus Lotso’s refusal, sharpen the stakes without needing mutual enlightenment. Also, the aliens’ claw isn’t a climax that voids meaning, the real climax still remains Woody’s decision about choosing to let Andy go