In 1995, Pixar released its debut film, Toy Story, and forever changed the way movies were made. By telling the tale of cowboy doll Woody and action figure Buzz Lightyear, the Steve Jobs controlled studio delighted audiences everywhere, but little did the crowds realize how the flick was brainwashing them and their children. Because on the outside, Toy Story seems like a cute and fun-filled adventure story, although in reality its true intent was to send a sad message to us all.
That message has to do with people viewing themselves as disposable resources and not only tolerating it but also craving it. Just take a look at how America's work culture has transformed in recent decades. Back in the Fifties and Sixties, employers treated their employees as assets and took care of them and their families. That meant providing health insurance and pensions. Such benevolence is no longer the case today. Now, companies treat people like toilet paper, use them up while they're fresh and then flush them for good once they're too dirty.
Instead of being a part of something in which they can take ownership, modern workers are slaving away for Wall Street Illuminati thugs, hoping that they can have one of the few and highly coveted spots in management before being told to piss off at age 40. What's even more surprising is that people are aware of the efforts to brainwash them into having this mentality. Isn't that the current perspective of the public education system? To mold young minds into becoming corporate peons, of course it is. What folks don't realize is just how pervasive this brainwashing extends. That's where Toy Story comes in.
Aside from the characters and plot, let's take a look at the world in which Pixar's toys live, and to sum it up in one line, it's no utopia. Instead of a happy fantasy land, the toys exist within the confines of their owners' rooms and desire their masters' love above all else. This love comes in multiple forms and is based on how they're played with as well as whether or not they're selected to be kept when the time comes for yard sales or spring cleaning.
Let's take Woody as an example. At the beginning of Toy Story, he's his owner's (Andy's) favorite, and that makes him the biggest "yes man" shill on this side of the rubbish bin. Whatever is best for Andy is his objective, and he influences all of the other toys to share this perspective. In fact, Woody is blatantly oblivious to the notion that most toys in the room see little if any playtime. He doesn't care as long as he's the favorite, and then comes Buzz Lightyear. The space man action figure with "more gadgets than a Swiss Army knife" arrives on the scene and bumps Woody from his cherished role as "favorite". The natural reaction to being replaced would be "well, if he doesn't want me then f*** him, I'll go elsewhere". That doesn't turn out to be the case, and Woody instigates squabble after squabble with Buzz until the two are nearly blown up by the delinquent neighbor kid.
Instead of wondering why a toy as nice as Woody would put up with being dumped by someone to whom he devoted so much loyalty, the audience is left thinking how nice it is that he and Buzz became BFFs. Never at any moment throughout Toy Story or its sequels does Woody and the gang ever question rebelling against Andy or abandoning him for greener pastures, and that's in face of scenarios such as being tossed in the attic, sold at a garage sale, or just plain thrown out. Hell, Woody even maintained his unwavering loyalty after his girlfriend Bo Peep was discarded.
To put it simply, Andy treats his loyal and devoted toys like s***. To the insensitive and naive boy, they're expendable assets. He buys them, plays with them until they break or lose their luster, and then dumps them for the latest fad. Does this tone sound familiar? It should, because that's Corporate America in a nutshell. Today's companies are all about finding the newest talent at the cheapest prices. Once they're hired, they're worked like slaves with the hope of becoming a "favorite" dangled in front of them like a worm on a hook. For a lucky few, the dream is realized. They climb the ladder to become executives and board members (Just like Woody in the films. Of all the toys, Andy was going to take him to college). For everyone else, it's the shaft once their usefulness has faded (Think Bo Peep, Etch-A-Sketch, and Mr. Spell).
The evil Illuminati CEOs that are destroying our society know this. That's why they get employees ruthlessly competing against each other for little crumbs such as middle management positions. The executives figure that as long as the serfs are battling for petty rewards they won't be organizing against them. Notice how Buzz and Woody fought each other instead of plotting against the real enemy.
That's what Toy Story's brainwashing is all about. The film's plot of a few toys having an adventure is just a lure for kids and adults to watch it. Once the opening sequence begins, however, the real message comes out. Kids are implanted with a subtle message that those whom they want to please (teachers, employers, etc.) deserve unwavering loyalty in face of all mistreatment and injustice. And that message persists long after they have watched the film because Woody and Buzz are tremendously ubiquitous icons. This means that whenever a Millennial is feeling dumped on at work, he or she will think about how Woody got through his ordeals and will continue onward as a loyal but despised peon.
That is the true message of Toy Story, and that's why Steve Jobs worked to ensure that film was Pixar's first.