he opening moments include a cadre of toys sitting around a campfire to keep warm, which curiously suggests, as with the previous films, that inanimate objects do in fact feel something. Plus, they’re driven, innately, to behave in specific ways around humans (but can precisely discern animals as more negligible living creatures); and toys without faces have certain levels of self-powered motivity, but not equal sentience. Evidently, this fifth theatrical entry in the franchise doesn’t shy away from the crushing existential questions that have plagued the heroes from the previous pictures, particularly as the toys take on the roles of parents, watching “their” children grow up and age out of needing youthful playthings. Like empty-nesters, these kindly guardians struggle with thoughts of uselessness and obsoleteness, as if their limited time is exhausted (sometimes missing out on formative milestones), and they must then be relegated to the horrifying, living entombment of a storage bin. The psychological toll of cycling through family after family is devastating. It would all be pretty bleak if they couldn’t so easily find new kids for whom to become inseparable companions.

At this point in the saga, Jessie (Joan Cusack) and Buzz Lightyear (Tim Allen) are in the home of 8-year-old Bonnie (Scarlett Spears), while Woody (Tom Hanks) and Bo Peep (Annie Potts) are away in another part of the city, running covert operations to rescue lost toys. Woody’s misadventures center around abandonment, or wildlife scampering away with discarded figurines, while Jessie’s woes now involve Bonnie being painfully shy. “Why won’t anyone be my friend?”

Jessie is determined to inspire imagination, but the latest, biggest hurdle is technology: modern youth just wants to sit around scrolling and tapping and swiping on their phones or tablets. Everyone is connected through “smart” equipment, yet they’re more disconnected than ever. “Devices everywhere!” Is the era of physical, tangible toys over? Are children forever trapped in a cycle of being unimaginative zombies? Curiously, it’s not as much about growing out of juvenile interests as it is about growing up too soon (touching upon some similar themes to the “Inside Out” films).

As it turns out, the solution isn’t to rethink parenting techniques and restrictions on screentime; instead, it’s to seek out the more creative, likeminded kids who haven’t succumbed to social media and video games, and get them together for some old-fashioned make-believe. All the other hopeless, irredeemable souls are simply too far gone. In an effort to help Bonnie make friends, her parents misguidedly purchase an electronic Lilypad (voiced by Greta Lee) – essentially a Wi-Fi-connected iPad in the shape of a frog – which puts her in harm’s way of chat groups and hypnotic online games, in which acquaintances can judge or bully.

As with the previous pictures, “Toy Story 5” updates the plot to be slightly more timely, adding mild hilarity around how tech both helps and hurts its users. Perhaps its greatest weakness, however, is that it’s never laugh-out-loud funny; it may be consistently cute, but it’s never hilarious (even with jokes aimed squarely at adults, such as a pig named Jimmy Dean and a toy’s buttons getting pressed in what can only be described as overly stimulating). It also doesn’t help that three distinct storylines play out (expectedly converging toward the end, though this is clearly Jessie’s show, with Woody and Buzz playing second fiddle), giving rise to various subplots that don’t feel as strong as they could have (apparently, Lightyear has quite the crush on Jessie). Characters devise missions, get transported significant distances apart, and then embark upon rescue-based adventures. But it’s all a touch too easy, especially as these toys continue to enjoy greater and greater autonomy and knowledge about traversing their considerable landscapes; insurmountable adversities have never felt so manageable.

For the first time in the series, the premise doesn’t feel as cohesive, as indispensable. It’s episodic now; a superfluous chapter that didn’t need to exist. Despite a few references to what came before, the bulk of the characters are downgraded to boxed-up garage residents, including the celebrity-voiced Dolly (Bonnie Hunt), Trixie (Kristen Schaal), Forky (Tony Hale), Rex (Wallace Shawn), Combat Carl (Ernie Hudson), Hamm (John Ratzenberger), and Duke Caboom (Keanu Reeves) – as well as Slinky Dog, Mr. Potato Head, Mrs. Potato Head, and Mr. Pricklepants, whose casting has been replaced, and even Ducky and Bunny, who might not have a full line of dialogue between them. In their places, however, is an unusually thought-provoking villain, one that genuinely believes herself to be sensible and encouraging, refusing to act antagonistic or create conflict for flimsy reasons. She’s shockingly selfless and redemptive, demonstrating an amusing harmony between old and new, elementary and advanced; she’s one of the most evenhanded of all family-friendly baddies (and she’s joined by some notable additions, brought to life by Conan O’Brien and Craig Robinson).

– Mike Massie