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I'm going to make an assumption. You've seen 1995's Toy Story and its 1999 sequel, Toy Story 2. You're one of the millions who enjoyed the adventures of Sheriff Woody, Buzz, and friends. And now Toy Story 3 is waiting in the wings, set to release in June 2010. If that feels too far off to satisfy your Pixar fix, the folks at Disney (who acquired Pixar in 2006) have a treat for you—a double feature experience beginning Friday: Toy Story and Toy Story 2… in 3D!

Woody and Buzz, back on the big screen

Let's call it what it is. Toy Story has—in a mere 14 years—become a "classic." It represents not only the birthplace of Pixar's imaginative journeys, but the turning point of the entire world of CGI animation. With the vision and direction of John Lasseter (now Pixar's Chief Creative Officer), Toy Story became the first feature-length film to be fully computer generated. The animation world was forever changed. Studios such as DreamWorks Animation (Shrek, Kung Fu Panda) and Blue Sky (Ice Age, Horton Hears a Who!) began to emerge in hopes of tapping into Toy Story's magic—and its massive profits. But nobody has been able to match the consistent caliber of Pixar's feature films. 

Since Toy Story, Pixar has grossed over $2.4 billion with a mere 10 feature films—an average of $240 million per film. Financial success aside, those first two Toy Story films have also received millions of thumbs-up, even from the critics. Both TS and TS2 hold the rare and coveted 100 percent "Fresh" rating at Rotten Tomatoes. Of the 10 Pixar films, Cars is the only one to dip below the 90 percent mark on the site, putting the Pixar franchise at an average of 94.5 percent, a benchmark any studio would drool over.

So, what's Pixar's secret?

While we could offer a myriad of opinions on the matter, the simplicity of Pixar's success lies with one thing: Story. How fitting, then, to launch the franchise with the word Story in its title. According Lasseter,  Pixar's co-founder, there are three vital components to their success—world, character, and story, the last in which the animated genre breathes or dies upon.

John Lasseter

In fact, Toy Story almost never made it to the big screen due to (a lack of) story. The original storyline was pronounced dead on arrival in November of 1993 by Disney execs (who had already agreed to back the film in distribution). It was a day known as "Black Friday" by Pixar employees; production came to a screeching halt on the condition that the story could be reworked. Obviously, a rewrite paid off and Toy Story resumed production in 1994 and eventually hit theaters in November of 1995.

The result was a classic "buddy" story, telling tales of friendship, love, identity, and rescue—all while deeply immersed in the absurd. Which brings us to a second ingredient of the genius of the Toy Story series (and all Pixar films, for that matter).

What a premise: A closet full of toys that comes to life whenever the real-life humans are out of the room. They talk. They hold public meetings. They play video games. They drive cars. They go on dates, and even get married (congrats, Mr. Potato Head!).

It's ridiculous, of course. But it's the ridiculousness that works.

The irony lies in the realization that it is within the absurd—the space in which we have detached ourselves—that we encounter our own story. We become sympathetic to Woody—not because we share the qualities of a talking toy, but because we resonate with his quest for significance. We appreciate Buzz's unwavering commitment to find his counterpart (TS2)—not because it's some entertaining plot, but because we all desire a friendship worthy of pursuit and rescue. We tear up during the heartfelt "When Somebody Loves Me" (Jesse's ballad in TS2)—not because of Sarah McLachlan's mesmerizing voice (okay, maybe so), but because we fear harsh realities of abandonment.

In any case, the story of a seemingly outside reality becomes dear to our own.

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