Jessie (Joan Cusack), Buzz Lightyear (Tim Allen), and Woody (Tom Hanks) in Toy Story 5
Disney Channel shut down in the Philippines in 2021. I remember seeing the news and feeling surprised, then immediately realizing I hadn't watched the channel in years.
That, more than anything, is what "Toy Story 5" reminded me of.
The film's central conflict revolves around Bonnie and a tablet called Lilypad, which increasingly becomes the center of her attention. It sounds like the setup for another argument about screen time, the kind adults have been having ever since the first iPad landed on a coffee table. Pixar is smart enough not to turn the film into that conversation.
Bonnie isn't portrayed as a victim. She isn't being manipulated. If anything, I'd argue she isn't becoming a worse person. She is doing what children have always done: gravitating toward whatever makes sense in the world she happens to inhabit.
And that world is very different from the one Woody first entered in 1995.
When the original "Toy Story" was released, childhood felt organized differently. Entertainment arrived at specific times. If your favorite show aired at four in the afternoon, then four in the afternoon mattered. If you missed it, you waited.
Today, stories follow us everywhere.
A tablet sits where the television once sat. A streaming app occupies the space where a channel used to be. The shift happened gradually enough that most of us barely noticed it while it was taking place.
That is why I kept thinking about Disney Channel throughout the film.
The channel did not disappear from my life when it shut down. It disappeared years earlier. The shutdown simply made it official.
"Toy Story" has always understood that kind of loss.
Woody's greatest fear was never destruction. It was becoming less important. Jessie's story was never about physical abandonment as much as it was about realizing she no longer occupied the same place in someone's life. Again and again, the franchise returns to the uncomfortable idea that things can be over long before we recognize them as gone.
What makes "Toy Story 5" interesting is that it applies that idea to an entire way of growing up.
Lilypad is not presented as a villain because the film knows Bonnie has not done anything wrong. She is not rejecting imagination. She is simply experiencing it differently. The tablet offers games, videos, stories, and entire worlds through a single screen. Competing with that would be difficult for any toy.
The film also resists reducing the conflict to a battle between toys and technology. After all, several of its newer characters are technological gadgets themselves. Atlas, Snappy, and Smarty Pants represent earlier generations of "smart" devices that were once considered innovative in their own right.
That detail matters. The film is not arguing that technology ruined childhood. It quietly acknowledges that every generation has its own version of technology. Some simply age better than others.
Disney understands this better than most. The company once relied on television channels, DVD sales, and toy shelves. Today, it reaches audiences through apps, streaming platforms, and devices that fit inside a backpack.
Watching "Toy Story 5," I occasionally felt that the franchise was confronting something larger than Bonnie's attachment to a tablet. The world that produced "Toy Story" still exists, but it feels different. Children still play. They still imagine. They still fall in love with characters and stories.
The habits have changed. So has everything around them.
"Toy Story" has always asked what happens when a child moves on. Thirty years later, the question feels bigger than the toy box.