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Tag: Pixar movies

  • Inside Out 2: Perhaps Even More Anti-San Francisco Than Inside Out Due to Entirely Excluding the City From the Narrative

    Inside Out 2: Perhaps Even More Anti-San Francisco Than Inside Out Due to Entirely Excluding the City From the Narrative

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    While the first Inside Out was a patently anti-San Francisco movie, the sequel has proven to perhaps be even less generous—dare one even say, actually crueler—toward the city by choosing to ignore its presence altogether. Although San Franciscans might have thought the presentation of their city couldn’t possibly be worse in the second movie than it was in the first, it has to be said that the full-stop refusal to acknowledge its existence is probably even more insulting. Because, apparently, so “non” is San Francisco at this point that the Inside Out 2 creators and animators—based, by the way, right near San Francisco “suburb” Emeryville—could barely bother to provide a few background scenes of the milieu as Riley Andersen (Kensington Tallman) is on the way to a weekend hockey camp.

    And yes, for the rest of the movie after that brief scene of Riley’s parents, Mrs. Andersen (Diane Lane) and Mr. Andersen (Kyle MacLachlan), driving her to the camp with her friends, Grace (Grace Lu) and Bree (Sumayyah Nuriddin-Green), there is nary a sign of San Francisco anywhere. Unless one grasps at the straws of Riley wearing a “Bay Area Skills Camp” jersey. Although one might have anticipated more play for SF now that Riley is a teenager and is theoretically supposed to be coming into her own vis-à-vis exploring the city a little bit more independently than she used to, Inside Out 2 totally misses the opportunity to, at the very least, employ San Francisco for the task of ramping up Riley’s latest emotion to enter her puberty-fueled headspace: Anxiety.

    Of course, this being a “kids’” movie, co-screenwriters Meg LeFauve (who also co-wrote the first movie) and Dave Holstein likely didn’t want to rock the boat too much in terms of what types of “stimuli” might prompt Riley to have an anxiety flare-up. Like, say, the sight of some zombie-esque homeless people hobbling toward her at a steady clip on the sidewalk. Or overhearing her parents talk about the unaffordability of the city and how maybe they, too, should join the others who supposedly comprise what is called the “California Exodus.” Indeed, that latter threat would surely send Anxiety into overdrive, seeing as how Riley has finally gotten her bearings in her formerly new city. The last thing she would want to do now is move to Austin, Texas (where all the Californians have reportedly disappeared to).

    The total absence of any sense of place in Inside Out 2 is what marks the most noticeable change in the film’s “setup” after almost a decade has gone by. What it says probably has less to do with San Francisco and more to do with the fact that our entire existence is increasingly “lived” solely in non-places. This being the term coined by French anthropologist Marc Augé in his seminal work, Non-Places: Introduction to an Anthropology of Supermodernity. It is in this work that Augé discusses the characteristics of the average non-place (e.g., supermarkets, airports, hotel rooms, metro stations and, in this case, hockey rinks): cold, clinical, lacking in any unique identifying characteristics. In short, it is a transitional space (sort of like adolescence itself) designed to evoke no sense of belonging whatsoever due to being devoid of any personal touches—what is known as “having character.”

    When applied to the feeling—or, rather, “non-feeling”—that San Francisco evokes in Inside Out 2, it can perhaps be interpreted “poetically” in that Riley has never truly felt as though she belongs there. And now, with her only two friends abandoning her after the summer to attend a different high school, Riley is panicking all the more about her “sense of place,” about where, exactly, she’s supposed to fit in.

    While some might say that San Francisco’s absence is “nothing personal,” or that the storyline of the sequel is intended to be less about the city and more about Riley’s fresh trials and tribulations as a teenager navigating the increasingly murky waters of friendship, it cannot be overlooked that where one lives as a teenager is a large part of what forms their emotions and identity. Needless to say, Riley would be a totally different person if she had remained in Minnesota. Excluding the more urban landscape of San Francisco from this new “snapshot” of her teenhood is, thus, an odd choice. Others still would posit that because the mind itself is the milieu in which Inside Out and Inside Out 2 take place, there’s not much need to incorporate a “real” environment. Fine, keep it “minimal” then—but don’t oust a tangible setting altogether. But, again, this likely doesn’t register with or bother that many people when taking into account that the majority is, at this juncture, well-accustomed to seeing and experiencing non-places. It just comes across as particularly shade-throwing that, now, San Francisco is a “non-place,” too. Not even worth making fun of anymore, as far as Inside Out 2 is concerned.

    In the past, there would have at least been the usual mockery about how “generic” the city has become, how “corporatized.” Not just thanks to the long-ago tech infiltration, but as a result of the collective adherence to globalization itself. Everywhere is everywhere. But, in all honesty, that’s not really true of San Francisco, which still possesses its unique, indelible aspects—not least of which is its signature topography and landmarks. And, as the usual haters would waste no time in parroting, “All the homeless people!” The seemingly lone condemnation that detractors can think of to consistently lob at the Golden City (and yes, it is golden, despite what the naysayers might quip about that gold being of the “fool’s” variety). Either that or, where conservatives are concerned, it’s “too gay.” In fact, one of its other rotating nicknames is Gay Mecca. This perhaps being yet another reason that Inside Out 2 opted to shirk San Francisco altogether during Riley’s teen years. After all, what if Riley is a lesbian? San Francisco is the perfect place to unearth such a sexual revelation. But, in terms of including SF in all its (gay) glory for a teenager, Pixar seemed to be channeling Regina George insisting, “I couldn’t have a lesbian at my party. There were gonna be girls there in their bathing suits.”

    Whatever the reason (or “non-reason”) for choosing to give San Francisco absolutely no play apart from tacking on three arbitrary exteriors (including, of course, the Golden Gate Bridge) during the credits, it seems that the opinion of the town is so low at the moment that Pixar favored largely disavowing its presence entirely. And, as Oscar Wilde said, “There is only one thing in life worse than being talked about, and that is not being talked about.” Thus, San Francisco’s (non-)representation in Inside Out 2 is what makes the movie even harsher toward the city than Inside Out.

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    Genna Rivieccio

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  • Inside Out 2: When You Grow Up, Your Heart Dies

    Inside Out 2: When You Grow Up, Your Heart Dies

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    The world was a vastly different place nine years ago, when the first Inside Out was released. Though, at the time, it might have felt like a world that was dangerous and unsafe for children to grow up and develop in, the truth is, they were probably better off doing so in 2015 than they would be in 2024 (good luck to the sociopaths that have to do that now). And so, yes, 2024 feels like the “perfect” moment to introduce a “new” emotion to Inside Out 2: Anxiety! Of course, even though nearly a decade has passed since last we saw Riley Andersen (voiced by Kaitlyn Dias in the original, and presently, Kensington Tallman), she’s still only just now turning thirteen. Better known to most parents (and teachers…or anyone else subjected to the horrors of interacting with a teenager) as: the Scary Age.

    Incidentally, “Terror” doesn’t appear as a more nuanced emotion than “Fear” in the complex range of new ones that are rolled out with a brand-new console that gets installed by the “mind workers” the night before Riley “hits puberty.” A previously uncharted era during which, suddenly, the limited range of five primary emotions—Joy (Amy Poehler), Sadness (Phyllis Smith), Fear (Tony Hale), Disgust (Liza Lapira) and Anger (Lewis Black)—are hardly sufficient enough to convey all the confusing, disordered feelings Riley is having at any given moment now that she’s thirteen. Enter Anxiety (Maya Hawke), the key emotion freshly presented into the fray that best encapsulates all those crippling, inexplicable sentiments that go hand-in-hand with an increasing fixation on social status. Granted, Anxiety isn’t alone in terms of being part of a new burst of emotions that only get introduced once a person enters teenhood. Especially when that person is a girl.

    Thus, she is joined by Ennui (Adèle Exarchopoulos), Embarrassment (Paul Walter Hauser) and Envy (Ayo Edebiri). For a brief instant, even a new emotion called Nostalgia (June Squibb) pops out, stylized as an old lady with glasses. But Anxiety tell her she’s much too early to be there, and she’s promptly sent away from headquarters. Unfortunately, Joy has to admit that Anxiety does seem, in contrast, to be right on time—to know much more about Riley’s new set of concerns and worries than Joy does. And yet, that doesn’t stop Joy from fretting over the fact that Anxiety is negatively impacting the meticulously crafted “Sense of Self” that Riley currently has…thanks to some clever manipulations from Joy via filing memories with unpleasant associations to the back of her mind. Which is for Riley’s “own good,” of course. In fact, all Joy wants is for Riley to think and feel that she’s that wonderful thing: a good person.

    Alas, as someone becomes a teenager, all sense of “goodness” tends to go out the window if it means interfering with how that adolescent wants to be perceived. And, no matter how much time goes by or what changes occur in technology, how a teen always wants to be perceived is: cool. Accepted. Well-liked. Best of all, popular. For while Gen Z might think such concerns went the way of the dodo after millennial teenhood, it’s still very much alive and well on an even worse scale thanks to social media and its impact on self-esteem. Riley is a victim of her own intense desire to feel embraced by an older group of girls once she learns that her best friends, Grace (Grace Lu) and Bree (Sumayyah Nuriddin-Green), are going to be attending a different high school when the summer is over.

    And so, instead of seeing the hockey camp they’re invited to attend (and as the only junior highers, to boot) as an opportunity for a last hurrah together, Riley, under Anxiety’s so-called guidance, takes it as a chance to gain the favor of a popular star player named Val Ortiz (Lilimar). And, when Val actually seems to take a liking to Riley despite how awkward and socially inept she is (in the 00s, Riley is the girl who would have been freely referred to as a “spaz”), the latter can’t help but jump at the chance to “rebrand” in order to better fit in with Val and her older crew of friends.

    Horrified at the way Riley is ignoring the carefully crafted “Sense of Self” Joy worked so hard to create, she can’t understand that Anxiety is part of a larger phenomenon that comes with growing up (particularly in a world that, increasingly, prides itself on desensitizing youths): kindness and empathy being stamped out, your heart dying. This being the very accurate and eloquent phrase Allison Reynolds (Ally Sheedy) from The Breakfast Club wields when she laments, “When you grow up, your heart dies.” An aphorism delivered in reply to Andrew Clark’s (Emilio Estevez) question of whether or not they would become like their parents (that is to say, assholes). Allison also insists, “It’s unavoidable. Just happens.” For Riley, she might not be becoming like her wholesome, largely checked-out parents, per se, but she is becoming more impervious to the notion of “morality.” Of whether or not what’s “good” is necessarily good for her.

    Anxiety only serves to fan those flames of sociopathy, prompting Riley to do whatever it takes to achieve “her” goals (though, all along, one has to ask: are they really “hers” or merely what she thinks should be hers due to societal and peer pressures?). In this case, getting onto the Firehawks team as a freshman so that she can have a secured group of friends in her teammates, including Val. When the other girls tell Riley that Coach Roberts (Yvette Nicole Brown) always holds a scrimmage on the last day of camp and it’s what ended up getting Val on the team as a freshman, Anxiety sends Riley into peak panic mode about doing well enough the next day so that the coach puts her on the team for next year. Of course, Val tells her that all she has to do is stop stressing and “be herself.”

    In response to that notion, Envy asks Anxiety a fair (and slightly philosophical) question: “How do we be ourself if our ‘self’ isn’t ready yet?” Anxiety, ever the “problem-solver,” reacts by putting more anxiety-ridden memories into the Sense of Self bank that will supposedly propel Riley to act in a way that secures the best possible future. Naturally, what Anxiety doesn’t understand is that Riley won’t be securing much of anything if she’s a tightly-wound ball of panic that can barely function because of all her crippling worries. Nonetheless, Anxiety can’t be bothered with considering how she’s actually hurting Riley, remarking to Envy, “I wish we knew what Coach thought about us.” It’s then that, while Riley is just trying to fucking sleep that Anxiety plants the idea in her head to sneak into the coach’s office and look at the notebook where she writes down all of her “hot takes” about the players. Thus, Riley commits yet another act that goes against what Joy would call her true Sense of Self (even if it was manipulated by Joy): breaking and entering. Oh, an obtaining information that’s supposed to be “confidential” by any means necessary.

    As Anxiety has turned Riley into someone she isn’t—someone whose core Sense of Self repeats, “I’m not good enough”—Joy and her “follower emotions” finally make it to the back of Riley’s mind, where the Sense of Self Joy had originally created was exiled by Anxiety. Initially relieved to have recovered the trophy-looking structure, Joy can’t help but take notice of the literal mountain of bad memories she’s stockpiled back here, in a place that suppresses what Riley’s true self might actually be. And when she calls upon Sadness to launch them back to headquarters through the pipe Joy built to jettison those bad memories there in the first place, Anxiety manages to destroy the pipe so that Joy and co. are stuck there. Needless to say, this smacks of the same pickle Joy was in during the first Inside Out, when she got booted into the Memory Dump—a location of the mind where any memories that get deposited there are doomed to fade out for good. Feeling hopeless and defeated, she can no longer even fake a plucky attitude to the other emotions, telling them, “I don’t know how to stop Anxiety. Maybe we can’t. Maybe this is what happens when you grow up. You feel less Joy.” In other words, “When you grow up, your heart dies.”

    This is exactly why so many memes about Riley as an adult have come about in the wake of Inside Out 2. For example, Depression as an emotion stamping out all the other ones. Or alcohol being used to briefly chase the emotion of Euphoria before it quickly disappears. And yes, it’s obviously true that there’s no place for Joy in the adult mind. Her presence becoming nothing but one of those faded memories in the Memory Dump (this is perhaps why that incident in Inside Out was nothing more than foreshadowing for Joy’s inevitable disappearance during Riley’s adulthood).

    And yet, none of the adults involved in the making of Inside Out 2—and certainly none of the adults who control the system in place—would ever stop and think that perhaps there’s something very, very wrong with how it’s simply accepted that to grow up is to experience the death of Joy. The loss of “heart” a.k.a. any sense of humanity. And all in the name of getting “ahead.” As Anxiety phrased it, “It’s not about who Riley is, it’s about who she needs to be.” But why does anyone “need” to become an asshole in this life? To adhere to the subjugating “tenets” of capitalism, duh.

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    Genna Rivieccio

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  • Inside Out As Anti-San Francisco Movie

    Inside Out As Anti-San Francisco Movie

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    With the imminent release of Inside Out 2, revisiting the original film is only natural. As it is to note that, long before the blatant anti-San Francisco campaign that rolled out at full force after the pandemic, Inside Out was throwing major shade at the place once called “the Paris of the West” (this as a means of alluring people to it at a time when it was still developing as an urban epicenter). Considering that Pixar’s headquarters are in Emeryville (effectively an “extension” of San Francisco), it comes as no surprise that the movie would take place there. What is perhaps something of a surprise is the number of moments in the film that seek to denigrate rather than elevate the city. But you know what they say: it’s always your own kind that ends up selling you down the river (if one will pardon the rooted-in-slavery expression).

    As “alpha emotion” Joy (Amy Poehler) spends the first few minutes of Inside Out detailing the inner workings of Riley Andersen’s (Kaitlyn Dias) mind, it doesn’t take long before her vision of the eleven-year-old’s happy, idyllic existence in Minnesota is shattered. In fact, the Andersen family’s unexpected move to San Francisco is already happening within the eight-minute mark of the movie, with the title “Inside Out” only appearing just as the Andersens approach the Golden Gate Bridge. It’s upon seeing it from the backseat of the car that, from Riley’s mind, Joy shouts, “Hey look! The Golden Gate Bridge! Isn’t that great? It’s not made out of solid gold like we thought, which is kind of a disappointment, but still…”

    The next recognizable landmark as the car continues toward their new house is the Ferry Building, with Fear (Bill Hader) remarking to Joy as they pass it, “I sure am glad you told me earthquakes are a myth, Joy. Otherwise I’d be terrified right now.” Joy replies, “Uh, yeah.” So already, there is this overt mood of disdain for the city, further fueled by a preteen’s inherent mistrust of the things they’re not familiar with. Any brief “romance” period with the town via the Golden Gate Bridge and the Ferry Building seems to quickly wear off by the third scene in the city, during which Riley and her parents are caught in bumper-to-bumper traffic on the famed part of Lombard Street known as “the crookedest street in the world.”

    To further emphasize that San Francisco must be a miserable place, it is only Anger (Lewis Black) who chimes in at the sound of incessantly blaring horns and belligerent screaming to say, “These are my kind of people.” Of course, Anger’s vaguely positive tune, along with Disgust’s (Mindy Kaling) and Fear’s (Sadness [Phyllis Smith] was already firmly not into this to begin with), changes instantly when the car pulls up in front of a “dilapidated” townhouse. That’s right, the family is about to move into a townhouse that would fetch millions of dollars in any San Francisco neighborhood, regardless of being in a “dingy alley” or not. And yet, Riley is acting as though it’s the worst place in the world. “Too young,” or whatever, to understand “appreciating property values.” Especially since it seems like Mr. Andersen (Kyle MacLachlan) and Mrs. Andersen (Diane Lane) actually bought the place instead of renting. No matter to Riley, who has apparently been too sheltered for most of her sanitized life to have ever seen a dead mouse. This being one of her first sights upon entering the spacious abode. 

    But spaciousness doesn’t matter if her room isn’t “conventionally structured,” instead situated in more of an “attic” position—this being a clear machination on the writers’ part designed to give Riley some “poor little scullery maid” cachet. Despite Joy’s best intentions to keep Riley in a positive mood in the face of her “undesirable” living conditions, they’re met with another decidedly “San Francisco-style” setback when Joy tries to distract Riley with the idea of going to lunch. Flashing the image of the pizza place (Yeast of Eden) she saw on the car ride over, Joy plants the seed in Riley’s mind that she’s just hungry. That’s the real reason why she’s irritable. Or worse still, sad. 

    Thus, to be presented with, apparently, a decidedly San Francisco approach to pizza—a.k.a. the appearance of broccoli on it—is the last straw for Riley, who is now officially out of any will to put on rose-colored glasses about this move. Because yes, in addition to having poor taste in housing (or rather, poor taste in understanding what good housing is), she also has a gauche Minnesotan palate that can’t accept anything “unconventional” on a pizza. Alas, considering that broccoli has held a lifelong negative association for her (thanks to Disgust), seeing it on her pizza is “too much” for her. Her mom doesn’t help Riley’s outlook on the “tragedy” either, shrugging, “What kind of pizza place only serves one kind of pizza? Must be a San Francisco thing, huh?”

    Even Joy—who usually refuses to see the negative side of anything—has to agree, demanding, “Who puts broccoli on pizza?” Anger then snarls, “Congratulations San Francisco, you’ve ruined pizza! First the Hawaiians, and now you.” Obviously, it’s a pointed comment not just on the supposedly inferior pizza San Francisco has to offer, but also on the generally “chichi” (ergo, overpriced) fare residents are subjected to in the wake of gentrification on steroids.

    And, speaking of that, Mr. Andersen’s fraught phone call about needing to find investors before they have to start laying people off smacks of being the kind of odious “tech guy” (one will refrain from saying “tech bro”) that SF has become irrevocably synonymous with. Hence, yet another unfavorable impression of the city in terms of “the man it’s making her father become”—absent, distant and impatient. Worse still, an ungrateful gentrifier.

    Riley’s anxiety levels are further sent into overdrive by the effect the move is having on her parents’ relationship, which is becoming…tense. Something she never saw between them before. But, again, her lily-livered, privileged existence seems to make her more prone to such sensitivity over very little. Including the sound of noisy cars that also cast “ominous” shadows on her wall from outside the window. Fear’s response to it is a terrified, nonsensical wondering as to whether it might be a bear. “There are no bears in San Francisco,” Disgust balks at Fear (though that’s not really true, thanks to the increased presence of black bears leaving their natural habitat). Anger chimes in, “I saw a really hairy guy. He looked like a bear.” Somehow, that feels like a “subtle” nod to the Castro…for those who get it. 

    Naturally, though, the Emeryville-based Pixar team isn’t counting on the average audience being “in the know” about San Francisco…apart from embracing the tired stereotypes about it as a place of “horrors” (a.k.a. real life), a place to avoid. And, soon enough, a place to run away from. For, without Joy and Sadness—the “alphas” of the emotional “headquarters”—Anger, Fear and Disgust try their best to fill the void where leadership is. The result, expectedly, is all-out emotional dysregulation, with Riley giving in to the whim of assuming that going back to Minnesota without telling her parents is the best way to find happiness again. Luckily, Joy and Sadness make it back to headquarters in time to correct the situation, with Joy allowing Sadness, at last, to take the reins (as she should have from the start of this move). 

    When Riley returns from her botched attempt at running away, she finally admits to her parents, “I miss Minnesota.” The funny thing, of course, is that if she had stayed in said state, she likely would have tried to move to California anyway after graduating from high school. Minnesotans are always seeking warmer weather, which, of course, exists literally anywhere else except Minnesota. And Midwesterners in general are always seeking “freakier” pastures (see: Chappell Roan). But since Minnesota represents “home” to her, and her home isn’t a place she yet associates with oppression and conservative values, San Francisco is pretty much the last place she would want to be. As such, Anger is so fed up with the “antithetical” ways of life in “The Golden City” that he finally snaps and calls it “San Fran Stink Town” as he takes the wheel on “reasoning” by planting the idea in Riley’s head that they should just take a bus back to Minnesota. Which, of course, Riley can’t go through with. 

    At the end of Inside Out, it isn’t that Riley has “warmed” to SF, per se, so much as surrendered to the reality that he who controls the purse strings (i.e., one’s parents) controls your living situation. Even so, perhaps in Inside Out 2, Riley will have come to understand the value, as a “too cool for everything” teen, of living in a more sophisticated metropolis (though the naysayers will keep mentioning homeless people as a reason it’s not) than whatever bumfuck town in Minnesota she crawled out of. Maybe Bloomington (home to the Mall of America), like Inside Out’s director and co-writer, Pete Docter.

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    Genna Rivieccio

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