Fifteen years after the original Toy Story was released, this month sees the third installment coming to theaters near you. Andy is off to college (which would make him 20 in real time, but let's not quibble,) and the toys are in a state of anxiety about what their future holds.
Change is hard. Change is scary. But a good leader makes change much easier to bear, where a bad leader will succumb. This theme has been explored to one degree or another in the previous films, and it isn't surprising to find it pop up again here.
In Toy Story -- where we first meet the platoon of playthings -- Woody the cowboy is the de facto leader of Andy's toys. He's an amiable, laid back leader: The atmosphere is comfortable, there is got job security, he is respected and his colleagues are happy. He is a good manager. He keeps things running smoothly, there are staff meetings to keep everyone apprised of new developments, he nurtures his staff and shows enthusiasm and encouragement.
Woody: Hey, Etch... Draw!
[Etch draws a picture of a gun]
Woody: D'oh! Got me again! Etch, you've been working on that draw. Fastest knobs in the west.
And then things change. The spiffy new Buzz Lightyear Space Ranger comes on the scene. Woody's status as most favored is endangered. And he does not take it well. He gets jealous, he gets angry, he resents that the toys gravitate toward something fresh and new. While he is seething and feeling neglected, Buzz is making friends and helping the toys improve themselves. Buzz is a charismatic leader with lots of flash -- the "women want to do him, men want to be him" guy.
Woody makes some crucial errors here. First of all, fostering an unnecessary competition with the new guy is just asking for trouble. You never pick a fight you don't know for sure you can win. Secondly, he lets the problem consume him. Losing self-confidence in the face of someone younger/faster/smarter is completely natural, but allowing everyone else to see how much it bugs you means you lose more than confidence, you lose credibility. It's hard to lead when your followers see you are losing your edge.
Woody: He's not a space ran-*ger*! He doesn't fight evil or, or... shoot lasers or fly.
Buzz: Excuse me.(deploys his wings.)
Hamm: Wow. Impressive wingspan. Very good.
Woody: Oh, what? What? These are plastic. He can't fly.
Buzz: They are a terillium-carbonic alloy, and I CAN fly.
Sure enough, Woody has no reserves of good faith left when he attempts to trap Buzz behind a desk but winds up accidentally knocking him out of the window. The other toys immediately jump to a logical conclusion based on Woody's behavior and accuse him of attempting to murder Buzz out of jealousy.
But it wouldn't be a Disney movie if there weren't redemption and a happy ending. For all his insecurity and worry, Woody is still a natural leader and his skills and abilities come to the fore time and again. He can rally a team of mutant toys to his side within hours of meeting them. He orchestrates a mission to rescue Buzz from being launched on a bottle rocket. And most important, when Buzz is at his lowest and ready to hang it up, Woody sacrifices his own esteem and admits his secondary status is understandable, despite how much he has railed against it.
You've got wings! You glow in the dark! You talk! Your helmet does that-- that-- that "whoosh" thing. You are a cool toy. As a matter of fact, you're too cool. I mean -- I mean, what chance does a toy like me have against a Buzz Lightyear action figure?
There are a couple management lessons to be derived here -- both of them pat and cliche.
The first is to keep your mind on the mission. Woody is at his best when he remembers the purpose of his existence.
Being a toy is a lot better than being a, a Space Ranger ... Look, over in that house is a kid who thinks you are the greatest, and it's not because you're a Space Ranger, pal. It's because you're a toy. You are his toy.
The second is, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em. Better yet, embrace them from the outset. For one thing, you just might learn something new, and that is never bad. Being able to face the future, no matter how big a threat it seems, will make you a better manager. And if that isn't enough, taking the new recruit under your wing will make them less inclined to bigfoot you -- and if they do, you'll be older and smarter and know more about them than they will about you. Plus, such benevolence will help you maintain crucial alliances in case competition does wind up being inevitable.
In Toy Story 2, the roles are reversed. We again start with a fairly stable situation, but things quickly go awry when Woody is again faced with change -- this time the realization that his future may be nothing more than sitting forgotten on a shelf collecting dust, or being hauled curbside for a yard sale. Woody does show better leadership skills this time and makes a valiant effort to save another shelved toy, but in so doing winds up kidnapped by a mercenary toy collector and faces an alternative option: spending eternity in a Tokyo toy museum.
But the management story this time isn't really Woody's story. While he has learned to listen and be open to new ideas, and while he still generally comes up with the best solutions, this is more about Buzz and his leadership style, which is markedly different, though the components are the same. There's still belief in the mission, there's still enthusiasm and encouragement. But Buzz is about energy and motion, where Woody is about planning and organizing.
Woody: Here's your list of things to do while I'm gone: batteries need to be changed. Toys at the bottom of the chest need to be rotated. Oh, and make sure everyone attends Mr. Spell's seminar on what to do if you or part of you is swallowed. Okay?
Compared with:
Buzz Lightyear: Woody once risked his life to save mine, and I couldn't call myself his friend if I wasn't willing to do the same. Now who's with me?
Buzz's challenges are also different. His reputation is already established, his charisma and executive position is a given. His job is to take a bunch of greenies out onto the mean streets to save their friend. He has to adapt, improvise and overcome, and he has to keep his team inspired and on course. Buzz's best moments as a manager come when he is confronted with an obstacle that he has to puzzle out. Crossing the street is probably his biggest challenge: Not only is there a problem to solve, but his team is ready to quit. It would be pretty easy for him to capitulate and head home -- or at least, for him to lose his team as they capitulate and head home -- but he keeps his team together and the task is accomplished safely (for them, at least,) complete with praise and renewed sense of purpose.
(Note -- I know this clip is in mirror frame, but it was the only one I could find with all the dialog I was looking for. Sorr about that.)
And then, of course, there is the role reversal, wherein it is now Buzz's job to remind Woody why being a toy is so important. An important managerial cue here -- institutional knowledge counts. While the other toys are all attracted to Buzz in the first movie because of his novelty and exciting new ideas, he became a much more valuable member of the team when he absorbed and understood the mission.
Buzz: Woody, you're not a collector's item, you're a child's plaything. You are a toy!
Woody: For how much longer? One more rip, and Andy's done with me. And what do I do then, Buzz? Huh? You tell me.
Buzz: Somewhere in that pad of stuffing is a toy who taught me that life's only worth living if you're being loved by a kid. And I traveled all this way to rescue that toy because I believed him.
In the end, as we see, these are two styles that can complement each other quite well -- assuming they can get over the initial competition.
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