Pixar 2019 – 2021: ...And Beyond
2019 was a colossal year for Pixar and Disney as a whole. Of the ten biggest films of the year, eight of them were produced by Disney - and all of those made over a billion dollars. Then came 2020, where the biggest film of the year ended up being the pre-COVID release of "Bad Boys for Life" with a revenue of less then half of any of the top ten films from the year prior.
COVID ensured that Pixar's next three films would sit at the very bottom of their movie collection in terms of box office performance. The underwhelming film 'The Good Dinosaur' made more than twice what any of these films would make. That said, the quality of Pixar's production did not take a dive. Now working in slippers and sweatpants from the safety of their own homes, Pixar's animators reminded us that a pandemic would not cancel the human spirit. Where Pixar will go next as the entire film industry attempts to pick itself up is anyone's guess - but if these films are any indication, it's likely that Pixar's sights are (as always) infinity and beyond.
Toy Story 4 (****1/2)
In which Woody never gives up on you unless Bo Peep is involved
It’s the film we were afraid to ask for – and it serves as a poignant, near-perfect epilogue to the Toy Story trilogy.
Toy Story 3 may just be the greatest conclusion to a film trilogy ever. One of the most wonderful – and most difficult – things that a story can do is end. But Toy Story 3 did it, and it did it with a finesse that was almost impossible to even comprehend. It took us through the complete journey of Andy’s relationship with his favourite toys, and ended on a high note by passing the toys on to a new owner. It seemed like the perfect place to shut the book.
Was it money that inspired Pixar to drag our heroes back into the spotlight? On the surface, that seems the most obvious explanation. The franchise has earned Pixar over three billion dollars, after all. But John Lasseter didn’t mention money when asked about this fourquel. “Toy Story 3 ended Woody and Buzz’s story with Andy so perfectly that for a long time, [Pixar] never even talked about doing another Toy Story movie,” He said during an investor’s call in 2014. “But when Andrew, Pete, Lee and I came up with this new idea, I just could not stop thinking about it.” Regardless of the motive, a film treatment had been put together by himself, Andrew Stanton, Pete Docter, and Lee Unkrich – all hugely significant names to the Toy Story franchise and to Pixar as a whole. The script went through a number of significant changes as it changed hands – Parks and Rec vet Rashida Jones was once signed on as a writer, as was Ratatouille’s Galyn Susman. Part of the reason for this turnover had to do with Lasseter’s fall from grace after allegations of sexual misconduct. Regardless of the turmoil, however, the gears kept turning – and Toy Story 4 eventually came to fruition in 2019 – nine years after its predecessor.
In my review of “Incredibles 2”, I lamented the fact that the writers picked the story up exactly where they’d left off 14 years ago. Comparing the time gap between films to other major franchises, I noted how a time span this long usually means the story will pick up after a time jump of its own. Nine years is a long time to wait for a follow-up. On one hand, Toy Story 4 does the same thing Incredibles 2 did in the sense that it hits the ground only a half-step ahead of its predecessor. The thing that makes this forgivable is that there’s such a tonal difference between Toy Story 3 and 4, where Incredibles 2 didn’t feel to me like it was breaking new ground. Toy Story 3 feels like a climax from beginning to end, and Toy Story 4 feels wandering and lost (and I mean that in a good way, but we’ll get to that later). The world of the franchise has changed dramatically since the last film, so even though it seems like only a few weeks or months have passed, it feels fresh enough to be exciting. For Incredibles 2, it was the same world, the same day – the same second. That’s what I think held it down. But hey, we’re here to talk about Toy Story.
Toy Story was about remembering your purpose – Woody had become too attached to being ‘the favourite’ and Buzz was living in a fantasy world. Both characters found (or regained) their purpose in being there for Andy. Toy Story 2 was technically about the same thing – Woody was afraid of being forgotten entirely, and Jessie was traumatized by having lived through that exact experience. Both problems were resolved by (again) being there for Andy. Toy Story 3 broke new ground by focusing on how to find new purpose when you’ve lost the old. Andy didn’t need Buzz and Woody anymore, but that didn’t make them useless. Woody found new purpose by admitting his old purpose was complete. To an extent, Toy Story 4 continues that train of thought – and it does it very explicitly. When Woody is retelling his past adventures to the new toy Forky, Forky remarks that Woody feels like his purpose is fulfilled. Woody isn’t able to throw himself into his ‘work’ with Bonnie like he did with Woody. Something about it feels different – like he’s already finished his job. It’s interesting how they went in this direction, because it’s the perfect thing to talk about after having completed a trilogy like the one Pixar had made. After telling a story as great as 1, 2, and 3, what more is there to say? What could 4 possibly accomplish? Well, as it turns out, the film sets out to answer that very question. What do you do when your job is done?
Woody feels lost for much of the film, and it starts right away when he realizes that Dolly is the ‘sheriff’ of Bonnie’s room. Where he used to be the leader, now he’s kind of like assistant to the regional manager. Dolly views him as her go-to guy for anything to do with Rex, Slinky, and the other toys Andy donated – but that’s it. So that aspect of his character has dried up. Further, he’s not Bonnie’s favourite toy like he was for Andy. He cares about Bonnie for sure, but it’s clear that he’s not in the spotlight anymore. It’s not until Forky enters the picture that Woody finds some sense of direction. It becomes apparent to him that Forky is Bonnie’s favourite toy – so he sets his mind on making sure Forky fulfills that responsibility.
The first time I watched that scene where Forky and Woody are walking along the side of the highway, I thought a lot about people in ministerial or educational positions. Think about a teacher or a children’s pastor who retires – or in a broader sense, think about empty nesters. Parents who have spent two decades or so of their lives suddenly see their kids leave, and there’s this big gap that hits them all of a sudden. What do I do now? Particularly for someone who’s passionate about their work, it can feel aimless to suddenly be out of that career. I think that’s what Woody’s feeling in this scene. He’s been the favourite toy/leader for so long that leaving that behind makes him feel off-course. He knows he can’t go back to Andy, and he knows that he’ll never be for Bonnie what he was to Andy. His next steps are painfully uncertain.
Here’s what I love about Woody’s path. On the surface, it might appear to some like Woody accepts his status as ‘lost’ or that he gives up on his dreams by the end of the film. But what Woody actually does is find a new purpose. He’s not devoting his life to making a child happy – he’s devoting his life to making children happy. Throughout the film, we see him equip Forky and Gabby Gabby to be there for their kids. Not only does Woody consistently push Forky (physically) into position, he educates and inspires the spork to do the job well. When it comes to Gabby, Woody makes a profound (slightly horrific) sacrifice in order to give her a chance to be loved. Woody is exceptionally self-sacrificing in this film, and it’s all in order to equip the ‘next generation’ of toys. Even in the end credits, Woody is helping other toys find owners. In a very real sense, he’s moved up in the world. The teacher becomes the principal – equipping teachers to equip kids. The children’s pastor becomes the bible college professor. The parent becomes the grandparent. Woody hasn’t become lost – he’s just found a new calling, and I think that’s awesome. It’s a reminder that we’re more than we think we are. Whatever your purpose might be right now won’t necessarily be the purpose you’ll have in ten years. We grow, we change, and we learn. As hard as it may be for us to accept, that’s what Woody’s doing here.
If you’re not convinced, it’s probably because of the bumps in the road that occurred in this film. For one thing, it’s hard to view Woody’s sacrifice as a beautiful moment because it felt an awful lot like a deal with the devil. Gabby Gabby never did anything explicitly violent or anything that put our character’s in harm’s way; that said, she’s creepy. Her minions are creepy too – and even if they weren’t, they’re still minions. She also kidnapped Forky and essentially held him for ransom. The film tried to reframe her as a victim in the third act, but let’s face it. She’s a bad guy. Woody giving up his voice box isn’t strictly speaking an act of goodwill to give Gabby a chance. It’s really a trade to get Forky back, which in a lot of ways feels like giving one of your organs to get your kid returned to you. It was a hefty price to pay, and Woody is certainly under duress when he pays it. That whole segment was just plain unsettling, as symbolic as it may have been.
Then there’s the fact that Woody is leaving ‘his kid’ behind. In each Toy Story film so far, Woody has remained committed to his kid. Sure, Toy Story 3 showed us Woody intentionally going against Andy’s wishes by putting himself in the donation box, but he did that for Andy. Andy himself said, “The thing that makes Woody special is that he’ll never give up on you. Ever.” It’s hard to see how Woody isn’t giving up on Bonnie. Sure, Buzz gives him the go-ahead by saying “Bonnie will be okay” – and she definitely will – but at the very least, Woody is entrusting Bonnie to someone other than himself. I’m not sure how to argue that that’s not ‘giving up on her’. If I was teaching a student and then had that student moved to another class, that’s giving up. If the student graduates, that’s a different story. So maybe that’s the way the writers felt that Woody was off the hook.
But Woody isn’t just leaving Bonnie behind here – and from the discussions I’ve had with people about this film, Bonnie’s the least of their concerns. The big thing is that Woody’s saying goodbye to Jessie, Bullseye, Slinky, Rex, Hamm, the Potato Heads – and Buzz Lightyear himself. Buzz and Woody are a duo for the ages. The way they’ve fought against and for each other throughout this franchise has been so compelling from beginning to end. But here, Buzz and Woody’s relationship really gets sidelined in favour of highlighting Woody’s relationship with Bo Peep. We’ll get to Bo Peep in a second, but the way that Woody and Buzz’s friendship ended with really only a handful of words and a hug seemed a bit anticlimactic – maybe even unfair – considering the amazing journey they’ve been on together. Woody is the one who taught Buzz to be there for his kid, and now Buzz is the one helping Woody let go. Something in that feels poetic, but I couldn’t help but feel like Woody and Buzz deserved a better farewell to each other than the one they got.
Buzz and the other Andy-veterans play an even smaller role in this film than they have in the past, which might be an unspeakable crime if it weren’t for the great characters that fill out the screen time. Duke Kaboom was a real riot, and Key and Peele’s Ducky and Fluffy added so much energy to the film. Their “plush rush” segment had me weeping in the theater, and it still cracked me up on my third or fourth watch. The newer toys from Bonnie’s bedroom held their own limited seconds of spotlight, but let’s be honest – the focus of this film was on Woody and Bo. Bo was a wildcard for this film. She’d disappeared in Toy Story 3, leaving us all to wonder what had happened to her. I actually had a dream once that Woody was lying on the floor watching Andy’s sister play with Bo and accidentally drop her – and since she’s made of porcelain or something similar, she shattered into a million pieces and Woody just had to lay there like his entire world hadn’t come apart. It was definitely one of my more traumatic dreams – and thankfully it didn’t come true. Bo is a little bit broken, but for the most part she’s up and kicking. The scene in the beginning of the film where Bo asked Woody to come with her was gut-wrenching, and it highlighted that aspect of Woody’s character where he’s unwilling to give up on his kid. It makes that final scene where he finally joins her all the more thought-provoking: why did Woody go with Bo this time? Isn’t he still someone’s toy?
Regardless of how I feel about that final scene, I loved Woody and Bo’s relationship in this film. Bo pushes Woody to see the world in a whole new light, and throughout the movie he’s just looking at her. It’s weird how tangible Woody’s longing for her was, considering they’re just toys. Seeing him re-learn who Bo was and who she had become was so dramatic and exciting, and the way he wrestled with his own desires and his duty to Bonnie was really compelling storytelling.
This is the first Toy Story film that I don’t think was perfect – but I want to be clear in communicating that it was still awfully close. Yeah, Buzz and the gang didn’t get as much screen time as I would’ve liked, particularly in the finale. Yeah, Woody giving up his voicebox and leaving Bonnie behind didn’t feel quite right. But I laughed, I cried, and I walked out of the theater happy for Woody. He’s reconnected with the love of his life, and now they’re going to see the world and connect other toys with kids. I think that’s beautiful.
One of the greatest testaments to the quality of this franchise is how each film stands on its own legs. Because of that, Toy Story 4 is a self-contained narrative that could serve as a conclusion to the entire thing. However, a Toy Story 5 is just as possible – and I for one would like to see a story about Buzz without Woody. I know we’re getting “Lightyear” somewhere down the road, but I mean the real Lightyear. Whether or not I ever see it, I’ll always remember Andy’s toys and what they’ve taught me.
Onward (****1/2)
In which you shall not pass without tears
As imaginative and heartfelt as ever, Onward finds beauty in the broken by plunging us into a fantastical adventure.
Onward kicks things off by giving us two of Hollywood’s current most popular actors – Chris Pratt and Tom Holland. Pratt got his start as comic relief on Parks and Recreation, but managed to shift into leading man material for Jurassic World and Guardians of the Galaxy – albeit without totally ditching his funny man persona. Holland is the MCU’s Spider-Man, which in and of itself says it all. These are two stars, and they’re perfect fits for the roles that they play. Holland and Pratt play Ian and Barley respectively, two elf brothers who live in a fantasy world that’s outgrown magic. Ian is the younger one, and his social anxiety is aggravated by Barley’s brazen behaviour. The brotherly chemistry between these two is electric, and that’s nothing but good news for a film that focuses so heavily on their relationship. Ian is constantly trying to avoid the awkward situations his older brother creates, while Barley is looking to support Ian any way he can. Honestly, I can’t imagine a better voice acting duo for these roles. It’s like the roles were made just for them.
The plot centers around these brothers and their quest to bring back their dead father for twenty four hours. A magic spell goes awry, and they only manage to bring back his lower half. The bulk of the film is about how they try and correct the spell in time to see their dad. There’s so much to love about every scene in this film. First, each stop along the way is delightful. From the Manticore’s tavern to the Pixie bikers to the police pullover, we meet character after character who deepens the world of the film in exciting ways. Much like how Wall-e couldn’t help but shake strangers out of apathy, Ian and Barley inadvertently force pretty much everyone they meet to look at life differently. It was really cool seeing ‘magic’ begin to reawaken in each character’s life. Secondly, Ian and Barley’s dad was hysterical. Very shortly after bringing back their father’s lower half, the brothers fashion an upper half out of stuffed clothes and sunglasses. The way this limp puppet ends up participating in numerous moments is endlessly fun. It’s a simple gag, but it’s done effortlessly and so effectively. I loved every moment of that. Oh, and the dragon in the finale was amazing. I’d never heard a dragon’s roar that unsettled me quite like this one did.
The thing that makes this film so beautiful, though, is its climax and ultimate message. Very early on, we learn that Ian has never met his father. Barley is old enough to remember him, but never said goodbye. The film focuses on Ian’s desperation to meet his dad for the first time, but we gradually learn how badly Barley needs this spell to work as well. And in the film’s emotional crescendo moment, Ian realizes that all the experiences he wanted to share with his father actually ended up happening with him and his brother. As is too often the case for Pixar films, I was definitely crying in the theatre again during this scene.
I’m the oldest of four kids who in a sense lost their father during their teen years. Because of the turmoil that we were going through, we had to learn to rely on each other as a unit when so much else seemed like shaky ground. So when I saw this moment of Ian seeing the experiences he’d shared with his brother, it hit home because I remembered how much my siblings and I had leaned on each other in much the same way that Ian and Barley did. None of us became a parent to the others – and I don’t think Barley ever set out to serve as Ian’s did – but the bond of siblingship was a huge anchor for each of us during those formative years. It’s not that Barley took the place of Ian’s dad; I don’t think that’s what the movie was trying to say. I think it’s that when we lose something, we are occasionally very fortunate to have people around us to help make that loss something we can surpass. I miss my father often – but I am so thankful for the support and love that my siblings gave, because they were there for me even though they were annoying sometimes.
Dan Scanlon wrote from a very personal place when directing this film. His own father died when Dan was one year old and his older brother was three. As teenagers, the brothers were given a lost audio recording of their father – and it’s not hard to see the similarities to the plot of Onward. This film is a celebration of the strength in sibling relationships, and I’m so thankful that I got to see it.
Soul (****)
In which Pixar nervously considers how they’ll ever go deeper than this
As existential as they come, Soul is an unpredictable journey that invites young and old to explore the meaning of life.
When I saw the trailers for this film, it seemed like they had left ‘Inside Out’ in the dust to go even deeper into the human condition. Where Inside Out focused on emotion, Soul delves into the essence of humanity – and that’s an ambitious target. For one thing, diving into the realm of what comes before and after our life on Earth is an inherently spiritual task, and that’s risky for a multi-billion-dollar entertainment company to tackle. Pixar gracefully dodged any potential bullets with two quick tricks. First, they focused on “The Great Before” instead of “The Great Beyond”, the former being a safe place to dream because religions don’t really focus on that part too much. By keeping us firmly on one side of “The Great Beyond”, the filmmakers didn’t have to take a stance on what it’s actually like (although the ‘hell’ moment early on in the movie was very funny). Secondly, the only human characters who seemed to have any real understanding of the way the spiritual dimension worked were people that the vast majority of us assume to be crazy. By making the spiritual guru a hippie who doubles as a street sign twirler, no one really has to worry that their personal beliefs won’t be respected or acknowledged. Instead, we all just get to laugh at the guy and enjoy the ride. Great move, Pixar.
As a teacher myself, I really enjoyed following Joe Gardner’s journey. He spends most of the film resenting his role, feeling that his true purpose is instead to play music. But the film makes an important distinction between one’s ‘spark’ and their ‘purpose’. Soul more or less defines one’s ‘spark’ as something that gets you excited about living. They don’t specifically define one’s purpose, although I feel like Gardner’s might be teaching. In any case, Gardner confuses his spark (music) with his purpose (???), and over the course of the film he learns to be a better teacher as he discovers the difference. Seeing the way he helped 22 grow in the end was a perfect example of what teaching should look like. At first, he was wrongly trying to do everything for 22. Then he started encouraging her and equipping her to do it herself. Finally, he got her to the point where she could leave him behind. I really enjoyed that arc.
Beyond the idea of sparks and purposes, I loved this film’s interpretation of ‘the zone’. We all talk about being in ‘the zone’, and I can definitely think of certain activities that put me there. To actualize ‘the zone’ as a metaphysical place was cool enough on its own – but to then show its dark underbelly as a place where souls become stuck in things that keep them from true life…that was really thought provoking. The same fervor that can inspire an author to write a masterpiece can also pull them away from the things that matter most to them. It was really interesting seeing an interpretation of a phenomenon that we’ve all experienced but never really drawn out before. I imagine that many Pixar animators can relate to both sides of ‘the zone’ – they’ve pulled off some incredible animation over the years, but I’ve also heard the stories of the long hours and the relentless schedule. The zone can be wonderful, but it can also be asphyxiating. That’s a message in and of itself.
I can’t stop talking about Soul until I mention how much this film threw me for a loop. Like I said at the beginning of this review, I was expecting more or less a spiritual successor to Inside Out. I figured we’d spend most of the film in “The Great Before”. Instead, we ended up spending most of the film with a man trapped in a cat’s body. I never would’ve expected that – but I loved it. It was a creative twist that led to more wonderful storytelling and great jokes. It’s not often that a film throws me off as much as Soul did when Joe woke up as a cat, but I’m always delighted when it happens. Soul was another great entry in the growing list of Pixar hits, and I walked away wiser than I was before.
Luca (***1/2)
In which it’s the Little Mermaid but in Italy
Simple and charming, Luca’s adventures with Alberto are a classic example of the character-driven formula that Pixar has employed from the very beginning.
At the risk of sounding like a curmudgeon, the thing that separates Pixar films from competitive franchises like Ice Age, Hotel Transylvania, or Despicable Me is their focus on beautiful, cutting-edge animation and stories driven by the tension between characters. If you look at the other franchises I’ve mentioned, you’ll notice the animation tends to be more cartoonish in nature. I don’t mean that as an insult – there’s a time and place for cartoons. You just won’t marvel at a shot of Hotel Transylvania the way you do when watching Coco, for example. Further, the number of jokes and ridiculous characters seems to increase exponentially when you leave Pixar behind. That’s not to say that Pixar doesn’t make funny movies – they very clearly do. But Ice Age’s Sid or Scrat are the kind of characters designed for the sole purpose of making you laugh. They’re not built to be more than that. Cheap comedy isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but it’s definitely something that Pixar tends to steer clear from.
What makes Luca a new page for Pixar is the fact that it’s deliberately not lifelike. The characters are built from flipper-to-forehead like cartoons, with sloping lines and an emphasis on roundness. The end credits show two-dimensional versions of the characters that look like they were taken straight out of a storybook, and that’s what the whole film kind of feels like. Where Soul took painstaking effort to give us a New York City that felt almost too real, Luca was happy to leave its Italian villa as a fantastical location. Given the story that this film sets out to tell, it makes a lot of sense. Luca isn’t trying to show us wild new worlds like Onward, Wall-e or The Good Dinosaur was. It’s a summer vacation kind of movie – a film about the opportunities that an abandoned building by the beach can create for a few kids. On the whole, it feels smaller than previous Pixar films – and I don’t mean that in a bad way.
On that note, this film’s ‘smallness’ meant that it didn’t take us to the darkest corners of its world. Toy Story 3, Inside Out, and Monsters Inc. weren’t afraid to get dangerous. Woody almost got fried to a crisp, Riley almost ran away from home, and Boo almost got the screams sucked right out of her. Big emotional stakes are crucial for effective storytelling, so this makes sense. To that end, when Luca’s uncle came by to take him away to ‘the deep’, I figured our third act would have Luca dragged down there to represent his moment of greatest despair. But we never actually saw ‘the deep’. This film wasn’t concerned with exposing its protagonist to his greatest fear. With single-mindedness, Luca focused only on the relationship between two young boys and their growth as individuals. I think the lack of life-and-death danger in this film kept the narrative safer than many Pixar films before it, but the film didn’t need to threaten these kids’ lives in order to tell a good story. The emotional stakes were instead rooted in the friendship of Luca and Alberto.
I can’t tell you how many articles I’ve already seen in the 24 hours since Luca was released that highlight the parallels between this film and ‘Call Me By Your Name’. I haven’t seen that one, but evidently it’s about a young gay couple in Italy. It’s not a stretch to view this film through that lens. Alberto and Luca are just trying to have a good time, but they’ve both got this big secret that could get them in a lot of trouble. By the end of the film, the people of the town have become tolerant of Luca’s ‘otherness’, although one character admits that some people will never accept him because of it. The very first trailer for this film made me wonder if Pixar was going to be heading in this direction, but by the time the credits roll, there hasn’t been a single explicit reference to the LGBT+ community. This will no doubt frustrate some and relieve others. Acceptance and endorsement of LGBT+ culture has only become more prevalent in Western life during my time on Earth, so I wouldn’t be surprised if some call Pixar ‘chicken’ for not taking the plunge. At the same time, a significant chunk of Pixar’s target demographic may not be as politically correct as some would like. I could talk back and forth about why Pixar did or did not dodge the LGBT+ topic in this film, but I’d like to highlight something else instead, if you’ll let me.
Back when I reviewed Lord of the Rings, I lamented the fact that there have been so many interpretations of Frodo and Sam as a gay couple. My reasoning was primarily because doing so restricts our understanding of human intimacy to romantic love and romantic love alone. Frodo and Sam can’t hug like that unless they’re gay. They can’t open up to each other like that unless they’re gay. Maybe it’s fun for some to talk like this, but what they’re really doing is saying that they’re unable to attribute closeness and vulnerability to a non-sexual relationship. I think that’s narrow-minded and even dangerous thinking. What if the only people you could open up to were people you were romantically interested in? That doesn’t sound healthy to me.
There are enough signals in this film to make an LGBT+ lens meaningful, but it certainly does not demand that kind of interpretation. Luca can very easily be a film about two young boys who are just learning about growing up. Luca thinks Alberto is a shining star – a beacon of knowledge, charisma, and worldliness. He needs that because he desires all of those qualities for himself. Alberto, on the other hand, thinks Luca is someone who can give him the attention he craves. As we find out later in the film, Alberto doesn’t have a family. Being able to take Luca under his wing gives Alberto the opportunity to have a friend for the first time in a long time. As much as we see Luca’s timid adoration of Alberto, we also see Alberto’s desperation to be adored. I honestly related to that on a major level. Alberto wanted to be the person that Luca thought he was. As the oldest of four siblings, I’ve spent a big chunk of my life thus far trying to be like Alberto – the fun-loving guy who’s been around enough to know where all the excitement is. But Alberto’s need for companionship actually begins to cloud his judgement, and his desire turns harmful when Luca starts finding other friends. There’s a lot of relational complexity in this film to begin with – adding a romantic element is possible (even preferable to some) but certainly not necessary. The director Enrico Casarosa himself said he based this film off of formative relationships of his own as a young boy:
“Childhood friendships often set the course of who we want to become,” he said. “It is those bonds that are at the heart of our story.” Maybe Casarosa knew that his story would be taken different ways by different people, but his comments don’t seem to indicate that he set out to tell an ambiguous or unambitious story. Read into it how you will, but Luca will remain the vacation that we all desperately needed this year.
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