The theater was half-empty and a review embargo lifted into an uncertain world. I sat in that quiet lobby and watched people scroll headlines instead of buying popcorn. You felt the instant tilt: prestige releases suddenly reduced to algorithm fodder.
I’m going to tell you something simple and a little stubborn: Pixar didn’t fall off a cliff after 2019. You can see the pattern if you stop treating box office panic as the story and instead read the films, the critics, and the audience roll-call. I’ll show you what the numbers miss, where perception came from, and why the word “slip” is the wrong headline.
A theater lobby in March 2020 went quiet. That moment changed how films were judged — but not how good they were.
When Onward opened on March 6, 2020, the world closed its doors days later. The movie never found the playing field it was built for: big screens and collective gasps. Box office suffered for reasons unrelated to craft, yet the film holds an 88% critics score and 95% audience score on Rotten Tomatoes. You can’t argue with those numbers if you’re trying to measure quality.
Streaming became a badge of second-class status. The reality was more complicated and more human.
Disney+ suddenly became the premiere for three Pixar films — Soul, Luca, and Turning Red. When a film built for IMAX lands in your living room, social signaling says it’s “less than.” Review aggregators didn’t agree: Soul sits at 95% critics / 88% audience, Luca at 91% / 85%, and Turning Red at 95% / 67% (the audience split there is an entirely separate conversation about expectations).
These movies found acclaim on Rotten Tomatoes and love from fans who saw them. The platform shift hurt perception more than it harmed the work. In short, the forum changed; the films did not.
Has Pixar gotten worse?
No. The evidence lives in critics’ ratings, audience scores, and the creative risks directors like Pete Docter and Domee Shi took. The world around theatrical distribution collapsed, and people equated changed release strategies with reduced quality. That’s a cognitive shortcut, not a verdict.
A confusing marketing push in 2022 left an expensive film stranded. Marketing can sink goodwill faster than a bad review.
Lightyear was the first big theatrical gamble post-shutdown and it misfired commercially. Confusing premise and mixed marketing led to roughly $226 million (~€208 million) worldwide — at the time Pixar’s weakest non-pandemic box office showing. Critics gave it 74% and audiences 84%, which says it’s a decent film that failed to find its audience.
I defend that swing. The film took creative risks and expanded the franchise’s vocabulary. Not every bold move lands, but the attempt matters. The studio is learning, adjusting, and trying new storytelling tools — some will land, some won’t.
Why did Lightyear underperform?
Because the product and the pitch didn’t match the public’s mental model of what a “Buzz Lightyear movie” should be. Add a post-pandemic box office wary of new concepts, and you have a deficit of audience trust. Marketing, not quality, was the biggest casualty.
An opening weekend rumor can become a headline. Small starts can blossom if audiences evangelize.
Elemental opened to a modest $29 million (~€27 million) weekend and many assumed the studio’s decline was permanent. Then word-of-mouth did the work. Audience enthusiasm pushed the film toward nearly $500 million (~€460 million) worldwide, and it ended with a 73% critics score and 93% audience approval. That’s organic momentum: people recommending a film to people who trust them.
This is where social proof and fandom matter more than pre-release PR. A positive cluster of viewers can tilt a film’s fate — and Pixar has a track record of creating those clusters.
A record-breaking sequel proved the skepticism premature. When a sequel becomes a cultural event, the argument ends.
Inside Out 2 exploded into the cultural conversation and became Pixar’s highest-grossing movie with about $1.7 billion (~€1.6 billion) worldwide, and it earned 91% from critics and 94% from audiences on Rotten Tomatoes. That’s not salvageable reputation — that’s dominant cultural momentum.
Then came Elio, which quietly became the studio’s lowest-grossing non-pandemic release at roughly $154 million (~€142 million). But here’s the key: critics and audiences liked it — 83% and 89% respectively. Once again, theatrical returns and artistic reception diverged.
Is Pixar still making great films?
Yes. Critics and audiences keep giving high marks. Rotten Tomatoes, IMDB ratings, and the creative resumes of directors like Pete Docter, Dan Scanlon, and Domee Shi all point to continued excellence. What wavers is the business model for releases and the public’s patience with new marketing language.
I’ll hand you two observations: first, the studio has been experimenting with narrative scale and genre in ways that other major animation houses avoid. Second, the audience’s memory is short — a few box office flops become a story faster than a steady run of good films becomes a narrative.
A festival lineup of mixed receptions can look scattershot on a headline board. The deeper view is coherent.
From 1995 through 2010, Pixar set a bar that makes any later run look stingy by comparison. But evaluate films on craft and response — not on the noise of the box office tabloid cycle — and the picture changes. You’ll see consistent critical praise, daring directorial choices, and films that dialogue with audiences on emotional intelligence in ways few studios attempt.
Think of Pixar’s recent output as experimentation inside a laboratory that occasionally releases a public triumph. The lab has messes, true, but it also produces masterpieces. Like a magician pulling new rabbits from an old hat, the practice keeps producing surprises. The studio’s output felt like a mountain of gold panned into many small nuggets — some gleaming more obviously than others.
Why do critics and audiences sometimes disagree?
Because critics evaluate craft and innovation; audiences weigh expectation, nostalgia, and marketing signals. Rotten Tomatoes and social platforms like Twitter and Reddit amplify both votes and voices, skewing perception toward the loudest opinions. That discord creates the illusion of decline when, in fact, the majority of films are still highly-rated.
You can use Box Office Mojo, Rotten Tomatoes, and the MPAA release logs to verify this for yourself. Follow directors’ names on industry trackers and you’ll see a lineage of talent that keeps producing ambitious work.
So here’s my short take: Pixar didn’t vanish — its context did. The pandemic, streaming choices, marketing stumbles, and a few underperformers created a rumor of decline. The films themselves tell a different story: steady critical praise, audience love for many entries, and a studio still willing to swing for something new. Are you ready to defend that thesis at your next water cooler debate?