Lego, You Dastardly Fiend and Destroyer of My Hopes and Dreams. (Also: Review of The Lego Movie)

In my living room a few weekends back, I found my little brother, Ben, in quite a state. He was sitting on the sofa with eyes glued to the TV, as little brothers are wont to do. And he was laughing hysterically. Intrigued, I took a seat next to him to see what all the fuss was about. What I saw blew my mind.

You see, my brother was watching The Lego Movie. I scoffed at first, dismissing it as a shameless piece of marketing excrement. Then I became sad. How could Lego, the colorful and wholesome joy-manufacturer of my youth, stoop so low? Had the corporation resorted to infomercials half-disguised as films to capture the hearts and dollars of today's children?
My misery was sorely misguided. As I sat on the couch, I found The Lego Movie to be as creative as my image of the company had promised it to be and as hilarious as my brothers laughter had caused it to seem. Most importantly, it was a real film with a genuine message. Until it wasn't.

The Lego Movie is about a villain, Lord Business, who plots to use a weaponized tube of superglue to stick every existing Lego creation together, so that no one can use Lego bricks to build original inventions. In doing so, he hopes to make everybody follow the instructions.

The task of stopping Lord Business' nefarious plan falls to a construction worker (a Lego figure, as is Lord Business and everyone else in the movie), Emmet, and his gang of "Master Builders." Although Emmet is ordinary in appearance, his  strength lies in his ability to make Lego creations out of random pieces. The message Lego seemed to be promoting? The beauty of Lego lies in the imaginations of young builders. Think outside of the box (or instruction booklet), and rebel against the corporate interests that want you to assemble sets and leave them untouched so you have to buy new ones.

Such a message is bold and refreshing when considered in light of Lego's business strategy. These days, Lego hardly even sells the standard, interlocking building blocks that have become equivocated with the brand's name (that's right: those little rectangular pieces are interlocking building blocks, not "Legos." Mega Blox is a thing). Large tubs of assorted pieces, once blank canvases for creativity, are only available at special "Lego Stores". Lego mostly sells sets. These sets are kits with the pieces and instructions for assembling a specific design, usually of a vehicle or structure from one of the Lego cartoons that air on Cartoon Network. The cartoons are set in universes in which everything is made out of Lego blocks, and their function is to get kids hooked on the story so that they will buy the corresponding sets. My brother, for example, is an avid fan of the Lego cartoon Ninjago. Not coincidentally, he is also the owner of many Ninjago sets: among them Dragon-mobiles, sinister skeleton-castles, and figurines of each of the show's ninjas. Because the medium of the cartoons are the toys themselves, the shows are really just entertaining infomercials. From a business standpoint, it's an ingenious design.

Considering Lego's corruptness, I first thought The Lego Movie to be confessional. Here Lego was, admitting to its corporate sins by representing itself as the malicious Lord Business. "We know what we have become," the film seemed to be saying. "And we will atone for our evils by ceasing to sell sets; by ceasing to entrap builders with the temptations of instructional booklets. We will put the reins back into the hands of the builder. Forgive us!"

This made me very emotional. For a time, The Lego Movie restored my belief that corporations - and people - are capable of good. And then, some days later, I walked into Target. You'll never guess what I found.

Lego Movie sets! In the toy section. How evil! How hypocritical! How entirely foul. The message behind The Lego Movie, as it turned out, was nothing but a sham. It was the infomercial I had first expected it to be. And yet, how I ought to have seen this coming. Lego - the company that I idolized, came to dislike, and then briefly hailed as the token of all things good and holy - had failed me. They incorporated a film about resisting commercial influences into their big bad business machine. Detestable.

Never again will I refer to interlocking building blocks as "Legos." Come to think of it, I like Mega Blox better anyways.