Few media phenomena in recent years have generated the cultural impact and attention brought by the Barbie movie, particularly when its release is juxtaposed with its generic and personal opposite, Oppenheimer. The former is a vibrant, funny, lighthearted personification of a beloved children’s toy at the helm of a still-up-and-coming director (albeit well-loved in niche circles) known for her intensely character-driven dramedies with deeply personalized characters at their center. The latter is a dark, brooding, tense intellectual biopic of an equally misunderstood and controversial historical figure, captained by a culturally and critically beloved directorial powerhouse, whose boundary-pushing technical prowess and ingenuity frequently puts character study in the back seat, and has a filmography that (arguably) solidifies his status on the Mount Rushmore of Directors. Thus, the pungent double-feature cocktail known as Barbenheimer is born.
Indeed, even the popular reaction to each film has been as starkly contrasted as their subject matter. One is being described as either an impactful, necessary, game-changing, important landmark in cultural and political history, meant to be studied for ages; or a deeply spiteful, unnecessary, divisive piece of destruction that, while popular now, will later be viewed for the absolute mistake that it always was. The other is receiving nothing more than echoes of the banal consensus, “Oppenheimer is good!”
Since its release, the internet has been flooded with polarizing hot takes about whether Barbie is wonderful or lousy; whether it’s nothing more than a man-hating feminist’s wet dream, an insightfully wonderful exploration of womanhood, or something more Straussian. This phenomenon is ripe for a meta-analysis by more erudite cultural observers, but doing so would be missing the forest for the trees. There is something nobody ranting or raving about Barbie seems to want to say; namely, that it’s none of these things.
It’s clear to anyone—even those who haven’t seen it—that Barbie was made with incredible love and affection for the toy, even if not for Mattel itself. The set, production design, costumes, colors, and direction were all executed with perfection, bringing the barbies and “Barbieland” to life in the most fun, glowing way possible. When living a day in the life of Barbie—from her dream house to her car and many outfit changes—the fondness and nostalgia for older audience members are quickly cranked to 11.
All of this is aided by a pitch-perfect main cast, with Ryan Gosling stealing every scene he is in. Whether he’s utilizing his comedic chops, dramatic edges, or his singing and dancing abilities, there is simply nothing that the man cannot do. Similarly, Margot Robbie brings a portrayal of Stereotypical Barbie (henceforth known as just Barbie) that could not be matched by another living actress. As a bonus, Kate McKinnon shines in her supporting role in a cast where impactful peripheral characters are broadly lacking.
There is no doubt in my mind that Greta Gerwig and Noah Baumbach are talented writers. Be it Frances Ha and Lady Bird or The Squid and the Whale and Marriage Story, they have repeatedly shown that their screenwriting prowess is a strong addition to their directing skills. Barbie has a consistent comedic tone and is even hilarious at times. Both Barbie and Ken are interesting, fun characters, and are explored very effectively. However, Gerwig and Baumbach choosing to co-write Barbie proved to be too many cooks in the kitchen, as neither of their unique styles can shine here.
Gerwig and Baumbach have both expertly tackled difficult themes in complex ways in their previous films, and Barbie is no different. It explores messages of femininity, patriarchal society, motherhood, and the human experience in a child-accessible format. Yet the humor—while landing—often overstays its welcome. The themes—while pertinent—are unnecessarily bombastic and shallowly endeavored. Additionally, this script requires a narrative structure that neither of them has explored at great length, and it shows.
From a technical perspective, narrative issues are peppered throughout Barbie. The motivations and actions of several characters—such as the board members at Mattel—make little-to-no sense and are inconsequential. (I would have cut them from the movie entirely.) The inciting incident opens numerous questions that will never be answered. There are several endings, none of which are emotionally adequate, that do little more than drag the runtime. Major—and minor—conflicts are resolved in contrived and silly ways, and explanations behind some characters’ changing behaviors grind the story to a halt. Upon deeper inspection, the narrative is, frankly, a mess, and the result is damaging to the movie’s message.
On a thematic level, it is easy to see how audiences—whether they view it as a positive or negative—see Barbie as nothing more than a springboard for a basic girl-power, men-are-trash, anti-patriarchal crusade. And to their credit, the script openly uses the word “patriarchy” numerous times. Additionally, Barbieland is entirely run by women and operates as an effective utopia, whereas the real world is run by men and is rife with sexism, filth, and general crudeness. Just as Ken is an accessory to Barbie, real-world women are relegated to the sidelines of public life entirely.
This culminates with Ken reading patriarchal literature and using what he learns to transform Barbieland into Kendom—a man’s ideal world, complete with nonstop beer-drinking, incoherent slang, nothing-but-cowboys décor, and boorish behavior toward their barbies, who quickly become maid-outfit-wearing beer-servers. Yes, on its surface, Barbie’s messaging is about as lopsided as a tennis match between myself and Novak Djokovic. Yet I left the theater contemplating what Barbie was trying to say about a much more nuanced, longstanding axiom: men and women need each other.
The core tenant of the Kendom—aside from its bevy of mojo dojo casa houses—is its unbridled male energy. Shirtless volleyball, ridiculous outfits, sunglasses inside, gratuitous violence, and never-ending alcohol-induced discourse about sports, money, and The Godfather. Yet instead of seeing the Kendom as a scathing indictment of men, I saw it as a charming riff on the behaviors that men ineffably enjoy. Indeed, the problem with the Kendom is not its maleness, but its unbridled maleness. When the values and behaviors of one sex comes at the expense of the other, half the population is inevitably left behind.
We see this sentiment mirrored with Ken at the start of the film, whose hapless life in Barbieland leaves him with nothing to do aside from trying to get Barbie to notice him (when he’s not jealously starting “beach-off” fights with the other Kens). Unfortunately, Barbie does not mirror his sentiments, regularly shoving him aside physically as much as emotionally. Ken dreams of a world, not where men are in charge, but where he can have purpose and be treated with decency. It’s no wonder that the testosterone-laden Kendom becomes a paradise for men who live in a world where “every night is girls’ night.”
Unfortunately, Barbie’s narrative issues overshadow these resonating themes about the human experience. While Ken’s character arc is demonstrated through his actions, Barbie is effectively deprived of agency. The plot happens to her instead of her motivations and actions driving plot, much to the movie’s detriment. This mishap reaches catastrophic levels when America Ferrera’s "Gloria"—who we have little investment in—performs a very long monologue about the impossibilities of being a woman (a la Gloria Steinem seminars). During her speech, I only had one question: why isn’t Barbie saying this?
Barbie becomes such an afterthought in her own movie that she is not permitted to impart any wisdom on the other barbies after she spends half the film having literally other-worldly experiences. The fact that she plays a tertiary role in restoring Barbieland to glory is no less than inexcusable. Yet the fact that Barbie is not giving the climactic speech isn’t the chief issue; it’s that the film culminates in a ham-fisted speech in the first place. Gerwig and Baumbach showed their strong ability to tell stories through action in Ken’s arc, but that is left in the shadows of the spotlighted, “Yas, Queen!” soliloquy. One that upends the entire narrative and does little more than serve as fodder for Barbie’s loudest and most irritating lovers and haters.
In the end, Barbie isn’t simply an anti-man, anti-family hate letter to Mattel or to men or to anyone else. It also isn’t a beautiful, masterful exploration of femininity, womanhood, and motherhood. It is, however, a fun, colorful, heartwarming, and poignant story that was excellently crafted, shakily written, and expertly marketed. Warts and all, it has a lot more to say than any of us would have expected.
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