BARBIE

"Don't blame me, blame Mattel. I don't care." - Weird Barbie

The date is March 9, 1959. The American International Toy Fair opens its yearly trade show in New York City’s Jacob K. Javits convention center, known to industry professionals and retailers as the largest toy trade show in the Western hemisphere. There, among the stalls and shelves of new toys, sits an 11-inch plastic doll adorned with a black-and-white striped zebra swimsuit, full face of makeup, painted nails, and signature ponytail (in either blonde or brunette). Marketed as a “Teenage fashion model,” Barbie and her smooth, porcelain skin covers her revolutionary protruding breasts, missing genitalia, and picture perfect bodily proportions. The future of body dysmorphia, unrealistic feminist ideals, toxic gender norms, and sexually exploitative female consumerism all wrapped up in a plastic box for an affordable $3.00. Barbie has officially made her societal debut.

Barbie’s cultural divisiveness ignited heated conversation because of her breezy perfectionist persona adorned in unattainable beauty standards and an unbreakable can-do attitude. Need a scientist? Barbie can do that! Want to be the first woman president? Barbie already beat you to it! Anything you can think of, Barbie can achieve, all while sporting the glossiest wardrobe, a snatched waist, and a flawless perm. Naturally when Barbie was announced, many rightfully feared a potential Mattel apologist appeal and a convoluted commercial campaign to purify their image. Greta Gerwig–the film’s director–typically implements her own feminist voice in her works, and who better to bring Barbie and her egregious transgressions on societal consumerism standards to her knees (starting in 1965 with bendable leg Barbie)? Can Gerwig turn a harmful, impossibly seamless replica of womanhood into an imperfect, relatable feminist icon?

Barbie opens with a satirical ode to the “dawn of man” sequence in 2001: A Space Odyssey, alluding to Gerwig’s pop-culture literacy caked into pastel layers at every turn. As the girls (instead of apes) smash their dolls in vowed allegiance to their towering new matriarch, the bubble-gum, polychromatic hued paradise of Barbie Land shifts into view. Stereotypical Barbie (Margot Robbie) wakes up in her open-faced Barbie Dreamhouse, waving to her fellow barbie neighbors with their pristine white smiles, perfect skin, and perpetually quaffed hair. Among hand-painted mountain backdrops, her home sports a wall-less interior with modern, sleek furnishings and toy-esque decor among the fuchsia-lathered walls and Palm Springs inspired yards. Several 2-dimensional appliances and refrigerator items reflect the realistic home-style products that accompanied Barbie throughout her years of capitalistic supremacy because Barbie doesn’t cook, the humans who wielded her did.

Barbie gets dressed, a process where her wardrobe is chosen for her and magically appears on her body when she opens her clear, exposed closet. She goes about her morning routine with a shower (with no actual water), her toast and butter (that perfectly flies out of her toaster onto her plate) and slides down her rooftop slide into her deceptively illusioned pool cut-out. Everyday in Barbie Land is a brilliant plastic utopia, the top-notch production design feigned no CGI; every building and velvet-clad yard built in the Warner Bros studio was a life-like imitation of previously sold Barbie merchandise. This artistry does not go unnoticed, and because of its nostalgic ingenuity, Barbie Land feels like its own imperative cerebral character. Every prop ranging from Barbie’s transportation methods, such as her car and bike, to every outfit she donned (even including a beach scene with an ambulance) included a previously, or currently, sold Mattel Barbie product; Gerwig always does her homework.

This playmate-approved wonderland runs on girly-pop tunes, cheerful greetings, and hollywood-style dance numbers, fueling an idyllic, blissful reality. Women set societal standards and make up the entire supreme court, as well as the presidency. Optically, this is how Barbie views the world; an empowering matriarchy of diverse women succeeding in the workplace and embodying a visionary representation of swapped gender roles. Perhaps this is the vision Mattel had for Barbie’s impact, instead of the damaging, money-hungry decades the doll’s dominance cemented in femme culture, and so that is the esoteric reality Barbie Land maintains. The introduction of Ken (Ryan Gosling), Barbie’s ultimate accessory and sidekick desperately vying for her attention and approval, completes the male-subservient, woman-centric universe.

Barbie’s script is chalk-full of one-liners and hilarious zingers that saturate the film’s levity and playful essence. Each Barbie basks in their conflict-free haven, blissfully unaware of the Kens’ blindly accepted infinitesimalism, admitting they don't even know where they live. Stereotypical Barbie’s predictably perfect universe betrays her when she starts having thoughts of death and her feet–molded to only fit heels–become flat (gasps from other Barbies humorously state this is a horrific occurrence). Braving the journey to the Weird Barbie’s (Kate Mckinnon) home, a concept of what happens when girls play too rough with their Barbie and leave them mangled, she’s told her solution lay in the real world, only if she chooses the Birkenstocks. She sets off on her adventure, another production design triumph, with Ken’s plea to accompany her, because who is Ken without Barbie?

Upon their arrival to Los Angeles, Barbie quickly discovers sexism and Ken lovingly discovers the Patriarchy; opposing revelations that generate further comedic platitudes and newly surfaced enlightenment. Ken adapts seamlessly, embracing his newfound understanding of male superiority, giddily witnessing men disrespecting women and acquiring a job simply by being a man. Barbie’s realization strikes a more despairing chord as she sits on a bench soaking in the sounds of human interaction and the breeze billowing in the trees. An old woman sits beside her and Barbie says “you’re beautiful,” becoming her first exposure to humanness and the emotionally turbulent experience that comes with it. She’s exposed to her negative impact on women, catcalling, and that Mattel, her maker, is run entirely by men. She feels deeply confused by the skewed societal structure she knows back home as she flees from the clutches of Mattel board members (another side-stitching sequence of comedy gold). The burden of discrimination and gender disparities weighs heavily on Barbie’s shoulders, and through the haze of laughable gags thus far, a deeper, conceptualized acknowledgment arises as Gerwig navigates the implemented tonal shift; that the world is an unfair, polarizing place.

Barbie at its core is a humorously crafted criticism. The power dynamic of social structures remains obvious; men put women into boxes and lay claim to historically male-dominated corporate arrangements. Nuance and subtlety is the usual route in relaying something profoundly groundbreaking, but Gerwig selected a louder form of communication. No gender was left unscathed– the Barbies’ dismissiveness toward the Kens and the real world’s blatant mistreatment of women (along with America Ferrera’s powerful monologue explaining the impossibility of balancing scorn from both genders). The feminist agenda and political overtness was unapologetically hounded into every facet; not very open to interpretation. Gerwig served her message on a pink platter piled high with Mattel accountability and human fallacy. Why hide behind layered metaphors and expected minimalism? Why not scream your views from the mountain tops about injustices still insidiously prevalent in society? Why not have a blatantly transparent message when clearly coded allegories haven’t worked? Holding back was never an option for Gerwig; all the cards of silenced women are thrown on the table. Now THAT is feminism.

The hypocrisy of gender roles blares when Barbie returns to Barbie Land and finds Ken has influenced all parties into a patriarchal mirror of the real world; horses adapted as the symbol of masculinity (further jokes ensue). Manipulation tactics are in order to break the Barbies free from their male-influenced trance, following several scenes where the Barbies play into the ingrained needs of men to succeed. Gerwig’s prowess shines, subliminally exposing the learned nature women perform to appease the male ego. Ken’s story arc crescendos like a fine-toothed comb when the Barbies regain control, admitting he did it all for her and he is nothing without Barbie; a mere trinket created in her shadow (a capitalist dig). Ken represents the generations of implanted subservience bestowed upon women: a shackled lifetime of lesser value and service to the whims of men. His self-actualization nails Gerwig’s intended landing as Ken beams with self-reliance and a new hunger for identity.

Almost shrouded in self-reflection and internal struggles, the greatest journey of autonomy belongs to Barbie. Being almost outshined in the latter half of the film, Barbie’s shedded naivety manifests physically as she slowly becomes more “plain” with gradually less make up, flatter hair, and humbled demeanor. Robbie flawlessly embodies the transformation from affable, bubbly Barbie to a woman wrought with unveiled real-world hardships. Barbie fights for her fellow Barbies, helps introduce Ken to his own potential, and reunites a crumbling mother/daughter relationship, but it's not enough for her. She recognizes her desire to be more than a beacon of girlish fervor and a symbolic idea. This is the Barbie Mattel envisioned, a status symbol of beauty and achievement aware of her flaws and the imbalances of the world and still shoulders humanity anyway. Be angry at the industrial complex, rage against corporate America, and protest empty capitalism or Mattel themselves (with literal permission), but don’t be angry at Barbie. After all, she is a product of her own environment, as are humans a product of theirs.