I was the right age to play with Barbie dolls when they were first introduced to little girls. But my mother wanted no part of these “teen” fashion dolls with their garishly painted faces and highly exaggerated proportions, and I tended to agree with her. Personally, I remained content to continue building my “family” of 8-inch Madam Alexander cuties who looked more like me.
Still, I’ve been unable to ignore all the hype surrounding the new Barbie movie. I’d hardly be interested in a flick that simply exalted the plastic pal of so many girls of my era. But I was certain that writer/director Greta Gerwig—whose off-center take on Little Women (2019) is a worthy addition to the Louisa May Alcott canon—would have something interesting to say. And, hey, I was right.
Gerwig (and her writing-and-life partner Noah Baumbach) can’t be accused of lacking ambition. The film’s early scenes are an hilarious re-creation of Barbieland, where all the buildings are pink and all the important jobs (doctor, judge, astronaut, President) are filled by Barbie clones who are simultaneously brainy and beautiful . . . and of course very well dressed. Ken is here too: amiable, not too bright, and generally outfitted for the beach. Before the role-reversal joke can wear out, Stereotypical Barbie (a perfectly-cast Margot Robbie) finds herself starting to feel actual human emotions, and heads to the Real World to figure out what’s going on. Her trip to Southern California puts her in contact, for the first time, with male misogyny, while the tag-along Ken (Ryan Gosling) discovers that toxic masculinity—complete with cowboy duds and horses—might improve his lot in life. (A column by Jean Guerrero in yesterday’s Los Angeles Times focuses on the film’s quiet recognition that the rules for today’s men, as well as today’s women, might be overdue for a makeover. She urges that we all adopt “Kenpathy” for guys who would rather not be male chauvinists but know no other path.)
There are many details in this film that are genuinely funny, like the fact that Barbie’s moment of truth comes when she discovers she can no longer habitually perch on the balls of her feet, the better to model stilettos. I also loved the presence of Weird Barbie (Kate McKinnon), whose hacked off hair and grotesquely painted features show her to be the victim of some sadistic little human girl’s lurid imagination. The candy-colored enticements of Barbieland should win art-direction love at Oscar time. But I was also amused at the fact that Barbie’s native habitat is set against my own hometown, Santa Monica, which in the film looks equally idyllic and—Gerwig suggests— almost equally plastic. There’s a hilarious moment when narrator Helen Mirren suddenly bursts into the story to comment on a casting matter, and Robbie’s film-ending line is both provocative and smart.
Speaking of smart, there’s the interweaving in the plot of a sympathetic human mother (America Ferrera) and daughter (Ariana Greenblatt) with strongly mixed emotions about the Barbie world. And I loved the acknowledgment of Ruth Handler, played in the film by a delightfully appealing Rhea Pearlman, as both Barbie’s original “mother” and a strong businesswoman with a billion-dollar idea. The film, in addition to all its ideas about female empowerment, is open to acknowledging the sheer goofiness of the Barbie empire, which once briefly included a pregnant friend for Barbie, as well as a little-girl doll who grows before your eyes into an adult body, and a Barbie with a television screen embedded in her posterior. Oh well, back to the drawing board.
No comments:
Post a Comment