In a scene from Greta Gerwig’s Barbie, a life-infused doll in ‘Barbieland’ claims: “Thanks to Barbie, the problems of feminism and inequality have been solved.” It’s an early coda to the dismantling-of-a-myth that takes us from the make-believe place of toy manufacturer Mattle’s beloved ‘dollscape’ to reality and back in the film.
In both worlds, the character/doll represents a formative question. Is Barbie, the doll, a liberally traded monstrosity or is she more of a caged tragedy in Barbieland, where she is herself but without the potentially liberating idea of everything else she could have been?
Directed by Greta Gerwig, Barbie, is a feminist odyssey that strips the material idea of a doll to detach it from the burden of conformity that the pink filter of her many versions come to represent. It’s goofy, hilarious, sweet and sharp.
Margot Robbie plays ‘stereotypical Barbie’, the one true queen of Barbieland, who lives alongside equal, but less-celebrated versions of herself. There is Doctor Barbie, President Barbie, and the ostracized, Weird (euphemism for ugly) Barbie. The fact that the prettiest but dumbest Barbie rules this surreal place has vulgarity and ostentatiousness baked right into the loaf of the film’s first spread of narrative. Robbie plays Barbie with just the right balance of naivety and sensual charm, as the object of both derision and empathy. It’s a tricky role that Robbie pulls off with ease. There is also, of course, Ken, played by a mesmeric Ryan Gosling, who threatens to, at times against the pronounced intent of the film, run away with the film. All Kens in Barbieland are obviously in love with Barbie.
After she has existential visions about a woman who is unhappy with her doll in the real world, stereotypical Barbie must travel to reality, to suture the time-reality-space-crack thing that has opened up. The technicality of it all is neither important nor is it afforded any attention. Instead, Barbie focuses on its political messaging, through a ragged, bubble-gum approach to satire. Barbie and Ken head into the real world, where they ‘find themselves’, for both good and bad. Barbie learns about her lack of agency, the fact that her existence as a symbol of feminine beauty has maybe done more harm than good. A mother-daughter duo plays the reflective mirror for this epiphany to eventually take shape. Ken, forever a second citizen in Barbieland, on the other hand learns the ways of pompous men. “The Patriarchy Wins,” he chimes gleefully, after consuming steroidal cultural tickers like monster trucks, overlong fur coats and posters of Sylvester Stallone looking like he will eat your eyes with his abs.
A stand-off ensues, as Ken colonizes Barbieland with ideas inspired by ‘the patriarchy’. Barbie returns, crushed by the realization that her original, privileged form exists as a consequence of entitlement, and not endeavour. The kind of entitlement that feeds off of validation. To restore the constitution of Barbieland, the Barbies hatch a predictable plan that is more of a spoof than a carefully thought-through decimation of the ideals that spawn toxic men. But you don’t mind it, not for a minute, because the jokes, the emphasized wackness of it all, melts whatever philosophical roadblock or common sense threatens to get in the way of entertainment. Gosling and Robbie are ably assisted by scene-stealing performances by Will Ferrell who plays Mattle’s sexist CEO, and Michael Cera as a typically nervous man in Alan. There’s even a lovely cameo by John Cena.
Of the many things that Gerwig gets right, are the broad, elaborate performances that lift a world dripping with candy and punctuated by still-life, to a place of elastic moral reckonings. You could easily deduce the film’s deathly pink design, its overall spun sugar texture, for a kind of dystopia where self-doubt is both the lock and the key. But Gerwig manages to hold together both ideas, balancing the unenvious act of representing beauty but also using its most obvious image (at one point the film breaks the third wall to actually comment on Robbie) to exact a satisfying socio-political end. And end where Barbie becomes the inventor of things, as opposed to being the invention.
Not necessarily a flaw but Barbie echoes Wes Anderson’s peculiar textures that supply a firm visual grammar. To populate these high-contrast worlds, such ballast of colour and vivid topography, actors must become opaque, tactile things as opposed to elusive, indeterminable threads. To which effect, nothing in Barbie comes out of left field, and takes you by surprise. The rug, to speak of, is never quite pulled from under your feet. You’d be washed over by the adolescent charm of the messaging, but your gut stands no risk of being punched. Whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing, is a matter of humble opinion. This after all is a brand film, pedalled by a corporate company, as an attempt to reconfigure a dated image. Which it kind of does, should the past not be a thing of actual woe.
Also read: Barbiecore is not surprising. We love pink in nature, too
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