If there is someone out there so far off the grid to have not encountered the tableau of a blonde cowgirl bombshell and a rollerblading surveyor of the beach, it should be documented as a resume achievement on the level of a Nobel Peace Prize, something Barbie’s release date partner even failed to secure. Barbie has managed to become a social spectacle of the highest order catapulting across the public consciousness on a meticulously shaped marketing campaign that broke down mainstream doorways, painting its path in neon pink along the way. Unfortunately for Greta Gerwig and company, that omnipresence reveals a central fact that holds the film never closer than an arm’s length away—the first and foremost priority of the project’s existence is the capital, ethical, and commercial goals of its parent IP.

The entry point for Barbie to be recontextualized in a 2023 lens, given the significance of Mattel’s corporate invasion of sociopolitical gender dynamics spanning decades worth of hypocrisy and contradictions in the spheres of feminism, misogyny, and female body image, was always going to be a precarious tightrope. While Gerwig may very well be the most distinguished and appropriate voice to attempt to thread the needle between commercial branding, artistic individualism, and feminist theory, the result is an overstuffed conglomeration preoccupied with delivering a ceaseless series of marketable moments with TikTok-viral aspirations out prioritizing substantial text. 

In reality, this crowded lineup of surface-level humor acts as a facade to distill the ramifications of Barbie’s global bastardization of female body image that has permanently contributed to the trajectory of a patriarchal system that seeps into every corner of society. Gerwig and Baumbach, as co-writers, give the perception that they pull no punches in their dissection of the patriarchy utilizing its central protagonists as a soundboard to denounce the power that men are inherently and cyclically granted. This dismantling, however, deteriorates in an ending that refuses to acknowledge and contend with the damages of Ken’s (Ryan Gosling) actions, akin to that of Mattel themselves.

Only a teenage girl in a visceral stream-of-consciousness outpouring of vitriol is able to say anything of value against the actions of its label. Compounded by an out-of-place montage that operates unsuccessfully outside of the circle of crew members who contributed found footage for its creation despite holding zero narrative integrity and depleting the immediately previous emotional climax in a rare and successful moment of convincing conversation featuring Rhea Perlman, the visual and narrative question marks shine brighter than the pink sheen cover-up. 

In terms of narrative structure, the screenwriting pair overcomplicate the mechanics from the outset, attempting to establish a logic between the two worlds in the sense that human actions have consequences on their Barbieland counterparts that is non-committal on its own ethos deriving from a prefabricated approach that dilutes the nuanced storytelling prowess of its director. With jarring transitions and juxtapositions between humor and pathos, empathy and satire, Barbieland and the real world, the film ultimately relies on a series of conflicting dualities that, when allowed the space to breathe as in a particularly quiet bus stop bench scene, effectively contribute to the inkling of a thesis. Unfortunately, in most scenarios, the commentary and commercial spectacle operate in friction that is far less than the sum of its parts. The duality of the self-reflected treatment of Mattel’s administration against the possibility of a carte blanche evisceration was never going to operate in an extreme—a full body exorcism of their hypocritical moral compass on the one hand, and the complete lack of acknowledging their failures in any way on the other were not serious options.

In the inevitable compromise, the execution suffers from what resembles to be the saturated expression of Mattel themselves offering in good faith the crumbs of their crimes in order to protect the whole cookie itself from the screenwriting scalpel. As long as Will Ferrell makes a mockery of himself as the corporate buffoon in a suit he has played on screen countless times before, we’re allowed to opt out of reckoning with the generations of psychological damage, decreased self-esteem, and self-imposed eating disorders under Mattel’s responsibility.

Perhaps the most revelatory duality and illuminating conclusion are that of the sharp contrasts in visual language between its two geographically and socially distinct settings, Barbieland draped in pastel and the real world in shades of gray. In every sense, this distinction is an intentional decision to showcase their inherent sociological differences, but the result is an experience of watching half of an artistic product that relies on visual identity to exist in a listless gray. As a microcosm for the film as a whole: well-intentioned, but ultimately dull. 

Via Warner Bros.

Nonetheless, diamonds exist even in this plastic-clad puddle of Stereotypical Barbie tears, primarily through the lifeblood of its performances and the sequences that concentrate on womanhood and female characterization. Margot Robbie, despite limitations imposed on her character’s arc and agency, encapsulates the look and feel of Barbie as if she is the physical reincarnation of the plastic doll (if only the script had served her material vivacity rather than the physical hollowness of her muse). America Ferrera takes a brilliant turn as the female real-world counterpart whose imagination runs wild, sketching Barbies combatting depression, culminating in a particularly poignant monologue on the impossibility of female self-actualization in a system determined to find criticism in any outcome. One could certainly draw the counterargument of the previous 1,000 words with this exact sentiment, given the recognition of my own gender bias in a film that outwardly grapples with questions surrounding the lived experience of women.

I hear you.

For everything that I believe in Barbie is worthy of criticism, there concurrently exists the overarching sensibility that a blockbuster of unimaginable social proportion should force millions upon millions of men, women, and non-binary people to confront the questions of feminism and the female experience in their own lives. It should force them to assess the responsibility of their actions and roles if they are conscious or subconscious contributors. It should reveal narratives that vocalize the confrontation of women with what is often an immovable force field creating an endless array of barriers and ceilings. In laying out these hypotheses, the question becomes: is it enough? Does the execution match the intentionality? Is the friction of thematic variables productive or a commodification acting on behalf of external forces?

Greta Gerwig, for all of her deserved acclaim as a storyteller and director, is, unfortunately, operating in service of a predetermined outcome that reveals far less about the gender dynamics it sets out to prognosticate and more about the seemingly insurmountable task of treading the line between corporate branding and the cultural framework of our current sociopolitical gender divide. By laboring the surface-level annotation of what it means to be a woman in modern society with quips ranging from cellulite to gynecology appointments instead of confronting intrinsically nuanced commentary, a sensibility of avoidance is established that rides the undercurrent until gradually becoming distinguishable. When the cotton-candy-colored curtain closes, its empty core is staring you in the face.

In what could have been a sociopolitical milestone with the longevity to redefine cinema’s long-standing relationship to feminist theory, we leave with a pink-clad participation trophy, a massive commission bonus for every Warner Bros marketing representative, and skyrocketing dividends for the same executives who exist in the lineage that stamped the production and sale of Growing Up Skipper. In short, the words of Billie Eilish are deafening. Barbie, the character, asks, “What Was I Made For?” Across 114 minutes, Barbie the film never has an answer.

Review Courtesy of Danny Jarabek

Feature Image via Warner Bros.