A third of the way through Greta Gerwig’s Barbie, a meek assistant (played by Connor Swindells) asks the villainous CEO of Mattel (played by Will Ferrell), a plausible question indeed: “Is Barbie Land like an alternate reality, or a place where your imagination goes?” The table of suits answers in unison, “Yes.”
This serves as a comedic moment, sure, but more intentionally as Gerwig’s discreet acknowledgment that Barbie’s world-building makes no sense, and as a lousy attempt to absolve herself for a half-baked story and refusal to respect her audience. Ducking behind self-conscious copouts such as this one, Gerwig deftly avoids the responsibility to ground Barbie in logic, reality—or anything, really—talking at her audience indignantly under the unassailable guise of feminism.
Gerwig has dreamt up two worlds, both shaped by unchecked embitterment and willful delusion. One is the so-called real world, where people are so unrealistically misogynistic that dialogue beats conveniently fall into Gerwig’s lap (i.e., the seemingly archaic sheriff’s remark that Barbie is “better in more clothes because you can imagine more”), and the other is the Barbie Land, where everything is perfect, such that minor imperfections such as cellulite strike fear into the Barbies’ hearts (yet, somehow, actual fat people don’t experience a batted eye in Barbie Land).
Barbie seethes at the alleged rules of the real world without even being able to follow the rules of its own. It laments everything and respects nothing. This is because Barbie is not meant to tell a story; it is meant to push an ideology (and an incoherent one, at that). Gerwig’s intention was not to make viewers feel but rather to make them agree.
This becomes apparent in scenes such as when the Mattel execs are fooled by Barbie’s excuse that she needs to make a trip to the bathroom, despite the knowledge of––and the script’s repeated reference to––her not having genitals. Gerwig neglects to create a villain worth his salt (or even one who is sentient!) because her priority is getting to the next story beat wherein Barbie can learn something about how hard it is to be a woman.
The movie’s marketing and lore in general was built largely on the virtue of its aesthetics. In love with its own collection of exquisite Chanel hats and recreations of iconic Barbie outfits, the film could be adequately described as one long dress-up party. Behind-the-scenes photos that circulated before Barbie’s release got fans chomping at the bits to see its stars in their neon rollerblading getups, and the classically beautiful Margot Robbie was shilled onto ticket-buyers from every angle, in every outfit. The movie rode upon her image as much as it did her acting.
And yet, Barbie scorns “Stereotypical Barbie” and the concept of ideal feminine beauty at every turn. It laments Robbie’s looks whilst obviously worshipping them simultaneously. It wails about beauty standards whilst intentionally capitalizing on them in the same breath. In this vein, it is worth asking: would Barbie have done as well as it did if the originally slated Amy Schumer was ultimately given the role? One might find it interesting to hear Gerwig’s reasoning for the recast.
There is no doubt Barbie alleges to be a feminist satire. I would urge viewers to question if it has earned either part of that description. Satire in general may fail to strike the same emotional chords that an earnest story does, but at least it delights us with its cleverness by not explicitly talking about the thing it seeks to comment on, whereas Barbie only talks about that thing.
As for its claims at feminism, I would encourage viewers to hold filmmakers to a higher standard than the cheap sentiments Gerwig has sold as thought-provoking. I would implore them to examine that same meek assistant, and to challenge the depth or nuance of Gerwig’s defeatist outlook: “I’m a man with no power; does that make me a woman?” Middle school debate teams facilitate more productive and interesting discourses than this one.
When the movie draws to a close and I am released from Gerwig’s incessant whining, I am certain of one thing: it is hard to be a woman, but it is even harder to be an audience member at the whims of an undisciplined director with an insatiable desire to moralize—in a Chevy commercial, no less!