Reeder’s Movie Reviews: Barbie

When Barbie and Ken depart their safe, plastic utopian realm for the “real” world of Los Angeles, they find themselves confronted with challenges and choices which had never occurred to them before. She’s dismissed by contemporary tweens and disillusioned by the all-male board of directors of Mattel, led by a rather goofy and villainous CEO (Will Ferrell). The company’s real-life Chief Executive would like you to know that it has a sense of humor, saying that they don’t take themselves “too seriously.” For his part, Ken’s encounter with toxic masculinity makes him determined to establish a “patriarchy” back in Ken Land/Barbie Land. 

Gerwig and her life/writing partner, Noah Baumbach (whose own Oscar-nominated career has largely been grounded in searing, semi-autobiographical dramas), have created a meta script layered with warmth, humor, satire and history. Rhea Perlman appears as the ghostly Ruth Handler, who actually created Barbie and Ken in 1959, naming them after two of her children. She embraces her own story, which includes legal troubles, and helps Barbie discover her “humanity.” 

Even more importantly, America Ferrera appears in a supporting role as Gloria, a woman trying to manage a dismissive daughter while working as an executive at Mattel, a company that sells fantasy. In the movie’s most startling scene–it does markedly, if briefly, shift the tone–she delivers an impassioned speech about the dilemmas women face every day. 

Gerwig has suggested that thirty-three different films informed her approach to this Barbie. The list includes Gold Diggers of 1935, Charlie Chaplin’s Modern Times, The Wizard of Oz, Gene Kelly’s An American in Paris and Bob Fosse’s All That Jazz (pictures that break down the fourth wall), Alfred Hitchcock’s Rear Window and Francis Ford Coppola’s The Godfather (which appears on a video screen). You can clearly see the influence of West Side Story and the French classic The Umbrellas of Cherbourg, especially in the choreography and the use of pastels. 

The cast is pretty much ideal for the roles they play. The multiple Barbies include Issa Rae, Dua Lipa (who also contributes to the vivid soundtrack), Kate McKinnon (as “Weird Barbie,” the victim of an overly playful child), and transgender actor Hari Nef. In this Barbie Land, inclusiveness matters–a perspective clearly borrowed from Gerwig’s view of the real world.  

The Kens include Simu Liu, Kingsley Ben-Adir and John Cena, each of them either playing heightened versions of their screen personas or amusingly against type.  Michael Cera portrays Allan, a character who seems out of place with both the Kens and the Barbies. His terse dialogue speaks volumes.

Barbie is a visual feast. The stylized sets align with the doll and the classic accessories. We’re meant to appreciate the artifice; Gerwig could easily have added Federico Fellini’s Amarcord to her list of influences. The main characters, especially Barbie, often move like toys, and Gerwig manipulates them in ways that generations of children (and some adults) have. High marks to cinematographer Rodrigo Prieto (Brokeback Mountain, Argo, The Wolf of Wall Street) and the Production Design and Art Direction teams, led by Sarah Greenwood (Beauty and the Beast, Sherlock Holmes).

Perhaps inevitably given the subject matter, Barbie descends into silliness at times.  And Ken–much more than “just Ken”– almost steals the show. But Gerwig, in her roles as co-writer and director, does a remarkably good job of calibrating all of the elements and messages in the film. It’s sly, subversive and relevant. After more than sixty years, Barbie the cultural icon really is timeless, as well as enigmatic.