I stare out the window as I pound the treadmill Friday at Benicia Fitness. Something’s different. There are eight outhouses lined up with “United Site Services” logos on them blocking my view of First St. If there was any doubt (1) 800 TOILETS appears under the company name. The Peddler’s Fair opens tomorrow. “They would never allow those in Barbie Land,” I think.
Hadn’t necessarily planned on seeing Barbie, but a dear friend recommended it saying that it had a good message. Having seen Oppenheimer two weeks before, I am ready for some summer fun — a Gidget movie with a message.
I never had a Barbie. Our go-to doll was Ginny — a little girl, flat chested and flat footed who wore rubber Mary Janes and had a wardrobe full of pinafores, skating skirts, a real fur coat, and a bridal dress even thought she was six. My best friend also had a Ginny and we spent hours with our dolls. I’d add eye makeup, lipstick, and often replace her wig ending up with a platinum blond Ginny bombshell who looked like — well, Barbie — who had yet to be invented.
When the last credit has rolled I turn to my sister Susan. “Well, what did you think?” “I didn’t get it,” she replies looking confused. “Me either,” I laugh. What was the message? Was there a message?
Why was I so irritated? Was it because I didn’t’t get it or was looking too deeply? I was wearing pink pants and a pink blouse on purpose. I thought I had an open mind.
Things augur well in the first scene where little girls play with their baby dolls, ironing their clothes, giving them bottles. I could relate. Had a big baby doll I called “Solight.” There was a manufacturer’s tag on her back that read “So Light,” easy to handle for a small child.” Nobody explained to me that that wasn’t her name but a form of branding. Mom bought me a miniature ironing board and iron. I loved it. But I digress.
Cue to the spine chilling theme from Star Wars as the camera pans up the mile-long legs of Barbie, past her swimsuit and ample décolletage to her big blue eyes and platinum blond pony tail. “Wow!” The little girls are in awe. A massacre of the baby dolls commences. Little mothers turn into Genghis Khans creating a bloodbath of chubby limbs and dimpled feet. There is So Light having her head bashed against a rock and flung into the ocean. Quel horreur! I cover my eyes.
As the movie begins, eight high school boys carrying tubs of popcorn and soft drinks enter sit down in front of us “This is a good sign,” I say to my sister. “that boys of this age are interested in seeing a feminist movie.” Then eight girls follow and sit in our row. “Hmmm. Guess that they’re together and that the girls dragged the boys here,” I surmise. As the movie progresses the boys get restless, up and down dozens of times, standing up in front of us guffawing and talking loudly. Irritating! Later in the movie when the Ken’s have taken over Barbie Land and Ken has turned her house into a macho crib Barbie says, “But where will I live now?” “A hoe house,” yells the kid sitting in front of me. Ah hah! “Male narcissism born in the patriarchy is alive and well in Vallejo, ” I note to myself while stifling a laugh.
“Is that all there is?” I think. Loved Legally Blonde but that was 22 years ago. What is Gerwig trying to say here? Can’t we do better than trading one stereotype for another? Why was it a choice between stilettos and Birkenstocks, why not some nice flats or even a pink trainer. Would women in charge make war like the Barbies did when turning the Ken’s against each other? Can men and women coexist? What was so appealing about the real world that she wanted to go there? At 45, Ryan Gosling is too old to play an 18-year-old. Where is Troy Donahue when we need him? Why was I looking for nuance and subtlety in a Barbie movie? Did Ginny ever get a movie? NOOOO!
Evidently, the far right think the movie is “woke” — woke, financed by corporate America’s Mattel and passing the billion dollar mark in sales. What’s with the last scene where Barbie goes to the gynecologist? Is she going to have a baby? Wait! She and Ken broke up in 2004. “Maybe she’s going to have her reproductive organs made real,” my sister said. Is she going to have an abortion or IVF? That would make it even more woke.
When I get home I read some reviews, all of them generally positive and many even ebullient – Roger Ebert 89%! Turns out the creator of Barbie, one Ruth Handler, borrowed the idea from a German gag doll for men named Lilli — “an empty headed sex kitten whose only worry is looking cute in a bikini and seducing rich men.” Ruth was eventually fired from Mattel for mail fraud but later created a successful breast prothesis for survivors of breast cancer — her net worth $100 million. Talk about agency!
When I finish my 30 minutes on the treadmill at Benicia Fitness, I walk past the outhouses over to Dianna’s Cafe for a bite. “Have you seen Barbie?” I asked a young woman waiting for her order. “No, not yet,” she says. “But I went to St. Francis High School in Sacramento with Greta Gerwig the director/producer who was a phenomenon even then. We knew that she was going to be somebody.” What a coincidence! As I leave Dianna’s I spy an eye-popping fuchsia pink Tesla parked by the curb. Who would drive something like that? “Let it go,” I tell myself.
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Letters From Benicia 