Barbie and One Misstep
Barbie is a surprisingly successful film inspired by late-stage capitalism, but it makes one small mistake with a surprisingly big impact.
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Stories are delicate things, even stories inspired by a cynical marketing department desperate to give their product some social relevancy 65 years after its debut1. You can get almost everything right in a story and it will still be a failure because you didn’t get all the things right2. Believe me, the reason I Day Drink is because I have learned this lesson many times over3.
Barbie is a mostly-successful story. Maybe it’s even a 99% successful story, though Will Ferrell’s presence makes this impossible, so it’s probably more like 95%. What Barbie does brilliantly is refuse to explain or justify itself: It’s premise is gonzo—it literally asks the viewer to accept that Barbie Land simply exists, and that toys or the idea of toys exist in some sentient form there, and can also cross over and take physical form in the Real World4. And it does this without apology or explanation—it simply dives in, presents the audience with these facts, and expects you to keep up or walk out of the theater.
That works gangbusters. It’s almost always a mistake to over-explain your premise, to continuously remind your audience that this is all made up and that you’re concerned they’re not buying it or over-thinking it. This decision to just act like the existence of Barbie Land was firmly established in some previous chapter of the franchise is a very good move. Until they screw it up in the last act5.
Mirren for the Winnen
Okay, so “screw it up” is a little strong. If you’re not a writer you probably didn’t even notice what is essentially a throwaway line in the film. But I am a writer, of some sort, so it made me wince like nails on a chalkboard.
This happens after Barbie (Margot Robbie) has had her emotional breakdown upon her return to Barbie Land, which has been overrun by Ken (Ryan Gosling) and his goofy ideas about the patriarchy (and horses) and is on the verge of transforming everything in the objectively awful (and somewhat terrifying) Kendom Land. And Barbie says this to Gloria (America Ferrera):
BARBIE: I’m not pretty anymore.
GLORIA: What? You’re so pretty.
BARBIE: I’m not Stereotypical Barbie pretty.
And suddenly, out of nowhere, the Narrator (Helen Mirren, doing her best clipped, posh, bitchy diction)6, who we have not heard from since the beginning of the film, jumps in to say
NARRATOR: Note to the filmmakers, Margot Robbie is the wrong person to cast if you want to make this point.
Ha! It’s a funny line. The Duchess turned and elbowed me in the ribs and said Damn straight! with a note of triumph, so I know the line also landed with the audience. So it’s a funny line that the intended audience loved. What’s the problem? The problem is this line sells out the film’s sense of reality for a single, only-okay joke.
Mine Very Much Has an Undertone Of Violence
Now I know what some of you bastards are thinking: You’re thinking that I’m thinking way too hard about Barbie, a film that doesn’t hide the fact that’s a comedy with an undertone of social commentary that isn’t trying to be at all realistic. Yes, that is what we writers do, we think way too hard about things so you don’t have to, you’re welcome7.
But the fact is that Barbie kind of ruins a perfect liftoff here. By treating Barbie Land and Barbie herself as simply real things that everyone in-universe kind of accepts can manifest as real, the story gave itself permission to treat its objectively dumb ideas with great seriousness8. That’s necessary if you want the audience to care when Barbie gets sad, or when Ken realizes how worthless his existence is, or when literally everyone in the film treats the pregnant Midge like a literal monster of disgusting proportions and we all laugh about it9.
The Mirren line ruins that, because it forcibly reminds us all—right in the midst of an affectingly emotional scene, one that’s also marked by a home run of a speech by Ferrera—that this is a movie. It reminds us that Barbie is being played by Robbie, and that we’re all supposed to be thinking about all the stuff the film is dishing out at us instead of simply immersing ourselves in the story. It’s the writing equivalent of knocking a plate to the floor while you’re successfully sneaking back into the house at 4AM and don’t want your wife to know what you’re up to, a completely random example I just made up for no reason whatsoever10.
The lesson here is simple: Kill them darlings. Sometimes you have to let a joke or other brilliancy go. Sometimes it’s better for the story overall if you just skip it, no matter how great it is in isolation. This isn’t easy. Greta Gerwig and Noah Baumbach are accomplished, smart writers, and they fell for this. Sometimes you come up with a line or an idea that is just really good, and when you start to get the sense that it simply doesn’t work, that it’s doing more harm than good, you just don’t want to hear it. And you can destroy a perfectly good story by clinging to a bit of brilliance that does more harm than good.
Did this line destroy Barbie? It did not11, but my point stands. At least I didn’t write 1,000 words on how terrible the song “Push” by Matchbox Twenty is. Because believe me, I could have.
NEXT WEEK: Dredd and not paying attention to the background details.
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If Mattel or Crocs or Philip Morris wanted to pay me to write a novel where cigarettes or shoes came to life and defeated, I don’t know, space aliens or something, I’m game. Poppa needs a retirement plan.
Or, very often in my case, any of the things right. <stares into middle distance while The Lonely Man Theme plays>
Also, because Day Drinking means I can never drive people to the airport, help them move, or be useful in any way to anyone. Your move, friends and loved ones!
That’s what we literary scientists in the biz call “A Lot.”
I think the whole Kendom business in the Third Act would have worked better if the Kens had gone more Lord of the Flies, murdering each other. And then they would stage half-assed Viking funerals, sending burning boats out with dead Kens, which would bump into the fake sky and set it on fire, and when Barbie returns they find the whole place is a Mad Max-ian hellhole. Admit, my movie is better.
I would pay large sums to get Helen Mirren to narrate my autobiography, but she would have to agree to record all of her bitchy asides as she slowly realizes what a jackass I am.
We also apparently routinely call our readers bastards, which seems like a poor marketing decision, but then no one ever said I was smart. Just handsome.
Is Treating Objectively Dumb Ideas with Great Seriousness the title of my memoir? You betcha.
I mean, at this point Midge has been pregnant for decades. That’s a horror movie.
On an unrelated note, if anyone wants to swear they were with me for a few hours back in September, no questions asked, please send me your Venmo.
Again: Will Ferrell is in this movie.
I was with you in September.
In spirit anyway.
I don't know if I can live in a world where shoes can be defeated. 👞👣