This feature contains MAJOR SPOILERS for the Barbie movie.
The Barbie movie has proved to be an instant cultural phenomenon. Not only are many people, such as I, flocking to theaters to watch it, all dressed in pink, but it's also on track to hit the one billion mark at the box office. A big question that’s been on many peoples' minds is: “what makes the movie so special?” The answer, a simple search on Google reveals, varies from viewer to viewer. Many think pieces are being written about it, and as an editorialist myself I figured I'd throw my hat in the ring.
For me, the most phenomenal thing about this movie is how the story culminates to a tearful and emotionally validating ending.
Barbie begins in Barbie Land, a pink fantastical feminine utopia and home to every Barbie created. Ken dolls live there too but take a second-class citizen status, pining to be the object of the Barbies' affections. In Barbie Land, Barbies are just being themselves and lifting one another up and assuming they’ve saved our world from patriarchal reign.
But one day, Margot Robbie’s Stereotypical Barbie contemplates death, and her pastel perfect world begins to crumble. She finds out that her perfection is being ruined by her tether to our world. You see, Barbies are tied to the people playing with them. Turns out that she’s being played with by America Ferrera’s character, a woman named Gloria who’s been playing with her daughter’s Barbie.
This was where I began to feel a connection with the narrative.
See, when I was a kid, my sister had a doll named Kathy. She was named after one of the kids on “Barney and Friends,” and looked a lot like my sister. Kathy would go on to be a doll that stayed somewhat present in mine and my sister’s lives up until our late 20s, when she was dumped out with other things we didn’t come and get at my mom’s house when she was moving. I regretted letting Kathy go like that.
I played with Barbie dolls well into my high school years, always thinking up scenarios where high speed car chases, romance, and the power of friendship all collided into unfiltered, unbridled, raw storytelling that came out of me. The stories were from the heart and without judgment because I thought I was alone.
Little did I know that my mom would stand by the closed door of my room, listening to me make up these stories, playing with dolls and teddy bears alike. There was never a knock on my door, or a “why are you playing with dolls?” I just did and I was left alone.
I’ve had the remaining dolls and bears move with me over the years, even Indianapolis, when I was going to grad school. They almost didn’t though. There was a deep emotional embarrassment in having them, and I balked at the prospect of some TSA agent scanning my bags, only to discover I had 10 or so bears and dolls packed with me like childhood stowaways. I considered “growing up” and letting them share the same fate as Kathy.
But as I was about to leave them behind, I looked at my mom, face contorting, and the 31-year-old graduate melted down into a little boy. I couldn’t find words to express the sadness, but she somehow knew. She told me to put them in the duffle bag and take them. And I did. They sit upon a shelf in my living room today, and I don’t think I ever will get rid of them. And there’s a special member who lives with them now.
About two years ago, I am not sure what spun the conversation, but Kathy was brought up. She’s part of a discontinued brand of ethnically diverse dolls called Hip-Hop Kids from the early 90s. And perhaps like the duffel bag incident, my mom instinctively knew that now that Kathy was brought up, there was a doll-shaped hole in my life. A short time later, she somehow managed to find a boxed Kathy, now a collectable, on eBay, and sent her my way.
I bring up this anecdote because, much like the movie’s ending, all these memories and the accompanying emotions played in my head.
Ferrera’s character acts as the key to Barbie’s self-discovery and propels the adventure forward. She literally opens her car door for Robbie’s Barbie and saves her from the corporate higher-ups who want to put her back to her factory state. She gives a rousing speech about the pressures of being a woman in the modern world and is the reason why Barbie becomes human.
Her imagination breathed life into a doll.
Me and any other person who played with dolls are the reason why Barbie even exists.
“Take my hands, close your eyes, now feel.” The soft, mature voice of Rhea Pearlman, portraying Barbie’s creator Ruth Handler, spoke near the movie’s end. At this stage of the film, the theme of emotion has repeatedly surfaced as Barbie delves into the real world, encountering both pain and genuine joy for the very first time.
Barbie takes a deep breath, and the soulful melody of Billie Eilish's "What Was I Made For?" resonates in the background. Hidden within this haunting composition lies a crucial detail: the faintest heartbeat, almost imperceptible, as delicate as a sigh that could be easily missed. Yet, this heartbeat holds the power to change everything.
What follows is a breathtaking sequence – a montage of home videos. The emotional impact is astounding. The scene contains authentic moments in people’s lives, as the director Greta Gerwig took home videos from many people involved in the movie – with permission of course. She said she wanted to take something like Barbie and remind us of the human connection behind it: “Movies, dolls, human beings make them. They’re not handed down from on high.”
As the scenes unfold, Barbie is flooded with memories; a gentle breeze caressing her skin, the rustling of leaves in the wind; sensations that she had never before experienced but now resonate deep within her. These memories belong to strangers, yet their essence is universal. They invoke a sense of nostalgia. The raw and unfiltered glimpses of life's most intimate moments, the shared emotions that bind us all, transcend time and space. We witness the beautiful tapestry of human existence, woven together by the threads of emotions that touch every heart.
Barbie transcends her plastic existence and is now fully human.
I am compelled to reminisce about the moments I have shared with my mother, the wisdom imparted by lectures and her acceptance.
I reached for Kathy when I got home and gave her a hug. I closed my eyes, and imagined my childhood room, the door slowly turning into a pink glass-stained window, as my mother placed her hand on it, and went from being a young single mother to a woman approaching her 60s, who learned to express her thoughts in paint strokes on canvas, selling art piece after art piece.
A young me puts Kathy down on the floor, gets up and walks to the door, and places his hand on it, and goes through, turning from a closeted queer black boy, into an adult approaching his 40s, who learned to write, wears a lot of pink, and works hard to create a safe space as a school librarian. We’ll continue to age and paint and write, and one day, she’ll be gone, and one day, I’ll be gone too.
But even with death being an inevitable part of life, the heartfelt moments we share together transcend our earthly hourglasses, and that’s where Barbie’s message truly resonates.