The good, the bad and the Barbie

At the Barbie movie, Lauren Windle fraternises with her childhood enemy, and leaves pondering change and imperfection.

Lauren Windle

Lauren Windle is an author, journalist, presenter and public speaker.

Barbie stands between Ken and a rival with her hands raised.

Peacekeeper Barbie.

Warner Bros.

Barbie and I always had an unspoken understanding that our relationship would be mutually destructive. She made me feel inadequate; I was too short without a synched-in waist and pneumatic boobs. And I chewed her off her toes. One all.

I have spent the better part of two decades not thinking about my adversary, until once again she reared her (not at all) ugly head. I always celebrate on July 21. It is, after all, my birthday. But this year, the date was eagerly anticipated by millions and not because they share my love of Colin the Caterpillar cake. Last Friday was ‘Barbie Day' and it was all anyone could talk about. 2 – 1 to Barbie.

If you missed the news that there’s a Barbie movie now in the cinemas, clamber out from underneath that rock and let me tell you about it. The film, starring Margot Robbie and Ryan Gosling, caused quite a stir with, what I can only assume is, the biggest marketing budget since Nike release Air Jordans. Both Warner Bros and Barbie’s parent company Mattel have thrown money at making sure we all know about their candy-coated flick. The campaign has been so effective that production sparked a global shortage of fluorescent pink paint.

The box office is now raking in cash as people flock to see the fuchsia film. When I attended a morning viewing this weekend, I was one of the few people who hadn’t come dressed head to toe in pink. Not a chance Barbie.

On taking my end-of-row seat (to facilitate a quick getaway) I settled in for one hour and 54 minutes of fraternising with the enemy. I’ll level with you, Barbie had made some effort to change. The vibrant colours (mainly in a rosy hue) were still in place, along with the glossy hair and impossibly smooth legs. But there was a new self-awareness and self-deprecation that hadn’t featured in our childhood tea parties.

Finally, my arch nemesis is on the right side of history, right? I’m not sure that’s the case.

I had expected a vapid tale with fun flourishes. The story certainly delivered on both of those but with a lot more I hadn’t anticipated. From where I was sitting (popcorn in hand, legs stretched out into the aisle), it was a satirical story of feminism, patriarchy and the joy and anguish of fully embracing life on life’s terms. If you saw that coming, you probably have the gift of the prophetic, because it was certainly not on my radar.

If you don’t think too much about the plot, the film is easy to enjoy. Helen Mirren offers a witty commentary which is like someone handing you a cup of tea with two sugars when you usually just take milk. It was a welcome surprise that you wouldn’t have asked for but were delighted to discover. It was a visual feast for the eyes with everything – especially the inhabitants of Barbieland – looking perfectly polished. There are also a number of very funny jokes – albeit with adult undertones.

All good so far, but now let’s suppose that you, like me, will think about the plot. When the word is defined correctly, I am delighted to identify as a feminist. That does not mean that I support every feminism-associated declaration of the last 100 years, but it does mean that I passionately champion women and the correcting of previous (and some current) oppressions. This would make me a prime candidate for loving the Barbie movie. Finally, my arch nemesis is on the right side of history, right? I’m not sure that’s the case. Sometimes, in an attempt to show willing, we can allow the pendulum to swing a little too far in the wrong direction.

Mattel’s campaign to rebrand Barbie from a ditsy blonde to an empowered achiever has been well documented. People didn’t want the lack of ambition that came with “shopping mall Barbie” or “beach Barbie” and they certainly didn’t want to have to live up to her unrealistic beauty standards. Apparently if a Barbie doll was to scale, she’d be 5ft 9 with size three feet, and only enough space in her waist for half a liver.

Rather than continuing along these lines, portraying the company as inspiring for girls and women, they take the mick out of it. They highlight that Barbie has been a part of the problem. But in making their point, they outrageously infantilise men. Of course, this is satire, and comedy allows space for exaggeration, but it still didn’t quite sit right for me. Not one man offered a positive portrayal of masculinity (although Michael Cera’s Allan is a joy to watch). On the whole, men were either oblivious, obsessed with their own success, or childish and sometimes sit in board meetings wishing they could just tickle each other.

The very brief summary – without revealing too much of the plot – is that Barbie is very happy in Barbieland, a perfect paradise where women do the lion share of the work and take all the leadership roles. But something starts to change, and the real world begins to seep in. After “causing a rupture” between the real world and Barbieland, “the patriarchy” is introduced into this female-led eutopia and the Barbies must banish it in order to restore the sorority-dominated lifestyle they previously enjoyed. Not a problem – when Ken found out patriarchy wasn’t about horses he lost interest anyway.

In ten years, I think many of the critics who have lauded this film as a classic will cringe at their enthusiasm.

In a world where even Caitlin Moran is writing a book posing the question “What About Men?” I fear this film will age badly. The vast majority of people, including women, don’t want to propel women by doing men down. In ten years, I think many of the critics who have lauded this film as a classic will cringe at their enthusiasm.

Finally, let’s frame this with the ways the Bible has influenced the film. Oh yes, the biblical message hasn’t just underpinned Harry Potter and The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, it’s apparent in the Barbie movie too. If we replace Barbieland with Eden we can see a stark comparison between the film and the creation story. In this utopia, Barbie is given authority over the land. She is given a helper in Ken. But their paradise is threatened by human fragility and quest for more knowledge. After it comes crashing down the inhabitants just want to get back to their previous state.

The film demonstrates the desperation to 'return to Eden', in the face of an imperfect and broken world. But it also highlights the beauty that can be found in allowing yourself to experience life on life’s terms; to cry, feel pain and embrace the ache associated with change. For that, I respect its efforts. Although I think Disney’s Inside Out manages to achieve the same without belittling men.

The Wild God we can't coerce

Weird and increasingly encountered beyond the wilderness.

Belle Tindall

Belle is the staff writer at Seen & Unseen.

A pianist raises his arms while sitting at a grand piano amid recording equipment.

Nick Cave recording Wild God.

nickcave.com

Christianity is a wild thing.

I say this, even while only half-understanding what I’m saying. It’s something that I’m learning. Or perhaps it’s more appropriate to say that it’s something that I’m unlearning. Because, admittedly, I’m far more familiar with a somewhat domesticated view of my own faith tradition. The kind that allows me to fashion fences out of my expectations; to put parameters around God’s presence and boundaries upon his behaviour. Both of which are a farce, of course - but a comforting farce, none the less.

You see, there is nothing ‘comfortable’ about a God who cannot be wholly predicted or comprehended, let alone controlled or contained. A wild God is always going to be a challenge to a culture that has enthroned comfort. We’re too easily spooked and too unused to the sensation of being cosmically baffled.

But, affronting as it may be, I am trying my best to sit in the knowledge that the God I believe in is a wild God. And I’m finding this wildness increasingly hard to ignore. Perhaps it’s all the Rowan Williams I’ve been reading, or my newfound interest in the Romantics (as in, the eighteenth and nineteenth century poets, not the 1970’s American rock band). Or maybe it has more to do with Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds’ new album, which I have been listening to relentlessly over the last week.

In this musical offering, Nick Cave introduces us to his ‘Wild God’, who I think is my God too. It’s just that ‘wild’ has never been the first adjective I reach for when describing him.

Until now, I suppose.

Let me clarify what I mean by wild, because what I’m not saying is that God is inherently chaotic, unruly, reckless or irrational. Wild Gods, as we know them from the myths and legends, act on tempestuous whims, and are more than a little havoc prone. They are perilous, largely because one can never truly know where they stand with them. That couldn’t be further from what I mean. The entire Old Testament - as complex, nuanced and masterful as it is - can be understood as a collection of ways in which the God at its centre is saying – this is who I am, this is what I desire, this is what I’m going to do, this is where you stand with me. If you were to read the Bible, it would become pretty clear pretty quickly: God is insistent that those who seek to know him will never have to second guess him. God’s wildness does not mean that we cannot know the essence of who he is or how he feels towards us. I like to think that we can endeavour to know him accurately, but never exhaustively.

Rather, what I’m trying to get my head and heart around is the knowledge that God, and therefore Christianity, cannot be wholly domesticated. Despite my best efforts, it cannot be made into an entirely comfortable and cozy thing. To make it so, one would have to dilute it, shrink it, bleed any truth out of it. In his poem - Sometimes a Wild God -Tom Hirons writes,

Oh, limitless space.
Oh, eternal mystery.
Oh, endless cycles of death and birth.
Oh, miracle of life.
Oh, the wondrous dance of it all’.

There’s an innate weirdness to the Christian worldview, a pure wildness at the heart of it. It’s brimming with mystery and mysticism. As Hirons hints, it’s bigger and more consequential than our comfort-zones would like it to be. And, what’s more, much of it is communicated through the natural world. Biblical narratives and poetry are endlessly pointing us toward the places and spaces that are outside human cultivation – the stars, the mountains, the oceans – the things that pre-date and will outlive us.

Christianity is wild in that there’s an alluring organic-ness about it. Its truth sits beyond human manipulation and coercion.

For millennia, whole lives have been given over to this truly wild and, I believe, wildly true story. Can I give you just two recent examples? Two people who have (utterly unexpectedly) adventured their way into this wild and wonderful way of seeing the world? Two people I’ve had the joy of learning from over the past year?

First up is Paul Kingsnorth.

Paul is an award-winning poet and a best-selling author of both fiction (including the Buckmaster Trilogy: Wake, Beast and Alexandria) and non-fiction (including Real England, Confessions of a Recovering Environmentalist and his ongoing Sub-Stack series: Abbey of Misrule). He is, and always has been, an advocate for treating the natural world as if it were far more than a machine to be used or a resource to be obtained. Such behaviour is, according to Paul, nothing short of sacrilegious. As well as an enchantment with what he can see and sense in the natural world, he also has a long-standing fascination with all things mystical.

Buddhism, Witchcraft – you name it, he’s tried it.

He told Justin Brierley and I the story of how he his adventures have led him to arrive at the wildest possible destination: Christianity.  

And then there’s the renowned mythologist, Dr Martin Shaw, who decided to do a 101-day wild vigil in Dartmoor. Despite not being a Christian, on the very last night, he prayed. While praying, he looked up and saw something utterly unexplainable, something ‘properly Old Testament’. And that was it – after a night of dancing, several other ‘odd’ experiences, and eighteen months of deep pondering – he was able to say, ‘I went into the forest expected to be wedded to the wild and I came out wedded to Christ’.

Thinking about it, it’s probably no accident that ‘Christianity’ began on the margins, and from there, worked its way into the cities. There was a time where the prediction of Jesus’ arrival was being yelled out into the countryside, so loudly that people were emptying the surrounding towns to come and hear more. A time when rumours of redemption were being whispered in the rural hills. A time when its chief messenger was an inexplicably weird man named John the Baptist; who shunned his prestigious priestly heritage to live in the wilds, to dress in camel skins, to eat honey and insects and insist upon the imminent coming of the long-awaited Messiah. This Messiah, by the way, who would be born where animals are kept, sleep on mountains, retreat into deserts, walk on water, speak to storms, and break people (including himself) out of stone graves.

You see what I mean, Christianity is a wild story to believe and live in accordance with.

It’s the story that drove the ‘Desert Mothers and Fathers’ of the Third Century AD to reject civilisation and all its comforts, in order to seek God in the silence and solitude of the desert. It’s the story that is still inspiring people to live in caves on Mount Athos, secluded islands just off the coast of Wales and forests in the heart of Ireland. An uncontainable message has, since its inception, been lived out in uncontainable places.

Honestly, you want weird? Christianity can darn-well give you weird.

Don’t be fooled by over-familiarity or be swayed by that pesky left-side of your brain, the part that wants to convince you that you know all that there is to know. Christianity is a story that I, myself, had forgotten was quite this wild.