Welcome to Six Damn Fine Degrees. These instalments will be inspired by the idea of six degrees of separation in the loosest sense. The only rule: it connects – in some way – to the previous instalment. So come join us on our weekly foray into interconnectedness!
I was wrong about Barbie. I should have been right. First off, it was Great Gerwig directing it, also writing the screenplay together with Noah Baumbach, which should have been the first sign that things would not be all pink plastic and brainless banter. And I don’t think Margot Robbie has the heart to say yes to any even mediocre project. I am still not entirely sold on Ryan Gosling, but Robbie is so very good in I, Tonya that she cannot do much wrong anymore in my book.
And while Barbie is not the out-and-out feminist anthem it could have been, it takes its own pink-hued stand vis-à-vis being (or not being, or not yet being) a woman, feminism and patriarchy. What looks like a bunch of cardboard characters are all looking for a decent piece of identity where they could so easily slip into stereotypes. But boy, does Ken have a lot of fun while trying to figure out who or what he is. Barbie, meanwhile, has to deal with her own horror vacui, but succeeds splendidly with the help of… well, mainly with the help of her Barbie friends.
Yes, yes, the movie could have made its points in a stronger way, but it is too busy having fun on the way there, so much so that it gets almost distracted by fooling around with its own glee. I smiled, laughed and chuckled throughout, and my better half was mightily entertained and is busy telling people that, yes, it is a very funny movie, go see it. Would not have thought that. Barbie is exactly the movie who are allergic to any kind of message movie that makes its point with a big, fat, pink magic marker.
A Damn Fine Cup of Culture 
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