They who have eyes to see, let them see Barbie

On the morning of Meg’s wedding, Jo peers out the window as her sisters decorate with flowers and ribbon.  

“We can leave,” she blurts out “we can leave right now. I can make money: I'll sell stories, I'll do anything—cook, clean, work in a factory. I can make a life for us. And you should be an actress and have a life on the stage. Let's run away together.”

“I want to get married,” Meg responds calmly.

“Why?” Jo asks.

“I love him,” Meg says.

“You will be bored of him in two years and we will be interesting forever,” Jo quickly responds.

Meg gently says, “just because my dreams are different than yours doesn’t mean they’re unimportant. I want a home and a family and I’m willing to struggle, but I want to do it with John.”

These words were written in part by Greta Gerwig for her film adaptation of Little Women in 2019. She also directed the film which garnered six Oscar nominations.

Now, in 2023 and with the release of her newest endeavor, Gerwig has been seen, by some, as being anti-motherhood and man-hating, secretly devising a particular agenda to impart to her audience. Barbie has certainly become a hit—grossing over 1.2 billion dollars worldwide. Many dressed up in pink and sparkles for the premiere, making it a full evening to laugh, cry, and feel something again along with Barbie and Billie. Meanwhile, in some circles, the film has been seen as a threat, a tool for making men feel bad for their masculinity, and for making assumptions that the world really would be better if perfectly plastic women were running it.

Without wanting to add to the noise or the fire, I’d like to invite you to a window. This window longs for us to see with generosity and kindness, thoughtfulness and curiosity. This window gives us a view that we may not see clearly or from our current seat, but it is one that I hope provides something that we may consider when we sit down to watch a film like Barbie. So, if you’re willing, if you have eyes to see Barbie, come look in the window with me.

Adding Barbie to the fire

 When I was eight, I passed a bookstore in my small town displaying Harry Potter books in the window. My heart immediately leapt. That was the book they were burning—people who shared my same faith tradition were burning books because they contained magic. They burned what they feared, but they were also burning what they didn’t understand. They were burning something because their imaginations had become burned by fear first.

Fast forward several decades and some are now burning barbies and I wonder if it’s because of the same fear.

What films have taught me

I’ve long been touched by films—I was enamored with the Academy Awards as a teenager and would go back over the years and watch all the nominated films that piqued my interest. Casablanca, Dances with Wolves, Into the Wild, and Fight Club, to name a few. 

They all touched something in me—wonder, excitement, sorrow, pain, and sometimes just confusion. But there was something in me that longed to move toward those feelings beyond the screen, something in me that didn’t leave those emotions alone once I left the theatre.

In some ways, it feels like grasping at low-hanging fruit to comment on what some are saying about, Barbie. The movie seems to have touched something in them—a fear, a sensitivity, an anger, perhaps a point of shame or confusion. And these feelings, assuming they are not foreign, seem to have struck a nerve with some moviegoers—even those who would say that self-examination is a part of their faith and confession.

I wonder if we feel more comfortable and even expectant feeling shame and conviction after leaving a worship service, but we haven’t remained curious about examining those same feelings after a movie theatre experience.

Perhaps we have more to learn from film than being simply entertained—perhaps it holds up a mirror that we dare not look into.

Greta looked in the mirror first

 In 2017, Greta Gerwig made her directorial debut with Lady Bird—a charming, angsty story about Christine, her preferred name, Lady Bird, and her last year of high school. She’s falling in love and getting her heart broken, she’s applying to colleges and loathing her hometown, she’s loving and hating her relationship with her mom all at once.

While Lady Bird is only semi-autobiographical, one can’t help but see Gerwig through the film. Meant to feel like faded, but important memories, you are invited to feel each tear and argument, and perhaps you can begin to see yourself and your story through hers.

But beyond crafting a beautiful story, Greta did something that most of us aren’t willing to do, perhaps something we haven’t seen modeled. Before she critiqued men or patriarchy, she first looked in the mirror.

Gerwig is introspective and aware of where she comes from. She is insightful, thoughtful, and unafraid to make her younger self look like the worst of us and the best of us. She honors mothers and daughters and she also critiques them. And she also shows beautiful images of men—like caring, loving, supportive fathers and kind, male teachers.

She invites us to sit with uncomfortable memories—regret of trusting those we thought we wanted to be impressed by us, frustration with the people who raise us and whose love for us is often muddled and confusing. Gerwig, through captivating story, holds us a mirror to her own story and invites us to see both the beauty and the mess that it shows.

What a vulnerable kindness.

A Mirror and a Window

Jesus often used stories to talk to his hearers. He too held up mirrors for us to look into. He too invited us to a window that we could glance in from another angle. He too, was gentle with his listeners to offer a less direct way for us to come to terms with both the ways we have been harmed and the way we have harmed others.

I believe Greta has done the same kindness for us and our culture in Barbie.

Barbie shows both the pain we have known—in being misunderstood, in being pushed to the side, in being seen as only a prop for the enjoyment of others. And Barbie also shows us the pain that we have caused to others—discarding those we perceive as weak or small, clenching power and lording over others, using people for our gain.

It’s hard to look in the mirror, to see a view that we are not accustomed to or one that distorts what we’ve only assumed is the whole picture. It can be painful, shame-filled, or just uncomfortable.

And in that pain, we are invited to see and examine, to sit with what has been revealed, to see that the mirror shows us the truth in kindness and offers us a path forward.

We see with new eyes and new hearts. We see that the pain we have known is honored—it is named rightly, it is mourned and grieved, and it is accounted for by the Good Shepherd. And we see that the pain we have inflicted is also rightly named, mercifully forgiven, and accounted for by the Good Shepherd. With him, we are able to look into the mirror once more and know kindness, love, and grace—no longer needing to fear the truthfulness of the reflection but seeing with new eyes its kindness and truth.

So if you have eyes to see Barbie, see it. Look in the mirror, be curious about all that you see and notice, and know that the kindness of the Good Shepherd meets you in the reflection.