Review
Comment
Culture
Death & life
5 min read

'Do you guys ever think about dying...?' - Barbie

Pat Allerton reflects on the Barbie movie, the societal questions that it answers and the existential question that it doesn't.

Pat is vicar of St Peter’s Notting Hill and author of A Pocketful of Hope

Margot Robbie as Barbie in Greta Gerwig's Box-Office smash hit movie

So I’ve just got home from watching the brand new and much acclaimed ‘Barbie’ at the cinema (don’t worry, I also watched ‘Oppenheimer’ last week). It’s 11pm, my wife and our 8.5 month old daughter are asleep upstairs and despite having church in the morning, I feel stirred to write some thoughts.

First and foremost, huge congratulations to Margot Robbie, Ryan Gosling, the whole cast, crew and team. It’s an absolute belter! Full of laughs from beginning to end. I thoroughly enjoyed myself and would encourage anyone else to go and see it.

But secondly, far from being the shallow, plastic cliché that you might expect, what you actually get is an intelligent, searing critique, albeit somehow gently done, of the world we live in and what’s predominantly wrong with it. Which is, you guessed it, men. Or more specifically, patriarchy.

The film begins in ‘Barbieland’ where everything is seemingly perfect, as encapsulated by Barbie when she describes the day we first meet her as, ‘the best day ever. So was yesterday, and so is tomorrow, and every day from now until forever.’ That is, until we meet Ken (played by the excellent Gosling). It is here that the first inkling of imperfection or wrinkle in their world is detected. As the narrator (voiced by Dame Helen Mirren) makes clear, ‘Barbie has a great day every day, but Ken only has a great day if Barbie looks at him.’ (We’ve all been there guys). His niggling insecurity and consequent competitiveness towards other Kens however, still aren’t enough to wake Barbie from her dream-like state and reveal that all is not well in paradise.

Issues of equality, respect, independence and identity are addressed in a way that left this 'pale, stale male' challenged but not condemned. 

That moment arrives unexpectedly, during what appears to be a standard evening with ‘a giant blowout party with all the Barbies, and planned choreography and a bespoke song’ to which Ken is told he should ‘stop by’. The dance is breathtaking, the happiness palpable, and yet suddenly, as if from nowhere, Barbie blurts out the pivotal line in the film, the hinge on which the whole (Barbie) world turns, ‘do you guys ever think about dying?’ Cue the DJ’s vinyl record screeching to a halt, the choreography closing down, the dancers looking at her in disbelief, and the general sense of a serious buzz-kill. ‘Dying to dance’, she disingenuously adds, desperate to keep the party going, to shrieks of relieved delight and Dua-Lipa's return. Disaster averted, reality restored.

Except it’s not, it’s simply avoided. Avoided by everyone that is, bar Barbie. Something has changed for her, she knows it, and she must somehow find out why. That wrinkle in her world (along with the wrinkle on her thigh) turns out to be caused by a tear in the fabric separating her plastic world from the real one.

Long-story short, avoiding spoilers where I can, Barbie and Ken then embark on an eye-opening, perspective-shattering, journey from their world to the real world in order to find out where such unnerving questions (and cellulite) were coming from. Major issues with (or norms within) our world are encountered, from the objectification of women (Barbie receives immediate unwanted attention from all kinds of men), to the totally unmerited respect of any man (with someone even asking Ken if he had ‘the time’). They each go on an existential journey of discovery, with Ken delighted to learn that in the real world, men rule the roost (except for a brief time when he thought that horses did). Inspired with fresh vision, he quickly returns home in order to make some fundamental changes to and establish much of the best practice that he’s witnessed in patriarchal L.A.

I won’t say how things end up, but suffice it to say, issues of equality, respect, independence and identity are addressed in a way that left this ‘pale, stale male’ feeling both challenged but not condemned. Kudos to the team for getting that balance right! However, as big and important as these issues are, and as satisfying an ending as was reached from a social justice warrior’s point-of-view, it struck me that the biggest elephant of all was still left there in the room, or at least charging around on the beach. Because the very question that began her journey, the deepest one that woke her up, is the very one that’s just left hanging, unaddressed and ungrappled with.

The music stops and that is it. And yet don't our hearts long for more?

It’s almost as if that moment of existential angst on the dancefloor (and who hasn’t had one of them), realising the fragility of our own mortality, did nothing more than focus Barbie on the need to lay hold of everything she can in this life, rather than exploring the reality (or not) of the next. Our culture has a word for it. YOLO, if you didn’t know, standing for ‘you only live once’. Which of course is true, whether you’ve got faith or not. But the Christian worldview would go further, saying that whilst indeed you only live once, the Scriptures tell us that you also live forever (or YALF, to coin a phrase). Which sounds ridiculous on the face of it (the concept, not the phrase, although granted, YALF might not catch on). After all, as the creator of Barbie, Ruth Handler, tells us in the film, ‘ideas live forever, humans not so much.’

Unless, of course, they do, or can, which only our creator could possibly make possible. And so Ruth’s appearance raises another interesting question, if she made Barbie, who made Ruth? Only when we’re dealing with questions of this nature can we be positioned to take on the big mama (I was tempted to say ‘daddy’) question of, ‘do you guys ever think about dying?’ Which, of course, every one of us does. You can’t be human and avoid doing so. You’d have to be a doll in a made-up world.

But it’s a frightening thing to do, whether in Barbieland, in England’s green and pleasant land or anywhere for that matter. Because it all just looks so final. Like the music stops and that is it. And yet don’t our hearts long for there to be more? For one more song, for the beat to continue? Dare we hope for resurrection where life and light beat death and darkness? Because as beautiful as this life is, with all its opportunity for growth and freedom, be it in self-revelation and actualisation like Ken (the film ends with him wearing a hoodie that says, ‘I am Kenough’), or greater progress and equality on a socio-political level, experience tells us that until we have an answer for Barbie’s first and biggest question, then our own days here on earth, however good, happy and choreographed, will always be rudely interrupted by the reality of death and its long shadow. Find an answer for that... and let the DJ’s music play.

Article
Comment
Identity
Nationalism
5 min read

Which nation are you flying the flag for?

Flag raisings, Ed Sheeran, and my split national identity

Juila is a writer and social justice advocate. 

A Union Jack is draped over a railing, next to a red flag saying Jesus.
A flag demonstration, Portsmouth.
TikTok.

Flags are flying from lamp posts around England. It’s newsworthy here – and yet reports barely note that for those of us from Northern Ireland, we know something of this. A couple of weeks ago, the backlash was loud when Ed Sheeran declared himself ‘culturally Irish’, attributing greater significance to his family’s heritage than being born and raised in England. When it comes to signs of identity, things can quickly get personal. 

In my family – Northern Irish mother, English father, two daughters born in London but most of our childhood spent living just outside Belfast – we’ve been known to debate points to tot up our national identities over the dinner table. Does a place of birth outweigh the school years? When does formation finish – on turning 18 or do the months away at university count for anything? Does it matter how our mixed DNA actually expresses in our hair, our eyes, our stature?  

It’s a game and it’s our deeply felt reality. It’s the years spent with my schoolmates teaching me to correctly say ‘how now brown cow’ – and the arrival in England to find people couldn’t understand me saying my own name. It’s the stomach churn I still feel when I see flags flying, having grown up in a country where banners signal who is in – and therefore who is out. It touches on the questions of belonging and home.  

Irishness seems to travel well. The popularity of the island’s artists and art (from Paul Mescal to Derry Girls) are all signifiers of this cultural moment. But being Irish has always carried more cachet when I’ve been abroad, and I confess that when it has suited, I have led with my more ‘palatable’ half (or quarter or… the family maths is still up for debate). It’s convenient – but there’s also a discomfort in the enduring appeal of ‘Irishness’ outside of the island. It’s an ‘otherness’ that evokes intrigue and warmth, rather than fear. Difference that is more than acceptable, sometimes desirable. Distinct enough to be interesting but unthreatening for often being associated with white skin. 

Underneath the light-hearted arguments of our dinner table is a question of formation. Ed Sheeran attributes his sense of being Irish to the things that he feels have shaped him. It’s in being away from Belfast, living in England, that that I have seen more clearly the ways that Irishness has formed me. Watching Derry Girls with my English husband I freely laughed at what I assumed were universal jokes, only to have to hit pause and explain them. The show unearthed memories – not bad, just not often recalled – of Bill Clinton’s historic visit and the ‘across the barricades’ style gathering of primary schools from different sides of the community. 

Signs and symbols matter. I recently rewatched an episode of tv show, The West Wing, in which the US flag may – or may not – have been burned as part of a trick by magicians Penn and Teller. A media maelstrom follows. Whether or not the flag burned matters, as does the symbolism of this act taking place in the White House, itself an emblem of national identity and power. 

Reflecting on the news, I find myself thinking about the signs of a different kind of kingdom, one that transgresses national borders. In the Bible there's the story of one man who died once for all the world. And in dying, he brought forth his kingdom – one that crosses boundary lines to be truly global. The signs of this kingdom are not division or disconnection but peace and justice, joy and comfort, healing and presence. 

This is not about homogenisation. It’s not about the erosion of cultures, but about the beauty of all represented. As Harvey Kwiyani, a theologian from Malawi, puts it: “We are all welcome to God’s kingdom with our unique cultures. Being in the kingdom of God does not erase our cultural differences… The kingdom of God finds its fullest expression in intercultural mutuality. It is a multicultural kingdom.” The kingdom of God in all its richness – that’s a tempting proposition.  

It’s easy to see that we aren’t living in the fullness of this yet. But the world is not a static place. One metaphor used to describe the kingdom of God is yeast; living cultures filling the dough, making it rise. This is an image that is expansive, generous. The kingdom isn’t wholly realised yet, but we can see more and more of it. 

And like the yeast, we have a role to play in culture changing. As Graham Tomlin wrote following debates about ‘Englishness’, belonging to the kingdom of God means we have an identity not defined by where we live. Being part of this kingdom, we also become active participants in it. Formation is not just about us; we get to play an intentional role in the formation of a kinder world, in the coming of God’s kingdom. In the midst of fear and uncertainty, our ability to engage in such life-giving action offers a concrete hope.   

This is not a defensive position, but a brokering one. The kingdom is bigger than our individual lives, churches or communities; recognising this helps us to break out of a fortress mentality. So far, this century has been marked by fortification. As well as the raising of flags, there have also been walls. At the end of the second world war there were fewer than five border walls; there are now more than 70, most of them built in the last two decades. But the kingdom of God offers a view of home that is not about defence, not about perimeters, or even places. It’s a relationship with God, who made and sustains this world, who crosses the divide to meet each of us. In meeting him, we can partner together in seeing more of his kingdom on this earth.  

Anthropologist Andrew Shyrock defines sovereignty as “manifest in the ability to act as host”. Or to ground it in the day to day: to be able to offer a cup of tea. Perhaps some of the anger about Ed Sheeran’s claim is because of what it seems to either take or reject, pulling towards one nation while turning a back to another. Belonging to the kingdom of God invites us to think beyond what we can have to how we can intentionally serve. It has room to honour heritage and at the same time, it bends forward towards eternity. In the day to day, I find this a comfort: to see formation as not just about the past, but also the power of creative act after creative act in shaping the world that’s coming. 

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