"Barbie"

    ☆☆☆½ 

Being this late to the cultural watershed moment of Barbie is an interesting experience: I've heard everyone raving, I've read both the reviews, criticisms, analyses and musings. And, finally, I've at long last seen the movie itself. I really liked it. Barbie is, for the most part, an undeniably good film. When it's bad, like in the long stretches with a supremely unfunny Will Ferrell, it's still amusing. There is hardly anything negative to say about Barbie.

That in itself is a more than spectacular achievement on behalf of director Greta Gerwig and the script she wrote with Noah Baumbach. It's a huge credit to Margot Robbie and Ryan Gosling and Rhea Pearlman and America Ferrara and Kate McKinnon and every one of the other performers, almost all of whom are just wonderful. ("Almost" because of the movie's big, unavoidable Will Ferrell problem.)

When Barbie reaches its emotional climax, not only is it shocking that a movie about a toy has an emotion climax (but, really, after all those Toy Story movies, should it be shocking?), but that the film has so successfully and confidently navigated its path from absurdist, satirical comedy to sensitive emotional drama that, in an age of mindless superhero, horror and "franchise" fluff, Barbie at its core is just a really, really good, satisfying, enjoyable, less-than-two-hour-long movie.

The overwhelming box-office success of the film might, if nothing else, force some serious self-reflection from today's crop of writers. As they carry their picket signs, they might also consider how amazingly well Barbie illustrates that a complete character arc, a wonderfully satisfying screen-based entertainment, does not need to play itself out over 3½ or 10 or 26 hours. Two will do just fine.

The core story of Barbie's quest for self-discovery, her mythical journey into the "real world" from her home in Barbieland, and the effects it has not just on her self-determination but that of her self-proclaimed "boyfriend" Ken, is engaging and wonderful. Except for Will Ferrell's big, gaping wound of non-comedy, it's all splendid.

Which gets me to the crux of this. In improv parlance, not the but... as much as the and ...

Because Barbie is using its anti-consumerist story to supremely consumerist ends. The movie seems to poke fun at Barbie manufacturer Mattel—yet every joke in it was approved by and presumably encouraged by Mattel itself with the idea that being hip and cool and "meta" could ultimately help it sell more Barbie dolls. It is impossible to watch Barbie and not be constantly aware of its smug, look-at-me corporate antics. The "subversion" helps it sell dolls in the 21st century.

It is, ultimately, a two-hour commercial.

Do I hold that against Barbie? I don't think so. It's still a very, very good, sensationally entertaining film. It does bear the imprimatur of an important, exciting filmmaking talent. And it's also a corporate marketing gimmick. It exists to revive a moribund toy franchise.

The story of Barbie is both light and airy and silly, and also deeply thoughtful and not a little cynical. And so is the very existence of Barbie itself. If nothing else, Barbie is living proof of the paradoxes it seeks to show are endemic in the world: It is possible to adore Barbie and be deeply suspicious of it all the same. It is possible to know Barbie is, above all, a hugely successful marketing initiative, but also one fine movie. Which is, in the end, the only place to leave it, really. It exists in the flawed, imperfect world Barbie herself comes to realize is all around is ... and it is very much part of that world. 

In the end, then, Barbie is a toy commercial that is impossibly better than anyone would ever have thought possible. It is effective both as a marketing tool and a film. And that alone, perhaps, is something worth marveling about.

 Viewed August 26, 2023 — AMC Topanga 12

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"Haunted Mansion"

      ☆☆ 

If there were an Oscar for Most Valiant Effort, almost certainly it would go this year to Lakeith Stanfield, who, mystifyingly and astonishingly, finds an emotional, believable doorway into Haunted Mansion, the second film made from the Disney theme park attraction. He's the only reason to see the film, and while he's undeniably good, he's ultimately not enough—unless you're the kind who knows all the words to "Grim Grinning Ghosts" and the Ghost Host's narration by heart. Then, Haunted Mansion might work. But it's still iffy.

Stanfield plays Ben, a man mourning the loss of his wife. The word "grief" is uttered at least a dozen times in this film, perhaps in the hopes that naming this complicated emotion will help the young children for whom the film is ostensibly targeted. Stanfield finds a character with a real, beating heart at the core, which is something nobody else in this star-studded affair is able to do. Rosario Dawson comes close, but if Stanfield is given little to hang onto, Dawson is given nothing at all, nor is anyone of the other talented actors who flail about, hoping, perhaps, that they'll upstaged by the CGI ghosts. Mostly, no such luck.

Dawson plays the mother of a 9-year-old boy who, seeking a fresh start, apparently decides to buy (or rent? I'm not sure the movie makes it clear) an old, decrepit mansion deep in Louisiana back country without bothering to check it out first. Unfazed by decades worth of cobwebs and dust, they attempt to make a go of it, and it becomes apparent that neither of them has ever gone to Disneyland because they don't recognize that the interior of the place is taken straight from the ride.

Never mind that the lights don't work and the paintings on the wall are sinister at best. The fact that we're supposed to believe that this mother and son would set foot in the place—in the dead of night, no less—is the first of many, many problems the movie presents in its opening minutes.

Less complicated and more affecting is the story of Stanfield's Ben and his lost love, but even that runs into problems as the movie struggles to find some way to bring the two stories together, which it does with a bored-looking Owen Wilson playing the world's least-believable priest. Tiffany Haddish and Danny DeVito soon come on board, through various machinations, though neither is given a single funny thing to do or say.

Mostly, the film exists to offer fan service to the ride. The rooms, the wallpaper, the hallways and paintings, the house itself all look just like the one at Disneyland, and, yes, one of the haunted rooms actually stretches, but by the time it does the film has given up trying for a plot, and nothing about the action or the story makes even a semblance of sense.

Jamie Lee Curtis shows up as the head (and later body) of Madame Leota, the woman in the crystal ball, and Jared Leto is credited as The Hatbox Ghost—and if you know who the Hatbox Ghost is, and his history in the ride, and you know all about the effect of his head in a hatbox that he carries with him like a lantern, then you're likely the target audience for this film, which is neither particularly scary nor particularly funny, and not particularly good.

If you don't know the Hatbox Ghost, and you can't identify immediately why a tracking shot from above of a haunted dining room would prompt some Disney fans to smile knowingly, or why ghosts follow people home, then you're not the target audience. And if you're not under the age of 10 and you're looking for a movie with a coherent and complete story and interesting characters doing interesting things, then I'm afraid you're out of luck on this one. As fan service, it sometimes works. As a movie, it rarely does.

Viewed August 6, 2023 — AMC Burbank 16

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