Barbenheimer and Masculinity

Warner Bros and Universal Pictures

Now into its fourth week of release, Barbie, at this time of writing, has accumulated a staggering $2.3b at the box office thus far, comfortably surpassing Christopher Nolan’s Oppenheimer at $666.4m total revenue. At face value, two of this summer’s (we can still call it that right?) most significant pictures share little correlation besides the somewhat peculiar fact they were released on the same day here in the UK - the 21st of July. However, it would be hasty and a tad foolish to embrace that as a consensus, as, from a thematical perspective, similarities are evident.

In the 21st century, the concept of identity and gender roles is an evolving and increasingly diverse concept, with any assertion that “masculinity” or “femininity” is something that can be defined, typically met with resistance. Pertinent then, is the notable scrutiny that these films place on themes such as masculine authority, patriarchy, existentialism, and self-identity.

Christopher Nolan’s magnum opus could be one of the seminal films of the 21st century, and it’s arguably up there with the most necessary expression of wartime politics and moral dilemmas since Kubrick’s Dr Strangelove in 1964. It’s for this reason that mainstream media fixations on Florence Pugh’s extremely brief instances of nudity can elicit frustration from the more dedicated cinephile. This is a depiction of, by and large, the most shattering incident of man-made destruction in history. The Manhattan Engineer District's best available figures reveal that there were just shy of 200,000 casualties between Hiroshima and Nagasaki combined. To leave a screening of this film hankering towards criticising a very minor detail in comparison is baffling and, frankly, insulting. Nudity is fine from either gender when it exists with a narrative purpose, as it does here to represent the entirely body-focused, one-dimensional context of Jean (Florence Pugh) and J. Robert Oppenheimer’s (Cillian Murphy) relationship. A broader example of this can be found in Steve McQueen’s Shame, which uses both male and female nudity to explore the destructive nature of Brandon’s (Michael Fassbender) sex addiction.

Oppenheimer is admirably stark in its representation of the father of the atomic bomb, laying the groundwork over its 180-minute runtime so that we may take our leave with a complex understanding of a fascinating individual and the moral and ethical implications of his factions, It encourages its audience to cast their own assertions on how he should be regarded - a very rewarding experience and one that only a gifted storyteller knows how to evoke.

It’s easy to forget just how much of a massive scientific achievement the atomic bomb was and how its creation was derived from some of the most important practitioners of theoretical physics in history. Following the discovery of nuclear fission, the predominant perspective from the first half of Oppenheimer is centred around the three-horse race between Germany, the Soviets, and the U.S. to achieve what they regard as the most crucial scientific discovery of their time.

One of the film’s principal angles, though, serves to provide a contrast between how men perceive power and what they do with it, weaving narratives and timelines to provide a juxtaposition of scientists, the military, and politicians. Whereas one regards the atomic bomb with fascination, the other regards it only as a weapon and a destructive means to an end.

Niels Bohr’s (Kenneth Branagh) chilling insight that “the power you are about to reveal will forever outlive the Nazis, and the world is not prepared” is ultimately treated with disregard by the authority of the time, with conversations around “using the weapon as a warning” illuminating the sheer arrogance present. The scene in which Oppenheimer, Leslie Groves (Matt Damon) and several others discuss how to best proceed with the bombing of Japan is perhaps the film’s most distinct representation of this, and it’s enough to garner enormous disdain from even the most heartless viewer. It’s men discussing genocide as if it’s a topic of discussion around a dinner table, whilst the intellectuals in the room can only hope to mitigate that destruction. This is about men playing with an instrument of god-like power that they don’t fully comprehend, against those that do.

Oppenheimer’s poetic assertion of the atomic bomb as “a terrible revelation of divine power” is hauntingly accurate, and a link to the film’s source material written by Kai Bird, who referred to Oppenheimer as a modern version of the legendary Prometheus from Greek mythology, who defied the gods by stealing fire to give to humanity in the form of knowledge and civilization.

Murphy’s Oppenheimer is one of few male characters in the film reluctant to grasp what modicum of power they can, however, we are given glimpses into the man’s flirtations with chaos on several occasions. In particular, the scenes in which we witness him interrogated by Roger Bobb (Jason Clarke) help us acknowledge the burden of what he created against those who are quick to embrace it as an inevitability. In many ways, this explains his lack of aggression against those who seek to victimise and alienate him.

Crucially, however, whereas the events in Oppenheimer are very much portrayed through the male gaze, Barbie is, understandably, of the opposite nature. We see it all unfold through the eyes of our title character (Margot Robbie). Everything from the mise en scène to the general branding of the film embraces Barbie’s DNA but is reluctant to pander to it, achieving a necessary balance that is reinforced by the film’s commentary on the absurd level of feminine scrutiny placed on what is ultimately a doll (the Action Men of my youth were never deplored in this manner, and they probably should have been).

Greta Gerwig’s statement that the film is “most certainly a feminist film” is valuable in a still male-focused industry. However, I can’t escape the notion that in its ambition to distinguish itself as such, the message it seeks to convey ultimately feels a little forced and lacks clarity. Gloria’s (America Ferrera) notable monologue in the film, while raising important questions regarding the counter-intuitive, unfeasible expectations placed on modern women, felt too contrived.

It’s worth noting here that I don’t share the view of some male critics that Gerwig’s film is unapologetic misandry. The narrative focus of Barbie is primarily to dissect the challenges and expectations placed upon women in a patriarchal society. It’s not anti-men, it’s just not designed for us. The film, however, does offer perspectives on masculinity.

Through the female gaze, most of the male behaviour that Barbie witnesses when she leaves her home is problematic. Barbie’s first interaction with the Mattel CEO (Will Ferrel) and his board members results in her stepping into a lifesize display box to be shipped back home, a clear commentary on the objectification and suppression of women.

We are told early on by Helen Mirren’s narrator that “Barbie has a great day every day, but Ken (Ryan Gosling) only has a great day if Barbie looks at him.” Ken’s existence is centred around Barbie’s attention, to the point where her perceived rejection is met with shame. The film critiques hegemonic masculinity by suggesting that his sense of self-worth is subsequently attached to this paradigm, as it is with all the Kens. This pattern is only broken once he enters the real world with Barbie, where we see him utterly consumed by toxic masculinity and patriarchy. He then returns to Barbie Land, only to spread it in a quest for role reversal, grasping male domination.

However, in its attempt to critique toxic masculinity in this manner, the narrative does feel held back by its own pretence. There’s an overriding simplification of masculinity that renders the threat the Kens pose largely insignificant. Barbie easily evades the Mattel CEO and his board members, exposing their folly, with their resulting pursuit lacking purpose in the narrative, while the Kens are easily undone when the Barbies manipulate their over-competitiveness for female approval. Their new principles and attempts at patriarchy are quickly disregarded as Barbies quite easily reclaim their supremacy.

While Barbie and Oppenheimer both delve into the intricate realm of masculinity, shedding light on the struggles surrounding societal perceptions of identity and gender roles, the manner in which they do so differs considerably. Oppenheimer, a portrayal of the complex figure behind the atomic bomb, delves into the implications of wielding god-like power, contrasting the perspectives of male authority figures in science, politics, and the military.

Through the eyes of the titular character, "Barbie" exposes the issues contained in patriarchy, female objectification, and toxic masculinity, offering it as a critical contrast to femininity - all in a manner that ultimately raises as many questions as it provides insight.

Barbenheimer may be a cinematic phenomenon, but what is more intriguing is just how these two pictures will come to be regarded in the years ahead, amid the ongoing discourse on what it means to be a man or a woman in the modern world.

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