Barbie and my near-mob experience

I did something nasty last Thursday : I bought myself a Barbie movie ticket.

The initiative was taken after careful consideration : “please, don’t let it be after your birthday, because you know, every birthday represents a new life and if you truly don’t like it, it will be left behind with all the bad memories of your old life”.

Actually, who knew what would happen with my serotonin levels – I had a blast with…”Little Miss Sunshine”. It must be cute like that? And Pinocchio turned into a boy. Why Barbie could not… turn into my dream girl? I was very hopeful and enthusiastic on the eve.

I mindfully chose my seat at a point I knew no coke-drinkers-pee-makers could ruin it for me. Not this time, Satan. They had ruined the best Mission: Impossible scenes two weeks before, “spending pennies” every twenty minutes. “Barbie” deserved more than a bunch of loose-bladdered blokes.

I dressed myself carelessly – beige t-shirt, jeans, leather boots – put on my backpack, some leopard shades and I was ready.

But, then, something totally disconcerting happened. I was surprised by the “Barbie” mob.

I mean, I thought people had worn pink for the debut… but the debut was gone. Everyone was dressing at least one pink item.

My first thought: “don’t panic, calm down, you’re not part of this mob. You’re not wearing any pink item. You look perfectly centered and sober. You’ll pass unnoticed. No one even needs to know you watched Barbie”.

I scrutinised myself over and over, and… relief – “No pink items. I am just watching the mob. It is ok being surprised by a mob if you are not part of it, right? Uffaaa. Let me get my cell phone to show the ticket….”

ARGHHHHH, I silently chocked when I noticed.

My backpack was pink – more than pink, it was kind of fluorescent magenta, something like the boxes of those dolls we buy at the supermarket.

I felt so embarrassed: “They will think I am part of this mob, I have no way to prove it was not intentional… I use this bag for many years, I had even forgotten its colour. They are looking at me as one of them now.”

I quickly set up a plan. If they start tear-gassing us, I will keep my phone and wallet and leave the backpack behind. It is fine, a drastic measure of last resort. Not that bad, some will have to take their trousers off…

I took the stairs to the cinema room very suspicious and apprehensive: “I can even use the spare surgical gloves I carry with me and the alcohol gel to clean my fingerprints before dropping the pink stuff in a random corner.”

The film had begun.
Omg, I was not expecting that opening – so cliché, but that “also sprach Zarathustra”.

I was not planning to write anything about it either, and at the time I felt completely incapable to express any opinion.

As the projection went on, I felt like I had been hit straight on the head, by a monolith or a garbage can, and my thoughts were vanishing like after a cerebral concussion. I could not recollect and organize them.

As a matter of fact, I was on duty the night before, so maybe it was the sleep deprivation hangover. But the disability persisted.

I sensed that I didn’t actually need to think, provided I kept on watching and absorbing. Were they brainwashing the mob?

I looked around and observed my fellow watchers. They were all mesmerised but without a particular emotional expression. Some giggles popped up here and there at different times.

I started to get bored. I wanted “Barbie” to end.

I could enjoy it partially – the colours, the visual effects, the soundtrack, the technology, Ryan’s funny grimaces – but that lack of emotions and thoughts was not mine.

Was it what they call TO BE PART OF A MOB?

I wanted desperately to leave, but then how would I conclude my experience – my little pink experiment?

It was nothing like “Little Miss Sunshine”. That was a little girl’s dream pelicula.

“Barbie” is eminently adult and…chauvinist. Can you conceive anything more stereotypical that Barbie’s perfect plastic world?

To my perception the most insightful, sentimental, humane character of the movie is Allan, and he was not even portrayed as Ken’s or Barbie’s close buddy.

Of course Margot Robbie and Ryan Goslin were delightful in their performances. They are the best Hollywood could get. They made the movie tolerable to me, what is particularly dangerous.

I cannot write more without spoiling the pleasure or the displeasure of the discovery, and few people will remain unmoved by the pink mob. But, I cannot disregard the concussion-like blackout that “Barbie” inflicted upon my psyche.

“Barbie” lacks more than good ideas, more than deep feelings, more than a meaningful and life changing message. “Barbie” lacks a soul, and this is not something that can be magically gifted, not even by the largest, the oldest, the most powerful film industry in the world.