Everyone at the alamo Barbie Blowout Party advance screening I attended had come ready to Barbie party, decked out in head-to-toe pink, high heels, and blonde wigs. As the soundtrack blared, moviegoers yelled “Hi, Barbie!” to strangers, snapped pictures in their promotional pink berets and heart-shaped sunglasses, drank watermelon margaritas, and seat-danced to Dua Lipa. A male photographer roamed the room taking pictures of everyone vibing on the anticipation that was building to a near frenzy thanks to a relentlessly ecstatic monthslong marketing campaign. As he stopped to take a photo of the woman next to me, and the new Margot Robbie Barbie she’d purchased, he asked if the movie was supposed to be lighthearted or cerebral—he couldn’t tell from the trailer. Her advice: “It’s the Barbie movie. Just leave big words out of it and enjoy.” I don’t think my neighbor or anyone else there expected to weep over the state of womanhood.
But in every Greta Gerwig movie, there is that speech, the one that forces the emotion out of you no matter how unsentimental you might be. That big juicy monologue somewhere in the third act that states everything the female protagonist wants out of life—her dreams, her desires—and everything she fears. The emotionally pure, ultrarelatable moment when Gerwig tells us how a woman should be. The music swells; the actress’s face splits open with yearning and pathos. Inevitably, someone in the movie theater gives a reflexive “Yessss” under their breath, and thousands of theater kids suddenly know what their audition monologue will be for the fall production of Our Town.
This story is from the Jul 31 - Aug 13, 2023 edition of New York magazine.
Start your 7-day Magzter GOLD free trial to access thousands of curated premium stories, and 9,000+ magazines and newspapers.
Already a subscriber ? Sign In
This story is from the Jul 31 - Aug 13, 2023 edition of New York magazine.
Start your 7-day Magzter GOLD free trial to access thousands of curated premium stories, and 9,000+ magazines and newspapers.
Already a subscriber? Sign In
What Did Brooklyn Bridge Park Get So Right?
Nearly 20 years after we broke ground, it's more impressive than ever.
No Man's Land
Rachel Cusk's gender fundamentalism fully surfaces in her latest novel, Parade.
Faust Goes to Fidi
The producers of Sleep No More are back with the whirlwind immersive-theater project Life and Trust.
The Renegade
June Squibb has the perfect first lead role: a granny gone rogue.
The Empty Seat
At Paris Couture Week, one question everyone's lips: Who will lead Chanel?
The Hidden Dutch Colonial
When Nicholas Howey and his late husband, Gerard Widdershoven, bought this 1925 house tucked away behind the hedges in Bridgehampton, they did little more than paint it-and fill it with art.
The Next Shishito?
Jimmy Nardello peppers, long beloved by chefs, are set to break out.
The Shrimp Show
San Sabino makes maximalist seafood for the social-media age.
The WEIGHT of a BOEING 787
Mitch Barnett spent years fighting one of the world's largest aircraft manufacturers. It cost him his life.
By age 43, I'd come up with many explanations for my perpetual strangeness with other people. - Then the autism diagnosis arrived.
SIX YEARS AGO, my now-husband, Sam, asked my father if he could marry me.