Dolls are more than just toys. They’re often a reflection of the life we could have. Or in some cases, who we want to be. Take Barbie: She’s been an astronaut, executive, computer scientist and even a presidential candidate. Despite her impressive resume, however, rarely is she anything but white. Lagueria Davis’ Black Barbie: A Documentary honors and considers the few variations of the doll that break this trend.
The film quickly makes something clear: The existence of a Black Barbie doesn’t fix a lack of representation. While her launch marked a step forward in 1980, she’s still been tokenized and whitewashed as recently as 2020. With Greta Gerwig’s Barbie on the horizon, Davis’ film imparts the desperate need for toys that capture dreams and reflect reality.
Black Barbie comes partially from the perspective of the director’s aunt, Beulah Mae Mitchell. She worked at Mattel for nearly half a century and assembled some of the first Black Barbies. Her first-hand experience — though sometimes painful — is necessary to frame the doll’s timeline. It’s humble and harrowing. And her key question echoes throughout the piece and accents Black Barbie’s necessity: “Why not make a Barbie that looks like me?”
The film is far from a traditional doc. Stop-motion (or maybe “limited motion”) sequences bookend several of the major movements. While fun, these moments explain how what we play with ultimately embodies us and shapes our experience. Davis’ smart and insightful commentary gives Black Barbie a voice as she travels through a miniature museum of her legacy.
After chronicling Black Barbie, the doc dives into how toys influence children. First, a psychologist lays a collection of Barbies across a table. Then, she asks grade schoolers about which dolls speak to them most. They often identify the white, blonde and slender Barbie as the ideal figure. The psychologist explains that adults can easily dismiss the effect toys have — notably when they’re not obviously violent.
But that impression cuts deep. Giving Black children next to no options for toys that actually look like them conveys a message that what they look like isn’t desirable. It’s at this point Black Barbie shifts to a conversation about Mattel’s “push” for greater diversity, equity and inclusion. (Spoiler: It ain’t much.)
The film considers Barbie “Brooklyn” Roberts, the modern Black Barbie and co-star of 2021’s Barbie: Big City, Big Dreams. Unfortunately, this version of Black Barbie doesn’t make a significant step forward for representation. One of the panelists featured heavily in the film’s final act explains how the character is both capable and utterly supportive. She’s perfect and flawless. Meanwhile, the white Barbie is unserious, uncoordinated and yet more than worthy of the opportunities she literally stumbles into.
Part of Black Barbie’s power lies in how it cuts through the recent half-hearted and corporately agreeable attempts to portray the doll. It still celebrates Black Barbie and concludes on a triumphant note. As we brace for Margot Robbie to usher in a new era of Barbie, this moving and necessary flick reminds us that there’s a lot of work to be done.
Find more deadCenter 2023 coverage at The Cinematropolis.
