Deconstructing Barbenheimer

Deconstructing Oppenheimer

The question of the summer, it turns out, was not who would indict Trump, what was happening in Ukraine, or where Prigozhin was hiding? The question was not a who, a what, or a where. It was instead the much more fruitful but philosophically ominous why? And the why of this summer wasn’t why are supreme court justices accepting gifts from a shadowy donor named Harlan Crowe? It wasn’t why is China operating a spy facility in Cuba? Nor was it why did Trump keep the files after being asked to return them? Why did Biden roll out the red carpet for Modi? Why did he sanction the use of cluster munitions in Ukraine, a weapon that over 112 nations have objected to as inhumane because of their high dud rate and their wicked tendency to kill civilians? No, it wasn’t why did Trump do this, or why did Biden do that? The why, as it turned out, was why, in this hot and sweaty summer of 2023, did the films Barbie and Oppenheimer fuse together (analogy inspired by Oppenheimer), like two atoms, to create the Barbenheimer phenomenon? Why did the movies complement each other so well? The why question begets the equally important question of how—how did a movie about a doll and a movie about the physicist behind the Manhattan Project combine into one five-hour-plus cinematic experience? What were the forces that made these two films, ostensibly disparate, a kind of diptych? The question, it turns out, is no less profound and inscrutable than any of the whos, the whats, or the wheres that dominated the political news cycle this summer.

Barbenheimer is the bizarre product of the bizarre circumstances surrounding the making and release of the films. Barbie and Oppenheimer were developed and filmed during a precarious time for the world, and during an especially precarious time for filmmaking. The ascendancy of streaming services has thrown doubt on the traditional movie-going experience. There’s a growing number of platforms that offer original content. Netflix’s streaming hegemony has been challenged by a host of rivals like Amazon Prime, Disney+, Apple, Hulu, HBO max, and Paramount+. All these streaming services have siphoned off viewers from the theaters. A bleak situation for movie theaters was made worse when the Covid Pandemic swept across the country. Theaters were forced to close down. The steady stream of moviegoers slowed to a trickle. And once the pandemic restrictions were lifted, theaters struggled to revive. Studios adopted the practice of giving films simultaneous streaming and limited-theater releases, a course of action that aimed at striking a balance but did little to reanimate sluggish ticket sales. When confronted with the possibility of a simultaneous release for Oppenheimer, Christopher Nolan left Warner Brothers, with whom he had produced his past nine films, and found a new home at NBCUniversal. Nolan’s contract with NBCUniversal ensured an exclusive theatrical release for Oppenheimer. As of this writing, Oppenheimer has now grossed over $850 million, and Oppenheimer, along with Barbie’s $1.38 billion gross, has provided a desperately needed shot in the arm for movie-ticket sales.

It was during the height of the pandemic that the ideas for Oppenheimer and Barbie crystallized. The collective feelings of anxiety, fear, grief, despair, and loneliness couldn’t help but inform the stories. In an interview with the Guardian, Gerwig said that her film emerged from “the deep isolation of the pandemic…that feeling of being in our little boxes, alone.”

But the key player to Barbenheimer’s success was the spectator. The task of connecting the two films devolved on moviegoers. It was the audience who saw more in the Barbenheimer phenomenon than a shared release date. It was the audience who channeled their social-media savvy into creating the Barbenheimer memes that flooded Instagram and Twitter. But why did the audience respond in this way? Why did the audience find something harmonious, some kind of deep symmetry between the two films? The answer is the political climate. The events of the past couple of years have whetted people’s appetites for a more philosophical fare. Questions have grown existential. People have become jaded, have become introspective. Only in the summer of 2023, during the blockbuster season—a season marked by the kind of easy-going, lazy entertainment exemplified by the Fast and Furious franchise—could a film about a physicist and a film about a doll obsessed with her own mortality create such a stir.

A major contributor to the current political climate is the earth’s climate. Global warming—its veracity, its consequences—continues to dominate political discourse. Trump, the likely GOP nominee, stresses the country’s need for energy independence and this, of course, entails lots of drilling, or in Trump’s words, “drill, baby, drill.” Vivek Ramaswamy, another republican contender, announced at the first GOP primary debate that “the climate change agenda is a hoax.” Biden, on the other hand, has drawn sharp criticism for some of his environmental policies. This March he approved a massive oil-drilling operation in Alaska—the Willow Project—which sparked outrage among climate activists. This past week he scaled back the drilling project in a bid to mollify frustrated young voters.

Global warming is no longer just heating up the planet. It’s also heating up our courtrooms. In mid-August, a Montana judge ruled in favor of the plaintiffs in Held v. Montana. The plaintiffs were a group of 16 young Montanans aged 5 to 22 who sued the state for depriving them of their right to a “clean and healthful” environment. The lawsuit focused on two pieces of legislation that encouraged the use of fossil fuels in state projects. Montana is one of a few states whose constitutions explicitly articulate a citizen’s right to a clean and healthful environment. The successful outcome of the case is expected to inspire similar environmental legal action in other states.

The current political climate also derives in large part from the war in Ukraine. Nuclear warfare no longer seems entirely far-fetched. Putin has frequently invoked the possibility of nuclear escalation if the west involves itself too directly in the war in Ukraine. Putin has placed nuclear forces on high alert. He’s moved tactical nuclear warheads into Lukashenko’s Belarus. And just last week, Russia vociferously announced that its advanced Sarmat nuclear missile system was now on combat duty. How much of this activity is just Putin’s saber-rattling is hard to tell. But regardless of Putin’s intentions, the very idea of nuclear warfare has gained traction in the media. Phrases like “World War 3” and “Nuclear Armageddon” are repeated by grim news-anchors incessantly. It’s possible that the specter of nuclear warfare has dramatically shifted the nation’s consciousness. And it’s possible that the specter of nuclear warfare has aroused in people an interest in the origin of nuclear warfare, aroused in people an interest in its singular progenitor, J. Robert Oppenheimer.

Abortion is the third factor contributing to the current political climate. Last summer’s reversal of Roe, the ensuing spate of 6-week abortion bans, and the prospect of a federal abortion ban depending on who takes office in 2024—this has imprinted itself on the nation’s mind. In fact, the issue of abortion is so imprinted on the nation's mind that it galvanized voters in the 2022 midterms, with pro-abortion voters coming out in droves. This enabled the democrats to hang on to the senate, and it attenuated the republican victory in the house. Clearly body autonomy, reproductive rights, and the related cause of female agency are on people’s minds. And so Barbie and its stark depiction of society’s gender dynamics found a ready audience among disaffected women and men.

The summer of 2023 was a strange summer. The reversal of Roe was last summer. The war in Ukraine is almost two years old. Serious campaigning for the 2024 presidency won’t occur until next summer. The summer of 2023 was a summer of relative quiet, of relative inertia. But people know it can’t last. It’s the calm before the storm. Dark clouds are gathering on the horizon. People see the clouds in the distance and grow uneasy. They have become thoughtful, meditative, philosophical. They aren’t satisfied with anodyne entertainment, with another Marvel movie, with an Indiana Jones sequel. They need entertainment that reflects the tumult in their hearts. And so, in the summer of 2023, a film about a physicist and a film about an existential doll merged into the phenomenon called Barbenheimer and delivered to audiences what they needed—thoughtful entertainment.