It's a Barbie movie. It is as saccharine as Treacle and as empty as Barbie's head. A pink spectacle, and much like the doll, you can try to attach some accessories or throw on a doctor's coat or any array of add-ons you want. However, at the end of the day, it's a cheap children's toy, that any sane adult should ignore or only look upon as some bitter-sweet memento of a childhood that they will never regain.

Throughout the build-up to the release of this film, I was led to believe that behind the gloss there was a deeper meaning to it. Greta Gerwig is regarded as an auteur, and the script was said to be too good to pass up. In the end, the message was too shallow to be impactful, the story too 'meta' to be taken seriously, and the dialogue as stiff as the plastic that Barbie is cast from for it to be any good. At least we know who the Real Barbie is for, but when I left the theatre I had no idea who the film is for or what it was really trying to say. It's not exactly a kids' film. It's not an intelligent art house film. It's not a summer action-packed blockbuster, it's not an interesting take on modern-day feminism, nor does it provide any sort of interesting commentary on any social or political issue. It is just a boring pink distraction.