This is a preview of our pop culture newsletter The Daily Beast’s Obsessed, written by editor Kevin Fallon. To receive the full newsletter in your inbox each week, sign up for it here.
This week:
- I can’t stop thinking about Emily Blunt in Oppenheimer.
- I can’t stop crying about Barbie.
- I can’t stop raving about the new Real Housewives of New York City.
- I can’t stop thinking about aliens.
- I can’t stop ranting about these wigs.
Hi, Kleenex!
Everyone has a Barbie memory. I think that’s the brilliance of Greta Gerwig’s film. Yes, it specifically and cleverly unpacks the complicated legacy of a cultural icon. Yes, it’s very funny. But its comedy and most emotional moments both come from the fact that we all have very deep, often lovely, even more often resentful, and sometimes weird connections to Barbie—and it somehow lets all of those intimate memories sing universally.
The last Barbie I bought is a vintage Rosie O’Donnell Barbie, procured from an antique store in Massachusetts while I was visiting last spring for a wedding. I don't remember my first, because I probably stole it from my sister. That is, until my dad caught wise and brought me a Barbie home as his “did you get me a present???” gift from his business trips, too.
That’s probably why I cried a lot while watching Barbie: a movie about a silly doll that carries a lot of emotional weight. People have been having strong reactions to the film. They are reacting to America Ferrera’s monologue about womanhood and how resonant (or not resonant enough) it is; they are reacting to the beautiful montages that stir up memories of how important or not play was in our lives; the comedy skewering Mattel is either brilliant or complicit in the film’s capitalism; the patriarchy is either confirmed or destroyed through the Kens and Allan.
When was the last time something as fun as this Barbie phenomenon—you haven’t lived until you’ve seen the person alone on the subway who clearly dressed up with a group of friends but whose stop was after theirs—also actually meant something? Maybe that’s why all those conservatives are pissing their diapers. This movie and the public reaction to it is invalidating all their made-up dog whistles and fictional scare-tactic talking points about culture’s woke doom, because people are openly embracing their emotional and personal stake in what is their reality—one in which this movie, again, means something. Barbie and Barbie, it turns out, mean something to all of us.
Good Apples
I am never happier than when I am watching The Real Housewives of New York City.
That being such an intrinsic part of my personality and well-being became complicated for a while, as the show’s original cast spiraled problematically and suddenly. It was as if a windstorm had whipped up the mountains of garbage bags that stack on a Manhattan street into a highly upsetting tornado. Still, I cherished those trash bags. They were like family.
The reboot of RHONY with an entire new cast—a different brand of trash bags, like switching from Hefty to Glad—is so different from what I used to embrace and cherish. But I’m already loving it. A Sunday night in which queer icon Jenna Lyons, in spite of her shyness, can’t help herself but candidly forbid a castmate from wearing conflicting fashion labels on her outfit to dinner? Fabulous.
This is just to say that I am fully on board with this RHONY reboot—buoyed by the fact that we have RHONY vets Sonja and Luann serving up the comedy series of the year in Welcome to Crappie Lake, airing right after it—and also I know what restaurant they were bleeping out in the premiere. Venmo me and I’ll tell you.
We Come in Peace
What celebrity should we send to meet the alien delegation? My mind is reeling. Do we send them the best we have? Oprah and Gayle, block your calendars. Do we really send them the best we have? By that, I mean Tiffany “New York” Pollard and Drew Barrymore. Or do we offer up a sacrifice? Ron DeSantis and the guy behind that “Liza Minnelli Outlives” Twitter account, you busy?
This Is a Crime
I don’t care how accurate this is to the subjects of the film, HOW DARE YOU put these wigs on my four husbands?!
What to watch this week:
How To with John Wilson: The most profound show you will ever see whose premiere asks the question, “Where do I go to take a shit?” (Fri. on HBO)
Physical: Rose Byrne has been giving one of TV’s best performances for three seasons now, will you finally pay attention? (Wed. on Apple TV+)
Harley Quinn: It is confounding how everyone in the universe isn’t talking about how great this series is. (Now on Max)
What to skip this week:
Haunted Mansion: I am shocked that a second attempt at making a movie about a theme park ride is terrible. Shocked! (Now in theaters)
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Mutant Mayhem: I came up with the badge “Cowabungled” for this review, and I am very proud of that and demand applause. (Now in theaters)
