Barbie and the Existential Crisis
I was not a child who enjoyed dolls.
Every first-born male belongs to God, according to Exodus 13, and any family that wished to keep its first-born son instead of offering him up for religious service had to redeem him with a sacrifice in the Temple on the fortieth day after his birth.
One of the other wonderful things about having so many ways to tell a story is that we can think creatively about how to share them in our own families and communities.
My daughter worships Harriet. Literally. Last year I overheard her praying to Harriet Tubman to offer her guidance and courage.
A few months ago, I watched a documentary on Netflix called “The Pixar Story” which charted the rise of the animation studio through its first several movies and told the story of its partnership with and ultimate acquisition by Disney.
Eleven years ago, Marvel took a huge risk. They attempted a blockbuster film about a beloved, though not strikingly popular superhero, starring an actor who was a troubled darling of small cinema in the middle of an upswing following imprisonment and rehab.
While “A Charlie Brown Christmas” is an animated cartoon about characters who look funny, who make silly noises and often pratfall, Linus’s recitation of Saint Luke’s verses is its solemn core. For a few moments, the story’s busyness is suspended to make room for a larger and more eternal story.
I expected to like Wonder Woman. I didn’t. But I loved what my son told me during the movie.