Greta Gerwig’s Poor, Pitiful Pearl

            I guess I’m happy for the success of Barbie at the box office. At least it got audiences back in theaters. And it’s a win for Greta Gerwig, who I’ve been rooting for ever since I saw her in Frances Ha, and then as a director for the comic triumph Lady Bird and her smart adaptation of Little Women. It’s thrilling to see a woman director at the helm of such a money-making blockbuster. And, with the assistance of screenwriter Noah Baumbach, she could slip in so many subversive elements in the film. Enough to piss off certain touchy Republicans.

            I’ve never been much of a fan of Mattel or their stupid dolls. I always thought the body shape of Barbie was jarring, and the fact the Ken doll was crotchless was savagely disappointing. No, my obsession was with the Poor, Pitiful Pearl doll.

            The doll was created in 1958 by talented cartoonist, children’s book author and illustrator William Steig. (He wrote the successful children’s book Shrek!). But the concept was a pip. The doll was a street urchin, with a kerchief over her head and patches on her dress and worn-out shoes. It touches the same heartstrings those Shirley Temple movies did, glamourising the orphaned ragamuffin. You want to adopt and take care of her before she is kidnapped by a brute and forced to work in a windowless basement making fake designer handbags.

            My sister had one of those dolls and it fascinated me. Most dolls were shiny and well-groomed and elegantly dressed. This one was a pathetic mess. It reminded me of Hans Christian Andersen’s The Little Match Girl which, as a child, I would beg my mother to read over and over and over again because it was so bleak. Finally, she got fed up and said, “Enough with The Little Match Girl– it’s too goddamn depressing.”

            The Pitiful Pearl doll flourished through the 60s in different incarnations and they softened the edges through the years and gave her fabulous frocks to wear. But the original doll was so offbeat I never forgot it.

            Now, how about a blockbuster movie about Poor, Pitiful Pearl? You could go for the full Annie-treatment with her mistreated in an orphanage or slapped around by foster parents. Audiences love to be tortured with other people’s misery on screen just as long as it isn’t their own. But there has to be a light at the end of the tunnel for it to make a dime at the box office. A happy ending with Pearl finally out of those tattered duds and sleeping in a nice warm bed with a full stomach.

            But you could slip in all sorts of relevant issues concerning homelessness, immigration and the plight of children in this country. Her best friend could be “Inconsolable Immigrant Ines.” And she could be pals with “Cheerless Crack-Baby Claire,” “Sorrowful Sex-Trafficked Sally,” “Mirthless Migrant Mark,” “Rueful Refugee Rose,” and “Forlorn Fetal-Alcohol Syndrome Flora.”

            Think of the different directors who could take Poor, Pitiful Pearl in different directions. Quentin Tarantino could transform her into a violent, avenging angel. David Cronenberg could have her infested with virulent intestinal worms. David Lynch could dye her hair, give her black lipstick and have her sing spooky songs at a sketchy roadside tavern. Guillermo del Toro could have her living in the alleyways of Dunwich, chased by a hideous, tentacled, Lovecraftian horror. Martin Scorsese could show her as an innocent bystander, accidentally shot during a gang gunfight in Little Italy in the 1950s. Mel Gibson could make her Christ-like. Jordan Peele could make her black. There’s no end to the shenanigans this little urchin could get into on the big screen. 

            So, fuck “Barbie 2: The Reckoning”- give us “Poor, Pitiful Pearl.”