Caution: Major spoilers ahead for both Oppenheimer and Barbie.

As the summer weather grows hotter under pressure from the Writer’s Guild and SAG-AFTRA strikes, one unexpected gem has emerged from the chaos: Barbenheimer. This Frankenstein of a double feature was first born from online memes touting the accidental whiplash of Barbie (dir. Greta Gerwig) and Oppenheimer (dir. Christopher Nolan) releasing in theaters on the same day. On the surface, the joke seems obvious: Barbie is ostensibly a children’s movie, bathed in pink and slathered all over with campy, empowering messages for women and girls. Oppenheimer is a cerebral biopic about J. Robert Oppenheimer, the father of the atomic bomb. Little did audiences suspect, by combining the two films they would create an explosive cinematic experience of their own, coalescing around the callousness of patriarchy, the invisible burdens women have carried for generations, and the struggle to overcome these conditioned responses in a modern society.

The natural viewing order for the films is Oppenheimer first, Barbie second. This is partially due to the former’s 3-hour runtime, and the latter’s perceived lighter subject matter. However, Barbie packs an emotional punch in its third act that is just as likely to leave audiences spinning as the questions of physics and wartime morality that define Oppenheimer.

Broadly speaking, Oppenheimer is a classic Nolan flick, complete with a non-linear storyline that cuts between a colorless “present” (set in 1954) and a vibrant past spanning from 1926 to the end of WWII in 1945. The film follows the scientific discoveries, radical political leanings, and ultimate scapegoating of J. Robert Oppenheimer (played by Cillian Murphy) on his quest to develop a weapon of mass destruction before the Nazis. Despite this very clear protagonist and the sky-high stakes, Oppenheimer remains something of an enigma to the audience throughout the film. He’s a visionary who pushes the boundaries of science, yet it’s unclear if he’s proud of his accomplishment in hindsight. He falls in love with a member of the Communist Party (twice), but never becomes a card-carrying party member himself. He advocates for the building of atomic weapons, but actively discourages the creation of a hydrogen bomb.

Women take a backseat in the film, which is not unexpected considering the social and political expectations of the time period. Oppenheimer is first attracted to his wife, Katherine Puening, because of her intellect, radical political ideology, and scientific background as a biologist. Yet, by the end of the film, she’s been diminished to a discontented housewife and mother, clearly unhappy with the turn her life has taken. Oppenheimer cheats on her—multiple times—and yet she stands by him during the hearing that ultimately ends his political and scientific career. This is not loyalty on Katherine’s part. It’s emotional labor—the kind women have been doing unacknowledged for generations, thanks to the entrenched patriarchal systems that our society is built on.

Katherine alone tells Oppenheimer to fight at the hearing, recognizing that he’s being scapegoated for the political gain of others (perhaps because she herself has been scapegoated for the good of her family ever since marrying Oppenheimer). Katherine is also the one most directly disgraced as Oppenheimer shamelessly retells the torrid details of his affair with Jean Tatlock. For his part, Oppenheimer is only slightly uncomfortable when the subject comes up in front of the board, remarking to Katherine that he didn’t bring up “Anything [she] didn’t already know.” His callousness is underscored by a masterful artistic choice on Nolan’s part: the appearance of a nude Jean, portrayed by Florence Pugh, writhing in Oppenheimer’s lap as he recounts the affair for the board. Later on, a colleague asks Oppenheimer if Katherine will be all right, and Oppenheimer says she will, especially because she never found out about an additional affair that isn’t featured in the plot of the film.

This isn’t the only time Oppenheimer relies on Katherine’s unending emotional labor. After ending his affair with Jean, perhaps in an attempt to do right by his wife, she dies by suicide. When the news reaches Oppenheimer, he dissociates from the critical work at Los Alamos, riding on horseback into the New Mexico wilderness where he becomes catatonic until Katherine finds him. The film frames her response harshly, as she tells Oppenheimer he can’t be upset when his actions have consequences. Though she’s depicted as somewhat cold in the scene, it’s a rare moment in which Oppenheimer must reconcile his behavior with the effect it has on those around him; it’s something for which his identity as a genius physicist in the 1930s and 40s hasn’t prepared him. Likewise, it’s a chance for Katherine to finally vent some of the frustrations her husband’s infidelity and her role as the supportive wife have placed on her.

Throughout the film, Oppenheimer claims that his pursuit of an atomic weapon is ultimately an act of peace—that by ensuring the Nazis do not have a chance to possess such a weapon, the world will be a safer place. While there’s a vague argument to be made in this vein, the theoretical dangers of releasing an atomic weapon far outweigh any such pretense. Early in the film, Oppenheimer and the other scientists at Los Alamos come to the alarming conclusion that setting off an atomic bomb may create a chain reaction that would never stop—eventually igniting the atmosphere itself. After some further calculations and a quick chat with Einstein, Oppenheimer and the others conclude that the chance of this outcome is “near zero.” Near zero, however, is not zero.

Despite the calculations, despite the theories and outrageous risk, Oppenheimer and the other male scientists on the project continue their work. Despite the chance that they may quite literally burn the world to the ground when they test their weapon, they still bother to chide the lone female scientist in the room and request that she move to a different project to protect her reproductive organs. It’s a wild display of misogyny—that the female scientist is valued more for her potential reproductive future than the insights she brings to the present.

By the end of the film, Oppenheimer is a broken man. His lover, Jean, is long dead. His legacy as the father of the atomic bomb has been tarnished, and his political influence has been divested from him. Perhaps one of Katherine’s strongest motivations for Oppenheimer to fight the board during his hearing is that if his security clearance is not renewed, he will lose his job—and the house that comes with it. For a man who spends so much of his life outside the home, pursuing his passions and career, this is a loss, but a muted one compared to the other aspects of his life that will be altered. For Katherine, losing the house is everything. She’s been relegated to domestic life since marrying Oppenheimer, forced to raise his children, move wherever his job takes him, tolerate his affairs, and put dinner on the table for him every night. The house is her domain, the one thing she has. As Oppenheimer realizes the world has moved on without him, he and Katherine hold hands and return to the house that will soon no longer be theirs.

The questions Oppenheimer seeks to bring up for its audiences are generally geared more toward the power of legacies, the long-term impact of political ideologies on individuals and society, and the ways in which our country historically used and discarded people for its own gain. These are certainly valuable, thought-provoking and critical avenues to consider. But through the lens of the film, they are also inherently male. What about Oppenheimer’s impact on Katherine, Jean, and the (few) other women in the film? The way he used and discarded Jean was likely a leading cause of her suicide. His fate and Katherine’s were naturally intertwined as a married couple, which meant she was also subject to the consequences of his actions. But throughout the film, these are not the characters we are supposed to focus on. The women fade into the background, as the complicated genius of yet another straight white man is placed in the spotlight.

Barbie, on the other hand, places a bright pink sparkly spotlight on the trials and tribulations of being a woman in the modern era. The theme of patriarchy, gender roles, and even home itself are also focal points in the Barbie movie, despite its wildly different tone. The film takes a tongue-in-cheek approach to its subject matter, thanks in part to director Greta Gerwig’s history as an art house director. On the surface, the film is a romp that follows Barbie (played by Margot Robbie) as she enjoys life in mythical Barbieland. Margot Robbie’s “Stereotypical Barbie” has everything the doll could ever want: an endless wardrobe, a Dream House, plenty of other Barbie friends, and of course, a Ken to hang on her arm. All of this changes one day when Barbie begins to have unexplainable thoughts of death—not typical for the immortal embodiment of an idealized children’s plaything. Her quest to find out where these thoughts are coming from leads her to the real world, where she encounters the difficulties, judgements and doubts that plague women and girls at all times. Ken tags along, and discovers the joys of patriarchy.

After being wrangled by the suits at Mattel, Barbie meets a tween girl named Sasha and her mother, Gloria (played by America Ferrera), who she learns is the source of her morbid thoughts. Together, the trio return to Barbieland, where they find that Ken has made some changes in their absence.

Instead of the glorious pink matriarchal society they left, Barbieland is now the “Kendom”—a warped patriarchal society that mirrors the ingrained gender roles of the real world. The previously accomplished, independent, and self-sufficient Barbies now find themselves serving the Kens beer, nodding along to their vapid explanations of The Godfather, and shrinking themselves down into roles that better suit the Kens’ wants and needs. See the Oppenheimer parallels yet?

Moreover, Ken has taken Barbie’s Dream Home, and turned it into his own “Mojo Dojo Casa House.” Eventually, Barbie, Gloria, and Sasha discover that the way to deprogram the Barbies of their patriarchal brainwashing is to remind them of the difficulties women in the real world face every day, and the things they’ve achieved for themselves. In the end, the Barbies take back Barbieland, and the Kens begin to realize they have to find meaning for themselves, outside of being a Barbie’s boyfriend. Stereotypical Barbie, however, has been changed by this adventure. She can’t go back to her uncomplicated life in Barbieland. In a moment of self-determination, she decides to take on the inherent contradictions and struggles of being a woman, and enters the real world.

Though the plot is admittedly somewhat hare-brained, the emotional resonance of Barbie cannot be overstated. America Ferrera’s Gloria delivers a gut-punch of a speech about womanhood in the real world, from societal expectations around a woman’s weight and body size, to balancing career and motherhood, to the insistence that every woman be extraordinary in every way, yet never stand out. Perhaps the most painful line she puts into crystal clear terms is: “You have to answer for men’s bad behavior, which is insane, but if you point that out, you’re accused of complaining.”

This is the thesis of the film. Women are the emotional backbone of society, constantly shrinking ourselves and setting aside our own wants and needs to make sure the men in our lives stay comfortable and excel, at no cost to themselves. At the beginning of the movie, Barbieland is a joyous feminine utopia. Sure, the Kens could have more to do, but it’s not their movie. This is a rare instance where female desires and accomplishments are placed at the forefront, which is why it is so decidedly painful when Ken brings patriarchy to Barbieland. Even here, in a little girl’s fever dream, women are not safe. They cannot have anything to themselves, without men citing unfairness and demanding a piece for themselves.

Barbieland is restored in the end, that’s true. The Barbies clean up the Kens’ mess, taking control of their own government and futures once more. The Kens presumably return to The Beach. But the Kens never apologize for the damage they have done. The Barbies have to save themselves and return to business as usual with no real consequences for the perpetrators. (Oppenheimer, anyone?) Perhaps the most grating part of the movie is watching Ryan Gosling’s Ken storm back into Barbie’s Dream House to have a tantrum as his patriarchal society comes crashing down around him. Barbie, like every real woman has been forced to do, follows him inside and regulates his emotions for him. She takes responsibility for her own actions, apologizing for taking him for granted in the beginning and not treating him and his feelings for her more seriously. Ken, however, never reciprocates this accountability or emotional awareness. He simply thanks Barbie for her apology and decides to focus more on himself in the future—as if that isn’t what he was doing all along.

To clarify for anyone who may feel the Kens had a point to their uprising: it is not the Barbies’ job to provide meaning for the Kens’ existence. The Kens rely on having a Barbie girlfriend to boost their egos and make themselves feel better, without ever making an attempt at self-reflection or self-improvement. It’s not until Margot Robbie’s Barbie essentially breaks up with Ken that he realizes he can be “Kenough” without having a Barbie attached to him. While this may be helpful growth for the Ken, it comes at the expense of Barbie’s very identity. She’s seen too much of the patriarchy, struggles, and inequity of the real world reflected in her safe place. She’s different now. In short, her choice to remain carefree in Barbieland has been stripped from her, for the benefit of Ken’s emotional growth. It’s a powerful and tragic metaphor that all too many women will feel at their core.

And thus does the true message of Barbenheimer crystallize: women, in any time period, any genre, at any age, will always carry the emotional burdens men lay on them. Barbie’s choice to join the real world is both an act of radical feminism—charting her own course for the future, outside of her pre-determined role as Stereotypical Barbie—and a trauma response. Having experienced the patriarchal harm Ken has done to her and Barbieland, she can never go back to who she was before.At least Barbie’s outcome feels more hopeful than Katherine’s. Being a real woman who lived in the time period she did, Katherine’s options for responding to male egos and patriarchy were far more limited than Barbie’s. But like Katherine, Barbie also had to give up her home because of a man.

Another metatextual joke has started to swirl now that Barbenheimer has released to the public: The girlfriend who enjoys both Oppenheimer and Barbie, and the boyfriend who opines the brilliance of Oppenheimer but just “didn’t get” Barbie. Barbenheimer is a lesson in empathy, and one that’s likely to go over many heads, similar to the backlash from Pixar’s Seeing Red. The medium of film itself is often subject to the whims of the patriarchy, even when men are not the target audience. Ergo, media that doesn’t center straight, white, male experiences will be viewed as lesser works by those who consciously or unconsciously continue to uphold the patriarchy.

This is why Barbie is so important. Not only does the film center women, it’s also a microcosm of the very real impacts of patriarchy and the ways in which it becomes normalized. Only with true empathy for those who have had different life experiences—whether based on gender, race, sexual orientation, ability, or something else—can we begin to unravel the harmful gender norms that are pervasive in our society.

TLDR: If your boyfriend says he didn’t get Barbie, you’re dating a Ken. Get out of there before he blows something up, girlie.