Milton Friedman & John Kenneth Galbraith’s Present Their Opposing Economic Philosophies on Two TV Series (1977–1980)

Do Mil­ton Fried­man and John Ken­neth Gal­braith debate in that great eco­nom­ics depart­ment in the sky? Both men died in 2006, after remark­ably long and dis­tin­guished careers as two of the most wide­ly read econ­o­mists of the 20th cen­tu­ry, yet I can only with great dif­fi­cul­ty imag­ine them ever agree­ing. Fried­man, founder of the free mar­ket-ori­ent­ed Uni­ver­si­ty of Chica­go “school” of eco­nom­ics, scru­ti­nized the world’s economies and found that a only min­i­mum of gov­ern­ment inter­ven­tion makes for a max­i­mum of free­dom. The Cana­di­an-born Gal­braith, who served on Har­vard’s fac­ul­ty as well as under four U.S. Pres­i­dents, saw things dif­fer­ent­ly, believ­ing in the neces­si­ty of a strong state to ensure sta­bil­i­ty, effi­cien­cy, and equal­i­ty. Both spent a great deal of time and ener­gy com­mu­ni­cat­ing direct­ly with the pub­lic, not just with pop­u­lar books and com­men­taries on eco­nom­ic issues of the day, but with tele­vi­sion pro­grams too. You can watch Gal­braith’s The Age of Uncer­tain­ty, which first aired on the BBC in 1977, above. Fried­man’s “response” Free to Choose, broad­cast on PBS in 1980, appears below.

The fif­teen-episode Age of Uncer­tain­ty and the ten-episode Free to Choose both come down to the teach­ings of their star econ­o­mists; you might think of them as extend­ed lec­tures, with quite dif­fer­ent con­clu­sions, on the caus­es and effects of cap­i­tal­ism. But both expand upon this base of con­tent with rich imagery, from a vari­ety of cre­ative visu­al­iza­tions (up to and includ­ing his­tor­i­cal drama­ti­za­tion) of Gal­braith’s words to Fried­man’s trav­els far and wide, from his mon­ey-dri­ven birth­place of New York City to the “haven for peo­ple who sought to make the most of their own abil­i­ties” of Hong Kong in search of real exam­ples of the free mar­ket in action. The styles of dress may look dat­ed, but the pro­duc­tion val­ue holds up, and the eco­nom­ic issues dis­cussed have only grown more rel­e­vant with time. Whether you believe the gov­ern­ment should keep a help­ing hand on the econ­o­my or keep its grub­by mitts off it, both series have a wealth, as it were, of enter­tain­ment and edu­ca­tion in store for you. As bit­ter­ly as Gal­braithi­an sta­tists and Fried­man­ite lib­er­tar­i­ans may argue, sure­ly they can agree on the enjoy­a­bil­i­ty of qual­i­ty tele­vi­sion.

The Age of Uncer­tain­ty

  1. The Prophets and Promise of Clas­si­cal Cap­i­tal­ism
  2. The Man­ners and Morals of High Cap­i­tal­ism
  3. The Dis­sent of Karl Marx
  4. The Colo­nial Idea
  5. Lenin and the Great Unglu­ing
  6. The Rise and Fall of Mon­ey
  7. The Man­darin Rev­o­lu­tion
  8. The Fatal Com­pe­ti­tion
  9. The Big Cor­po­ra­tion
  10. Land and Peo­ple
  11. The Metrop­o­lis
  12. Democ­ra­cy, Lead­er­ship, Com­mit­ment
  13. Week­end in Ver­mont (part one, part two, part three)

Free to Choose

  1. The Pow­er of the Mar­ket
  2. The Tyran­ny of Con­trol
  3. Anato­my of a Cri­sis
  4. From Cra­dle to Grave
  5. Cre­at­ed Equal
  6. What’s Wrong with Our Schools?
  7. Who Pro­tects the Con­sumer?
  8. Who Pro­tects the Work­er?
  9. How to Cure Infla­tion
  10. How to Stay Free

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Mil­ton Fried­man on Greed

The His­to­ry of Eco­nom­ics & Eco­nom­ic The­o­ry Explained with Comics, Start­ing with Adam Smith

An Intro­duc­tion to Great Econ­o­mists — Adam Smith, the Phys­iocrats & More — Pre­sent­ed in a Free Online Course

60-Sec­ond Adven­tures in Eco­nom­ics: An Ani­mat­ed Intro to The Invis­i­ble Hand and Oth­er Eco­nom­ic Ideas

Eco­nom­ics: Free Online Cours­es

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on cities, Asia, film, lit­er­a­ture, and aes­thet­ics. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on his brand new Face­book page.

On the Air: Watch the 1950s Sitcom by David Lynch and His Twin Peaks Co-Creator Mark Frost

In “David Lynch Keeps His Head” (uncut ver­sion here), David Fos­ter Wal­lace’s Pre­miere mag­a­zine report from the set of Lost High­way, Wal­lace rat­tles off the “enter­tain­ments David Lynch has cre­at­ed and/or direct­ed” includ­ing “Eraser­head (1978), The Ele­phant Man (1980), Dune (1984), Blue Vel­vet (1986), Wild at Heart (1990), two tele­vised sea­sons of Twin Peaks (1990–92), Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me (1992), and the mer­ci­ful­ly ablat­ed TV show On the Air (1992).” (To ablate, a verb Wal­lace uses again in the arti­cle in ref­er­ence to a sev­ered head, means “to remove or dis­si­pate by melt­ing, vapor­iza­tion, ero­sion, etc.”) Even Lynch die-hards may nev­er have caught a glimpse of On the Air, which Wal­lace lat­er describes as “bot­tom­less­ly hor­rid” and “eutha­na­tized by ABC after six very long-seem­ing weeks.” Clear­ly the author of Infi­nite Jest, despite great­ly respect­ing Lynch’s unprece­dent­ed­ly sur­re­al prime­time dra­ma Twin Peaks (its first sea­son, at least) and cred­it­ing Blue Vel­vet with reveal­ing to him the very pos­si­bil­i­ties of art, could­n’t stom­ach this show. Now you can watch all sev­en episodes of On the Air on Youtube, three of which aired in the Unit­ed States, and judge for your­self.

The series, which debuted and end­ed in the sum­mer of 1992, takes place in 1957, peer­ing behind the scenes at the fic­tion­al Zoblot­nick Broad­cast­ing Com­pa­ny, pro­duc­ers of the hap­less vari­ety pro­gram The Lester Guy Show. Lester Guy him­self, an alco­holic sil­ver-screen lead­ing man who rose to fame by stay­ing out of the Sec­ond World War, spends most episodes vying for pop­u­lar suprema­cy against his cast’s blonde ingenue Bet­ty Hud­son, who may remind you of an even sim­pler ver­sion of Sandy Williams, the Lau­ra Dern char­ac­ter in Blue Vel­vet. The series appeared as the sec­ond col­lab­o­ra­tion between Lynch and Mark Frost, co-cre­ator of Twin Peaks, which brought their sig­na­ture sen­si­bil­i­ty of intense vivid­ness and vague­ly haunt­ing unre­al­i­ty to the detec­tive genre. On the Air brings it to the clas­sic goof­ball sit­com. Watch the first episode (ranked as #57 on TV Guide’s “100 Great­est TV Episodes of All Time” list) and, to expe­ri­ence either the utter genius or the utter train­wreck, you’ll want to watch the fol­low­ing six. “There was a lot of laugh­ter on the set,” remem­bers Ian Buchanan, who played Lester Guy. “Maybe we were too hap­py. Every­body I knew on suc­cess­ful shows was mis­er­able.”

(日本人 Lynch-heads, take note: each episode includes Japan­ese sub­ti­tles.)

Relat­ed Con­tent:

David Lynch’s Sur­re­al Com­mer­cials

David Lynch Presents the His­to­ry of Sur­re­al­ist Film (1987)

David Lynch Presents the His­to­ry of Sur­re­al­ist Film (1987)

4,000+ Free Movies Online: Great Clas­sics, Indies, Noir, West­erns, Doc­u­men­taries & More

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on cities, Asia, film, lit­er­a­ture, and aes­thet­ics. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on his brand new Face­book page.

Google’s Moving Ad About 1947 Partition of India & Pakistan Tops 10 Million Views

Recent­ly, Wired writer Steve Sil­ber­man (aka @stevesil­ber­man) shot us a note on Twit­ter, say­ing, “@openculture, do not miss this bril­liant ad. Most touch­ing movie (in 3 mins!) I’ve seen in years.” Released on Novem­ber 13th, the video has already clocked over 10 mil­lion views. But chances are you haven’t seen it. And that’s because it’s tar­get­ed to the web-enabled mid­dle class of India and Pak­istan. As The Dawn, Pak­istan’s old­est Eng­lish news­pa­per, describes it, the Google-cre­at­ed ad enti­tled “Reunion “por­trays two child­hood friends, now elder­ly men, who haven’t seen each oth­er since they were sep­a­rat­ed by the 1947 par­ti­tion that cre­at­ed India and Pak­istan from the old British empire in South Asia. Par­ti­tion sparked a mass exo­dus as mil­lions of Mus­lims and Hin­dus fled across the new bor­ders amid reli­gious vio­lence.” Now Google search prod­ucts are help­ing to bring old friends and neigh­bors back togeth­er.

Cyn­ics may be quick to judge this a sac­cha­rine, manip­u­la­tive ad. But oth­ers are see­ing in it some­thing else — a sign that “per­son­al con­nec­tions between Indi­ans and Pak­ista­nis run deep.” Even if their gov­ern­ments gain some­thing from keep­ing the con­flict alive, every­day peo­ple in India and Pak­istan are increas­ing­ly ready to put his­to­ry aside.

Note: If you click CC at the bot­tom of the video, you can use cap­tions to trans­late the film into nine lan­guages, includ­ing French, Malay­alam and Urdu. It is pre­set to Eng­lish.

Don’t miss any­thing from Open Cul­ture. Sign up for our Dai­ly Email orRSS Feed. And we’ll send qual­i­ty cul­ture your way, every day.

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The Clash Mauls a Teddy Bear and Plays Two Songs on The Tom Snyder Show (1981)

The Clash’s San­din­ista!, their fourth and penul­ti­mate stu­dio album (let’s not talk about Cut the Crap) inspired crit­i­cal rhap­sodies and rose to the top of lists every­where in 1981. When I encoun­tered it almost ten years lat­er as a young fan, I didn’t give it much of a chance, except for a song with the same name as my belea­guered hometown’s NBA team. In hind­sight, it was my loss, but it’s also true that near­ly every gen­er­a­tion of Clash fans, includ­ing the very first, has put their fin­ger on the band’s moment of either “sell­ing out” or sharply declin­ing. Maybe for me it was what a Rolling Stone review called San­din­ista!’s “main­stream moves” and “stu­dio sophis­ti­ca­tion.” Maybe it was the “whiff of grandeur” of the triple album. I think it also had to do with what Tom Sny­der, in his 1981 inter­view with the band above, says of them in his intro­duc­tion: they pre­ferred to be iden­ti­fied “not so much as a Rock and Roll group but as a ‘News-giv­ing group.’”

It was hard­ly news when I heard it, and I didn’t much care for top­i­cal songs any­way. But I’ve always admired Joe Strummer’s sin­cer­i­ty and sense of polit­i­cal urgency. I don’t know how seri­ous­ly Strum­mer takes Snyder’s “News-giv­ing” open, but he rolls with it, and the band turns on the charm offen­sive, alter­nate­ly cud­dling and abus­ing a ted­dy bear (against Snyder’s protes­ta­tions), pro­fess­ing their sin­cere loy­al­ty to their fans, and cov­er­ing the host with mer­chan­dise. It’s a fun eight and half min­utes. Then they do two songs, “The Mag­nif­i­cent Sev­en” (above), from San­din­ista!, and “This is Radio Clash” (below), which doesn’t appear on any of their stu­dio albums. Behind Mick Jones’ wall of amps, pio­neer­ing graf­fi­ti artist Futu­ra 2000 spray-paints some uniden­ti­fi­able words, and beneath the whole affair is what Dan­ger­ous Minds calls “an under­cur­rent of con­trolled may­hem.” This kind of TV just doesn’t hap­pen any­more.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch Audio Ammu­ni­tion: Google’s New Doc­u­men­tary Series on The Clash and Their Five Clas­sic Albums

Rare Live Footage Doc­u­ments The Clash From Their Raw Debut to the Career-Defin­ing Lon­don Call­ing

Mick Jones Plays Three Clas­sics by The Clash at the Pub­lic Library

The Clash: West­way to the World (The 2002 Gram­my Win­ning Film)

The Clash Live in Tokyo, 1982: Watch the Com­plete Con­cert

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Join Clive James on His Classic Television Trips to Paris, LA, Tokyo, Rio, Cairo & Beyond

After a morn­ing’s girl­watch­ing in ParisClive James goes for a leisure­ly yet har­row­ing dri­ve with Bon­jour Tristesse author Françoise Sagan at the wheel, walks out on the opera, pays respects to the graves of Oscar Wilde, Edith Piaf, and Mar­cel Proust, seeks the def­i­n­i­tion of a “fash­ion vic­tim,” denounces I.M. Pei’s pyra­mid atop the Lou­vre, and descends into the dance clubs beneath the streets. On the coast of Los Ange­les, he endures a celebri­ty-grade work­out, com­mis­sions a toupee from Bev­er­ly Hills styl­ist José Eber and his most trust­ed “hair unit” crafts­man, under­goes a plas­tic surgery con­sul­ta­tion, and meets the most cheer­ful (and no doubt most suc­cess­ful) car-park­er alive. At the height of Japan’s eco­nom­ic bub­ble, he does bat­tle with his own chop­sticks, los­es him­self in Shun­juku despite mean­ing to lose him­self in the Gin­za, beds down unsuc­cess­ful­ly in a love hotel, holds in his breath as he wedges him­self into a com­muter train, strug­gles to accept hos­pi­tal­i­ty from robots, puts him­self at the utter mer­cy of a game show, and gets drunk amidst junior geisha.

Why, you might ask, would a respect­ed man of let­ters like James – author, most recent­ly, of a new trans­la­tion of Dan­te’s Divine Com­e­dy — do all this prat­fall-inten­sive glo­be­trot­ting, much less on the BBC for all to see? I would sub­mit, as a long­time fol­low­er of the man’s work, that it has to do with his twin dri­ves to, with his wise­crack­ing­ly illu­mi­nat­ing turns of phrase, keep his audi­ences laugh­ing as well as think­ing, no mat­ter the medi­um in which he works. He fills the role of the enter­tain­er, cer­tain­ly, but simul­ta­ne­ous­ly fills the role of the intel­lec­tu­al. An untir­ing­ly curi­ous poly­glot, not that you’d know it by the exag­ger­at­ed inep­ti­tude with which he asks for direc­tions in Tokyo or inter­views French star­lets, James plays both low and high at all times, and you can see it in all these tele­vi­su­al jour­neys to CairoRomeMia­miRioChica­goBerlinShang­haiNew YorkBom­bayHong Kong, and even the Syd­ney of James’ native Aus­tralia. You can also see it in James’ trav­el pieces for the Observ­er that served as their tem­plates, all freely avail­able on his web site.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Pan Am’s 1960s and 70s Trav­el Films: Vis­it 11 Places, in 7 Lan­guages

Mashup Artist “Kuti­man” Trav­els to Tokyo and Cre­ates an Incred­i­ble Musi­cal Post­card

Five Cul­tur­al Tours of Los Ange­les

Al Jazeera Trav­el Show Explores World Cities Through Their Street Food

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on cities, Asia, film, lit­er­a­ture, and aes­thet­ics. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­lesA Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on his brand new Face­book page.

John Cleese Stars in a Morbidly Funny Anti-Smoking Campaign (1992–1994)

In 1992, the Health Edu­ca­tion Author­i­ty (HEA) began run­ning a series of ads on British tele­vi­sion star­ring the Mon­ty Python come­di­an and ex-smok­er, John Cleese. Smok­ing remained the #1 cause of pre­ma­ture death in the UK, and the HEA want­ed to see if a media cam­paign could make a dent in the epi­dem­ic. As part of a con­trolled exper­i­ment (all detailed here), ads star­ring Cleese were shown in cer­tain parts of the UK (but not oth­ers), and they used mor­bid humor and macabre sce­nar­ios “first to engage the view­ers’ curios­i­ty,” and then to “high­light the dan­gers of smok­ing, show[ing] the ridicu­lous­ness of the smok­ing habit.” Final­ly, view­ers were giv­en a phone num­ber to call where they could get more infor­ma­tion on how to quit.

So what were the results? Dur­ing the cam­paign (which ran from 1992 to 1994), the “quit­line” received around 20,000 calls over­all. Data crunch­ers lat­er found that the con­trol groups exposed to the ads quit smok­ing at a high­er rate than groups that had­n’t seen the com­mer­cials. Plus the relapse rates of the con­trol group were low­er than the norm. All of this led the gov­ern­ment to con­clude that “anti-smok­ing TV adver­tis­ing should be under­tak­en rou­tine­ly as an essen­tial com­po­nent of any pop­u­la­tion smok­ing reduc­tion strat­e­gy.” In this post, we’ve high­light­ed three of the bet­ter pre­served ads in the cam­paign.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

An Anti, Anti-Smok­ing Announce­ment from John Waters

Bertrand Rus­sell: “I Owe My Life to Smok­ing”

John Cleese’s Phi­los­o­phy of Cre­ativ­i­ty: Cre­at­ing Oases for Child­like Play

John Cleese’s Eulo­gy for Gra­ham Chap­man: ‘Good Rid­dance, the Free-Load­ing Bas­tard, I Hope He Fries’

A Young Björk Deconstructs (Physically & Theoretically) a Television in a Delightful Retro Video

Björk’s first inter­na­tion­al hit, “Human Behav­iour” (1993) received scant radio play in North Amer­i­ca. Rather, the Ice­landic singer’s fame only grew as a result of MTV’s heavy rota­tion of the sur­re­al­ist music video that accom­pa­nied the song, direct­ed by Acad­e­my Award win­ner Michel Gondry. Despite the debt of celebri­ty she owed to tele­vi­sion, Björk was not always a fan.

In the undat­ed video above, Björk expounds on her Christ­mas­time TV-watch­ing habits.  Imme­di­ate­ly, the video takes an odd—or, I sup­pose, char­ac­ter­is­ti­cal­ly Björk-esque—turn when the young singer decides to take her TV apart:

But now I’m curi­ous. I’ve switched the TV off and now I want to see how it oper­ates. How it can make, put me into all those weird sit­u­a­tions. So… It’s about time.

The var­i­ous com­po­nents prove fas­ci­nat­ing, and Björk pro­ceeds to describe the television’s hard­ware in her whim­si­cal, oth­er­world­ly man­ner:

This is what it looks like. Look at this. This looks like a city. Like a lit­tle mod­el of a city. The hous­es, which are here, and streets. This is maybe an ele­va­tor to go up there. And here are all the wires. These wires, they real­ly take care of all the elec­trons when they come through there. They take care that they are pow­er­ful enough to get all the way through to here. I read that in a Dan­ish book. This morn­ing.

The most puz­zling part of the video comes when Björk men­tions that her cav­a­lier approach to tele­vi­sion is rel­a­tive­ly new. Until recent­ly, she had been guard­ed about her view­ing habits:

I remem­ber being very scared because an Ice­landic poet told me that not like in cin­e­mas, where the thing that throws the pic­ture from it just sends light on the screen, but this is dif­fer­ent. This is mil­lions and mil­lions of lit­tle screens that send light, some sort of elec­tric light, I’m not real­ly sure… Your head is very busy all the time to cal­cu­late and put it all togeth­er into one pic­ture. And then because you’re so busy doing that, you don’t watch very care­ful­ly what the pro­gram you are watch­ing is real­ly about. So you become hyp­no­tized.

Thanks to the wis­dom con­tained with­in an unnamed Dan­ish book, how­ev­er, Björk has grown more at ease with the poten­tial of television’s being used for mind con­trol and hyp­no­sis. At the end of the clip, she offers a final pearl of wis­dom:

You should­n’t let poets lie to you.

via The Atlantic

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Björk and Sir David Atten­bor­ough Team Up in a New Doc­u­men­tary About Music and Tech­nol­o­gy

Ice­land in the Mid­night Sun

Ilia Blin­d­er­man is a Mon­tre­al-based cul­ture and sci­ence writer. Fol­low him at @iliablinderman.

Two Viral Videos Push Against Stereotypical Messages Girls Get From the Media (Mildly NSFW)

The first of two videos cir­cu­lat­ing on the inter­net, “Girls Who Read” by UK poet and “Rogue Teacher” Mark Grist (above) hits back at the lad cul­ture that objec­ti­fies women accord­ing to cer­tain “bits” named above in some mild­ly NSFW lan­guage. In his video per­for­mance piece above, Grist, asked which bits he prefers by a lad in a pub, and faced with a loom­ing cadre of both male and female peers putting on the pres­sure, answers halt­ing­ly, “I like a girl… who … reads.” Then, his con­fi­dence up, he elab­o­rates:

I like a girl who reads,
Who needs the writ­ten word
And who uses the added vocab­u­lary
She gleans from nov­els and poet­ry
To hold live­ly con­ver­sa­tion
In a range of social sit­u­a­tions

The ide­al girl close to Grist’s heart “ties back her hair as she’s read­ing Jane Eyre” and “feeds her addic­tion for fic­tion with unusu­al poems and plays.” In his infec­tious slam cadences, Grist’s impas­sioned paean to female read­ers offers a charm­ing alter­na­tive to the lad­mag gaze, though one might argue that he still does a lit­tle bit of pro­ject­ing his fan­tasies onto an unsus­pect­ing lone female at the bar (who turns out to be not so alone). Maybe “Girl Who Reads” is a trope, like “Man­ic Pix­ie Dream Girl,” an ide­al­iza­tion that says more about Grist’s desires than about any par­tic­u­lar, actu­al girl, but it’s still a refresh­ing chal­lenge to the leer­ing of his pub­mates, one that com­mu­ni­cates to girls that there are men out there, even in the pubs, who val­ue women for their minds.

The video above, for a new line of toys called GoldiBlox, designed by Stan­ford-edu­cat­ed engi­neer Deb­bie Ster­ling, upends anoth­er ado­les­cent male cul­tur­al touchstone—this time a by-now clas­sic Amer­i­can one—the Beast­ie Boys glee­ful­ly misog­y­nis­tic anthem “Girls.” While the orig­i­nal still like­ly scores many a frat par­ty, it now must com­pete with the rewrite per­formed by “Raven.” The re-appro­pri­at­ed “Girls” plays over video of a trio of young girls, bored to death with stereo­typ­i­cal pink tea sets and the like, who build a com­pli­cat­ed Rube Gold­berg machine from Goldiblox, which resem­ble plas­tic tin­ker toys. I fore­see snip­pets of the updat­ed lyrics (below) mak­ing their way onto play­grounds around the coun­try. Hear the orig­i­nal Beast­ie Boys song, with lyrics, below.

Girls.
You think you know what we want, girls.
Pink and pret­ty it’s girls.
Just like the 50’s it’s girls.

You like to buy us pink toys
and every­thing else is for boys
and you can always get us dolls
and we’ll grow up like them… false.

It’s time to change.
We deserve to see a range.
‘Cause all our toys look just the same
and we would like to use our brains.

We are all more than princess maids.

Girls to build the space­ship,
Girls to code the new app,
Girls to grow up know­ing
they can engi­neer that.



Girls.

That’s all we real­ly need is Girls.
To bring us up to speed it’s Girls.
Our oppor­tu­ni­ty is Girls.
Don’t under­es­ti­mate Girls.

As with all kids adver­tis­ing, this is aimed as much at parents—who remem­ber the Beast­ie Boys’ song—as their kids, who could­n’t pos­si­bly. And unlike Grist’s video, which only sells, per­haps, him­self, the Goldiblox video aims to get kids hooked on plas­tic toys as much as any of the ads for prod­ucts it dis­places. Nonethe­less, I’ll play it for my daugh­ter in a few years, because lines like “we are all more than princess maids” con­sti­tute the per­fect retort to the seem­ing­ly end­less cul­tur­al slot­ting of girls into ridicu­lous­ly sub­servient and fan­ta­sy roles.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

“Sci­ence: It’s a Girl Thing!” OMG, Seri­ous­ly?! The Botched Video by the EU

Christo­pher Hitchens Cre­ates a Read­ing List for Eight-Year-Old Girl

Radiohead’s Thom Yorke Gives Teenage Girls Endear­ing Advice About Boys (And Much More)

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

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