Barbie Boomer
(Canada, 78 min.)
Dir. Marc Joly-Corcoran
Marc Joly-Corcoran’s brisk and timely Barbie Boomer looks at the compulsions driving collectors and the philosophical and sociological impacts of the most famous doll in the world. It is far more cerebral than its glossy packaging may imply. The film focusses on Sylvie Longpré, who, for decades, was celebrated as “Quebec’s Barbie.” Her hoard of hundreds of dolls from the greater Barbieverse, cosmetically altered looks, tricked out sports car, and bubbly personality, make real the fantasy lifestyle that Mattel’s plastic doll provides in avatar form.
Barbie Boomer sees Longpré at an existential crossroad. Now in her mid-60s, she continues to attend conventions to purchase elements for her vast collection, but she is equally committed to making plans for the future of her Barbie family, noting that her own journey has fewer miles ahead than behind it. In collaboration with Lydia Bouchard, conservator at the Museum of Civilization in Quebec City, we see plans being made to immortalise this grouping of dolls for future generations. As part of a mandate to articulate and preserve important elements of Quebec culture, Longpré’s fetish for fancy dress dolls becomes elevated to that level that just about any collector can dream of, one worthy of professional curation and preservation.
The desire to amass is ancient, of course, and everyone from pharaohs to kings found various items to surround themselves with after their passing. Yet Barbie represents a more modern mode of collecting built up over the last few centuries, where thanks to industrialization and the emergence of mass popular culture, individuals are able to accumulate trinkets and treasures in vast quantities, often blurring the line between hoarding and curating.
Longpré’s own collecting journey is deeply personal, with many of her dolls dating back to early childhood. Some of the figures are dressed in ways that resemble old family photographs of her father and others. Barbie has, for generations, provided a dose of fantasy for people who played with the dolls, and it’s easy to dismiss Longpré as lost in the world of beach clothing, flowing dresses, and high-heeled footwear that exemplify the plastic figures that stand like talismans in their IKEA cubbies. However, despite clearly identifying with her fetishized collection in numerous ways, she has a strong dose of self-reflection has about her obsessions, one that just about anyone can empathise with if they surround themselves with many of their favourite things.
Adding a dose of hybridity to the truthful tale, Joly-Corcoran (May the Fan Be with You) sly threads in comments from a stand-in academic who articulates the larger themes surrounding Barbie. Deftly portrayed by Jacqueline Van De Geer, the clipped Germanic tone is perfect for giving voice to the filmmaker’s observations about humankind’s compulsion to possess and produce. The dialogue is a dry, jargon-filled response that deflates any risk of whimsy. The conceit is a brilliant bit of “both sides-ism” to counter the playfulness that Longpré exudes, which, for some viewers, may too easily be dismissed as a sickly sweet compulsion.
The wider sense of community for the collecting world is reflected as well, from views of the crowded local halls filled with dealers selling their wares to late middle-aged fanatics with deep pockets, through to more personal friendships shaped by shared passions. Sylvie’s friend Linda Joanisse, for example, has her own magical closet filled with decades’ worth of Barbies. Some of her own carefully preserved elements will join the museum’s collection by filling in some of the gaps of Longpré’s own set of figures and accessories. Joanisse’s many health issues provide even deeper reflection from the participants. We see them mixing the enjoyment of having such collectables at hand while planning for a future where, quite literally, one can’t take their toys into death.
Joly-Corcoran’s camera slyly slides between the intimate portrait of its subject, glamorous macro shots of these massive collections, carefully staged interview sequences, and more journalistically distanced moments. One particularly effective sequence sees the camera swing to show a large, hearse-like SUV drive up and park in a driveway, captured at a respectful distance. Several figures emerge, their austere black outfits exuding a sense of solemnity. Mirroring undertakers, they bring out boxes and wrappings, there to relocate a set of plastic bodies replete with their personal effects. Each moulded individual is given a toe tag to mark their identity, with acid-free paper taking the space of a funereal shroud. It’s a macabre, mildly comical moment that amplifies the almost religious treatment these playthings are granted as they morph from a personal pile to a museum-sanctified collection.
These slightly sardonic moments elevate Joly-Corcoran’s portrait of his kooky subject, and combined with the acerbic comments from the mouth of the academic, there’s plenty of commentary to go along with the celebration. Yet this is no dour exercise, and there’s no sense of meanness in how things are contextualized. We see Longpré’s world of doll collecting through her own eyes, while never blinded from the obvious contradictions entailed in such obsessive behaviour. In the end Barbie Boomer goes far beyond the superficial, a film that illustrates many competing facets both positive and problematic that any collector, this writer included, can empathize with deeply.
