Barbie Boomer

Bluesky

For as long as she can remember, Sylvie Longpré has loved Barbie. She was known as Quebec Barbie for many years because of her long blond hair and habit of dressing in a similar way. Marc Joly-Corcoran’s documentary features archive clips of her appearing on TV 28 years ago. Now 67, she doesn’t fit the look in quite the same way, but she still rocks it.

It’s a look that can make life difficult. She gets a lot of nasty comments, she says, with people calling her a slut and assuming that she’s spoiled by men, that she can’t possibly be the owner of the sports car she drives. In fact, she lives a quiet life out in the woods with a gentle, curious little dog as her sole companion. A former teacher, she loves children but has none of her own, so she’s now facing up to the question of what will happen after she dies. Last year she had a scare and found herself wondering what might befall her Barbies without her.

There’s an obvious solution: donate them to the Musée de la Civilisation in Quebec City. It cannot, however, take everything, so curator Lydia Bouchard begins a lengthy process of research, identifying which ones have the most historical value and which might be the most useful in telling Sylvie’s own story. At the same time, Sylvie realises how hard it’s going to be for her let go, and begins a process of adjustment. Sharing stories with fellow collector Linda Joannisse helps with this, and they decide that, in the museum’s care, some of their Barbies will go into the future together.

There’s a lot here that will appeal to Barbie fans as the two dig into the history of the dolls and get excited about rare accessories. This is balanced by critique from academic Jacqueline Van de Geer, who notes the problem with Barbie as a promoter of capitalist consumption to children, something Sylvie herself acknowledges. Part of the appeal, to her, has always been fantasising about being able to spend as freely as Barbie does. She certainly spends on looking glamorous, and it’s good to see a series of older women looking and feeling fabulous in feminine fashion. To accompany the first exhibition of the dolls at the museum, photos are taken of Sylvie posing with some of the stars of her collection in similar outfits.

Beyond this, the film provides an opportunity for frank conversations about mortality which are rare elsewhere in Western society. The women discuss ways that they might die and work out what they can and can’t be comfortable with. They remember those who have already departed. Sylvie keeps her Barbies in her parents’ cabin, built by her father, which looks like a chocolate box illustration. It’s full of charming old family photos. She recalls her father doing impressions of Ken, sitting on the couch with his arms and legs sticking straight out. Her favourite doll, Midge, has given her the comfort of being somebody who won’t change, and who she won’t have to lose.

Fantasia has a history of platforming documentaries which showcase the creativity and humanity of individuals whom the wider world dismisses as eccentric, and this is a fine contribution to that tradition. It’s attractively photographed, with the preponderance of pink ensuring that there’s always a good point of contrast in the frame. Joly-Corcoran sometimes positions his camera so that the near-frame Barbies look as big as the women. They seem to be part of the same social milieu, separated only by the fact that they will asge much more slowly – in cold storage, in a vault, but coming out every now and again for further exhibitions, keeping Sylvie’s legacy, as well as their own, alive.

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