Wistfully sad (and sadly insufficient) documentary from amateur filmmaker Jeremy Workman regarding the eccentric art and reclusive life of Maine resident, veteran and widower Al Carbee. Workman's 'movie' is really just a project, one with little visual flair, no filmmaking vitality and, surprisingly, not even a sentimental overture at the finale. Expanding a four-minute short he had previously done on Carbee in 2001--photographing Carbee's photos, collages and Barbie doll dioramas--Workman doesn't even ask his subject any probing questions (with the exception of "Are you lonely?", which seems redundant). Carbee's rambling old farmhouse (in foreclosure) is revealed to harbor decades of pictures and diaries and personal artwork, mostly semi-provocative collages he's taken of his treasured Barbies. Carbee's late wife was embarrassed by her husband "playing with dolls," yet he always told her he was working with them as an artist works with his models (and we're to assume this did little to nullify her objections). The best section of the film, when the curious come with trepidation to see Carbee's showing at a local museum--and leave with smiles on their faces--is wonderful, but there's no follow up to Carbee's triumph on Workman's part; everything is allowed to be frittered away. So, where's the magic? ** from ****
