‘Babystar’ Review: A Teenage Influencer’s Crisis Cracks the Icy Facade of Her Family’s Content Empire

Luca, a 16-year-old girl, has spent her entire life in front of cameras. Not figuratively, but literally. Babystar, a chilling chronicle of the horrors of contemporary life, tells the story of a teenager born into a family of influencers who have been filming her since the day she was born, turning her private life into a public diary shared across multiple social media platforms. Thanks to their success, the Sommer family’s @our_bright_life account has millions of followers across virtually every major social network, along with YouTube videos that rack up millions of views, podcasts and various side businesses. From the outset, we see them talking directly to the camera and promoting one product after another. Luca (Maja Bons) has become the family’s biggest star, adored by thousands of fans who want to be just like her.

The Sommers project an allegedly healthy, harmonious and wholesome lifestyle. They live in an ultra-modern house equipped with security cameras, but seemingly devoid of anything resembling genuine domestic warmth. Everyone plays their part in the perfect-family charade, though there’s something decidedly forced about their public persona. The clever twist in Babystar‘s screenplay is that, behind the scenes, they’re not a dysfunctional mess or anything of the sort. Quite the opposite: they’re an efficient family business, complete with a staff of employees and all the financial arrangements that come with it. They also seem to get along pretty well when the cameras are off, joking around with one another (they recite the names of products they have endorsement deals with to help themselves fall asleep) and laughing together in various situations.

The family’s carefully calibrated routine is thrown into disarray when mother Stella (Bea Brocks) and father Chris (Liliom Lewald) announce to Luca that they’re expecting another child. Rather than being happy about the news, Luca is devastated, anxious and angry. She realizes, essentially, that she’s about to lose her status as the family’s star, making room for the new arrival. Will she be able to cope, or will her need for constant attention and approval get the better of her? As it turns out, the teenager makes a decision that, given the circumstances, is rather drastic. And the three of them must then figure out how to put their lives back together after this unexpected turn of events.

Babystar offers a remarkably intelligent portrait of the Sommers’ way of life: their routines, their «sales pitches,» their business dealings and their supposedly «warm» family intimacy. Through videos they watch themselves or show to others, we gradually piece together the family’s story, always filtered through their public image. There is nothing private about their lives that hasn’t already been posted online. Indeed, the arrival of two young entrepreneurs looking to sell them an AI avatar of Luca makes it clear just how far they’re willing to go: for this family, everything is negotiable, nothing matters more than «generating content» and making money by whatever means necessary.

The film’s atmosphere and tone bring to mind the early work of Yorgos Lanthimos, particularly Dogtooth, which also revolves around a family, a large house that its inhabitants never leave, and a set of highly peculiar rules. Viewers may be more familiar with the rules governing the world of Babystar, but that doesn’t make them any less strange or troubling. Following the «announcement,» the film gradually ventures into other settings and less carefully controlled situations, yet it retains the icy, clinical tone established at the outset. Not even the family’s crises are enough to crack that perfect facade.

By now, Babystar may not have all that much new to say about online life, the phoniness of influencers willing to sell just about anything to keep accumulating followers, or the behavior of certain digital natives who seem incapable of doing anything unless they’re livestreaming or recording it. Here, even crises and conflicts have to be shared with the public, as if they don’t really exist unless they’re put on display. In this world, even suffering and family problems can generate more views and engagement, provided the seriousness of the situation is carefully disguised. Or, alternatively, turned into another business opportunity.

The film runs the risk of alienating audiences who are asked to follow the troubles of three deeply calculating, hollow and relentlessly shallow characters. But Luca’s emotional breakdown comes from realizing that something —her jealousy over the arrival of a new sibling— hurts her on a much deeper level than she’s used to experiencing. And that, in a way, makes her human. Initially, she has no idea how to deal with these feelings in public, and gets herself into trouble as a result. Ultimately, though, the conflict forces her to consider the possibility that there might be more to life than likes, followers and subscribers. Just maybe…