Isadora’s Children movie review (2020) | Little White Lies

Isadora’s Chil­dren

03 Sep 2020 / Released: 02 Sep 2020

Two ballet dancers in dark outfits performing on a stage with a large window in the background.
Two ballet dancers in dark outfits performing on a stage with a large window in the background.
3

Anticipation.

Damien Manivel’s Le Parc showed a penchant for experimental narratives.

4

Enjoyment.

Utterly transfixing once you’re on its wavelength(s).

4

In Retrospect.

A very moving, tender expression of art resonating through generations.

Damien Manivel’s dra­ma cap­tures the grace and poise of pio­neer­ing chore­o­g­ra­ph­er Isado­ra Duncan.

Among the most influ­en­tial fig­ures in dance of the 20th cen­tu­ry, Isado­ra Dun­can faced a hor­ri­ble tragedy in 1913 when her infant chil­dren both drowned while in the care of their nan­ny as their run­away car plunged into the Seine. Dur­ing her griev­ing process, Dun­can chore­o­graphed a three-part piece called Moth­er’ as a means to express her heartbreak.

Writ­ten and direct­ed by for­mer dancer and acro­bat Damien Maniv­el (who won the Best Direc­tor prize at Locarno in 2019), the del­i­cate and delib­er­ate­ly-paced Isadora’s Chil­dren is cut into three dis­tinct parts, each explor­ing how the lives of three sets of women – all of dif­fer­ent ages and back­grounds – are touched by Moth­er’.

In the first sec­tion, a pen­sive young chore­o­g­ra­ph­er (Agathe Bonitzer) feels her way through the piece’s move­ments and stud­ies Duncan’s writ­ings. The sec­ond con­cerns a more talk­a­tive old­er dance teacher (Mari­ka Rizzi) and her ear­ly teens stu­dent (Manon Car­pen­tier) rehears­ing Moth­er’ for a recital. After that per­for­mance (which is unseen), the final stretch fol­lows an elder­ly audi­ence mem­ber (Elsa Wol­lias­ton) moved to tears by what she has seen. Maniv­el cap­tures her soli­tary jour­ney home and observes how Moth­er’ sticks with her long into the night.

Wol­lias­ton, who plays the con­clud­ing part’s unnamed pro­tag­o­nist, is in real life a chore­o­g­ra­ph­er liv­ing in France, attrib­uted with help­ing devel­op con­tem­po­rary African dance in main­land Europe in the 1970s.

In the con­text of the film, she’s not pre­sent­ed as hav­ing any appar­ent ties to dance in a pro­fes­sion­al capac­i­ty, but as some­one so deeply touched by the evo­ca­tion of mater­nal grief that she’s inspired to per­form Moth­er’ from mem­o­ry in her home, her sole audi­ence being any spir­it linked to the young boy in a framed pho­to­graph next to which she lights a candle.

In a film filled with a pal­pa­ble, intense love for the desire to emo­tion­al­ly con­nect to art, this finale proves transcendent.

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