Occasionally interesting bio about a not-too-intelligent dancer called Isadora Duncan. If this film is anything to judge her by, then I would describe her as arrogant, stupid, self-delusional, self-obsessed, narcissistic, shallow, and slightly insane. (So pretty much like a certain actress involved in this.) The Russian poet she marries is a pathetic moron who looks like a clown. He shortly after commits suicide, a decision one might understand in view of the fact regarding his character and life.
The movie is too long; it's not that it's badly made, but, rather, the problem is that the dance scenes are utterly dull, and that Duncan was neither a "deep" enough person, nor was her achievement anything to shout about (I mean she was just a dancer - big deal) - and a Communist on top of that. The high point of the movie is the last scene, in which she dies by getting strangled by her own clothes that get stuck on the wheel of a car she's in. A very good scene and very surprising. Like in a horror film.
As for dancing, what a dumb activity that is. To quote a friend of mine: "women must have invented all those ritualistic pair dancing routines which are designed to check if your testicles are small and warm enough for him to be with a woman forever".
Now to quote a dumb critic: "Isabela was the the most prominent free-thinker of her time." So to sleep around and succumb to Marxism's imbecilic philosophy constitutes free thinking, huh?
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