A talented gymnast discovers her pregnancy and decides to have an abortion. Isabel marches, strides, sprints, trying to outrun her problems, herself. Her ponytail is a pendulum, swinging back and forth behind her, commenting on her every step. When she bounds across the canvas, the camera moves with her; when Isabel flips and twists, we fly with her taking in the world as she does: askew, chaotic, impossible.
Denise Tan as Isabel shows a restraint, puts forth a veneer, that layers the character in an obscurity that is hard to unlock. The way she blinks is at times all we have to guess what she is thinking. A smile begrudgingly escapes her lips when joking around with a male gymnast; a concerned look he gives her later is the only hint as to who the father might be.
No matter the action, the camera rests on Isabel’s face. Her mask holds strong even during her procedure, a scene the filmmaker Sam de Jong daringly (and successfully) decides to include. Only a few stray tears escape her. Isabel cannot stand still, she must move forward. That is, until it all comes crashing down.