The diva Isabelle Adjani – for the first time at the Festival dei Due Mondi in Spoleto – bares her soul in an emotional show in which she reads texts by great writers, where love and abandonment take on shades of particular intensity. On stage, at the Teatro Caio Melisso, Spazio Carla Fendi, the cult actress of French cinema, appears lost in this solitude of a scene in which she barely moves between a fire-red Freudian chaise longue and an equally flaming armchair. This journey of the heart is, after all, karstically psychoanalytic, in her French, with her very sweet voice, in the pages of the ”authors she loves most”, as director Monique Veaute said when introducing the historic festival now in its 67th edition.
So ”The Murmurs of the Soul” opens with Marguerite Duras and her battle with the page, a daily battle, where the writer says she puts everything she has inside to the point of being reduced to silence. Almost what happens on stage in The Murmurs of the Soul. The love that empties, that she undresses, that leaves her speechless and that the actress interprets as a decisive passage of time. It’s a woman on stage, reading women’s words but which are evidently hers. An actress dressed simply in a long black dress and a white jacket, with her hair covering her beautiful face as well as the large glasses that she sometimes removes to dry her tears in moments when her eyes shine with such an intense blue to reach, in the dark, up to the viewer. Flashes of light in the darkness of the scene, which sometimes sees her from behind, or on the purple chaise longue where she interprets Francoise Sagan’s beautiful farewell letter, with which she leaves her man by drawing up the list of things she wants to leave him , which are the moments that marked their history, in a poignant alternation of emotions. But Adjani also speaks with the voice of Cynthia Fleury to tell the story of the end of courage, he asks himself what is humanity without courage and here a cell phone rings in the room. By Camille Laurence and her daughter, with the praise of waiting, or Fred Vargas.
And finally with that of the only man, Giacomo Leopardi, and here what a marvel to hear him declaim in French without losing intensity, welcomed at the end with an ovation from the enthusiastic audience.
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