Nepo curse or gift? The pros and cons of being Bjork's daughter
At 22, she has just played her first lead role in Asthildur Kjartansdottir's The Mountain, a delicate story of family grief in which she plays a teenage girl trying to manage her father's disintegration. She also sings, her voice alternately sawing and soaring in songs she devised with her fellow cast members.
None of this is too surprising, given that Isadora – or Doa, as she is generally known – is the only daughter of Icelandic singer, sometime actor and all-round adventurer Bjork and Matthew Barney, doyen of New York's avant-garde. After their acrimonious split back in 2013, she spent half of each year studying in New York and half in Reykjavik, where she still swaps between jobs as they come up: working in a cool record shop, on film crews or in music production. That's the Icelandic way. I'm only surprised she hasn't squeezed in a season in the fish factories.
When we speak, she says she has just wrapped a local festival, producing grassroots Icelandic artists. 'Young people who don't have the funds to do it the right way – so we have to do it the fun way.' She chuckles and snuffles: the Icelandic farmers are all cutting this year's hay crop. She tells me this in a slow American drawl; it is only when she uses an Icelandic name that her voice is suddenly crisp. She feels herself shift between cultures, she says, when she speaks.
'My Icelandic side is different from my American one; like anyone who is bicultural,' she says. 'There is a reason why certain languages develop in certain places. It's like it's cold, so whatever you're feeling, just spit it out because it's too cold to stand out here and chew the fat! I'm maybe also more direct in Icelandic, more to the point. This interview would be a lot shorter if I were speaking Icelandic!'
In a crisis of sudden bereavement, however, the family in The Mountain find it difficult to say anything at all. Barney plays Anna, a young musician whose band is starting to get the gigs and online plays that suggest success is around the corner. Her father Atli (Bjorn Hlynur Haraldsson), an electrician, was part of a seminal punk band before she was born; her mother Maria (Solveig Gudmundsdottir) is a science teacher and passionate astronomer who believes she has just made a discovery: a comet over Iceland.
To Maria's disappointment, neither Atli nor Anna can muster any interest in her comet. When she goes to the family's mountain cabin to observe it, they find reasons to stay at home. So she goes alone, walks on the lava fields at night, falls, dies. Atli blames himself. Anna is torn between grief and getting on with a life in which there are both too many burdens and too many choices. Crucially, she realises she is pregnant.
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What drew her to the story, says Barney, was the way the character was pulled in so many directions. 'I think Anna's teetering carefully on multiple precipices,' she says. 'There is that sense of helplessness in her situation, which is something we all sometimes want to succumb to; she's stepping in and out of that, embarking on journeys of grief, of adulthood, of both motherhood and losing a mother, of being a daughter in this new way, of being an artist. It's a lot of big firsts that are being opened up to her.'
As someone who has also negotiated numerous possible life routes already, she surely identified. 'It's a relatable thing, I think, to anyone,' she counters. 'Although it did definitely come at a time when I was unsure about a lot of things and saying yes, just going for it, was the only thing I could hold on to. There isn't a career path that's pre-written if you're committed to a life in the arts so yes, maybe it was relatable. It's never completely clear if she's making the right decision. And that's comforting, because even if you are making the right decision, it doesn't always feel that way.'
The role seems to fit Barney so well that it comes as a surprise to learn she was cast as a last-minute replacement. In Eggers' extraordinary drama The Northman, a muddy, bloody medieval saga starring Nicole Kidman and Alexander Skarsgard, she played a slave called Melkorka who also sang, Viking style. Eggers wrote the script with Icelandic poet Sjon. Bjork, friend of both, had introduced them; after agreeing to play a cameo as a witch, she then asked if her daughter could audition as Melkorka. Eggers was adamant she was the best person for the role, but she wasn't there by chance.
The part of Anna, however, came through the back door. Barney had worked in production on a television series with the first assistant director on The Mountain, who vaguely recalled that this young casting director had done a bit of acting. 'I went over for coffee and we did some scenes and I brought some demos for music and we just flew from there. It felt like a dream, really. I was given a lot of room to play once we got started, but it kind of came out of nowhere: it was wild.'
Barney is now studying performance at Central Saint Martins in London. She finished the film before starting the course, but feels it was also an education. 'I definitely felt on set that 'wow, this is really forming me as a collaborator'. The first few weeks I was maybe a little shy, kind of nodding my head and saying 'sure, I'll stand here and say that'.' Haraldsson encouraged her to take the character into her own hands. 'Eventually, I started to take up more space.'
There is no doubt that being the child of Bjork and Barney is quite a launching pad for a young artist – and not only because she has been surrounded by creative thinkers all her life. She also has two top-calibre professional advisers. 'I have the benefit of their direct support as experienced veterans in their fields, which I am so, so lucky to have,' she says. 'They're the first people I come to, if I have an idea for a script or a project. They have so much guidance to offer.
'But then there is the other kind of benefit, that disguises itself as a benefit but doesn't really serve you, which is nepotism. Financially, sure, it can get you super far, but in terms of one's own personal journey – uncovering how I see the world, how I relate to it and how I'd like to share that with people as an artist – it doesn't help you very much.'
People have pre-conceived ideas about her, based on what they think they know about her family. 'I hope I don't sound bitter,' she adds hastily. 'Because it's such a gift. I just mean that it's a challenge discerning what's what.' She snuffles and laughs again. 'But you get pretty good at it, eventually.'

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Sydney Morning Herald
an hour ago
- Sydney Morning Herald
Why Hollywood's comedy king thinks Aussies appreciate him most
Paul Feig, the American filmmaker behind Bridesmaids, The Heat, Freaks and Geeks, A Simple Favour and a whole lot more, makes no bones about what it means to be the inaugural recipient of a lifetime achievement award from South by Southwest Sydney. 'Gateway to death.' He laughs. 'No, I'm honoured, because I have spent my whole life working on this and hopefully I've got a few more years left. 'It'd be one thing if I wasn't working any more and couldn't get a job,' he continues. 'Then you'd be like, 'Oh boy, there's the booby prize'. But to me it's a great honour because I'm continuing to work and I'm doing stuff that I'm really proud of.' Feig (it rhymes with Smeeg) has just finished shooting a new feature, The Housemaid, which should be out by Christmas. Another Simple Favour – the sequel to his beloved crime-thriller comedy A Simple Favour (2018) – dropped on Prime Video in May, having debuted at the original SXSW in Austin, Texas, in March. And according to he now has about 20 projects – including a sequel to the 2015 Melissa McCarthy movie Spy – in various stages of development. At 62, the perennially dapper writer-director-producer has no intention of slowing down. 'I'm all about speed,' he says. 'My whole thing is I'm looking for runaway freight trains, because the things you develop for years are just caught in the muck and the mire, people overthink, it starts to sag, and people get tired of the stuff that was good, you know.' Getting a project up and running quickly is vital to maintain the momentum, especially in comedy. 'I think energy is the biggest thing that makes a movie or a project great,' he says. 'Everybody goes into it with a head of steam. I'm not saying good things don't come out of being cautious and taking time. It's just for me, that's not a pace I like. I like, 'blam, here it is'.' For the most part, that approach has served Feig well. Having started his career as a performer, he switched to the other side of the camera after his breakthrough role in Sabrina the Teenage Witch was cut after one season because, he was told, they didn't really know how to write for his character. 'It was this thing of, 'Wow, if you're an actor in this business, you're completely out of control'. They can fire you at any time. You are stuck in a contract for seven years unless they let you out of it. So it just cemented in my head that I want to do this.' His first attempt, a self-funded feature he wrote, directed and starred in (alongside illusionist Penn Jillette, of Penn and Teller fame), wiped out his and his wife Lauren's savings and was never picked up for distribution. 'I was like, 'it could potentially be over right now',' he says of the film, Life Sold Separately, which has not been released to this day. But rather than give up, he took inspiration from his friend Matt Reeves, who had just co-created the college drama Felicity with J.J. Abrams (Lost). 'I decided to write a pilot based on my high school.' The show was Freaks and Geeks, and after Judd Apatow, a friend from stand-up days, agreed to come on board as producer, he was off at the races. 'Suddenly we got sold to NBC, we're making a pilot, we got picked up. It was just redemption at the highest possible level.' The show only lasted a single season – and NBC initially screened only 12 of its 18 episodes before dumping the final six one Saturday night a year later – but it launched the careers of actors Linda Cardellini, James Franco, Seth Rogen and Jason Segel. And, obviously, of one Paul Feig. Those 18 episodes will screen at SXSW in October in a marathon 14-hour session. 'Sadly, I'm not going to be there when they're doing it, that would have been kind of fun,' he says. 'But I don't know if I could even survive that. I can't sit that long.' Also screening are Bridesmaids and The Heat. The first time I chatted with Feig was in 2011, when I met him, Kristen Wiig and Rose Byrne on a Melbourne rooftop to talk about Bridesmaids. At the time, the film was at the centre of a debate after some old hands (comedian Jerry Lewis, and journalist Christopher Hitchens among them) insisted women weren't funny. Looking back, can you even believe that was a thing? Loading 'Well, I'd like to say we've moved on, but our current political situation here [in the US] is just such a disaster. Always when things feel like they're accelerating forward, there's some nefarious force to put the brakes on and pull it back. 'I always thought the conversation about 'are women funny?' to be ridiculous,' he adds, 'because all I do is work with funny and talented women. The evidence doesn't bear out any of that, so it all just feels like misogyny to me when people say it.' Feig also found himself in the sights when his remake of Ghostbusters (2016), featuring an all-female team, was review-bombed on Rotten Tomatoes before anyone had even seen it. The attacks on African-American comedian Leslie Jones were especially vile. 'If you look at the timing, it was right during the rise of Trump,' he says. 'The manosphere, which I didn't realise existed, had an axe to grind, and we were the perfect moment for them.' His response, he admits, was one of shock. 'I was such a novice to criticism on the internet at that point because, from Freaks and Geeks to Bridesmaids, The Office [he directed 15 episodes of the US version], all these things I'd been involved with were really popular, it was just nothing but goodwill out there for what I was doing. And so, when suddenly it turns, you're like, 'Wait, who are these evil-feeling forces that are coming at me with such anger and venom?' It kind of knocks you sideways. 'Now I'm immune to it,' he adds. 'But at the time, it brings up all the old bullying and things you went through as a kid. And you just realise, 'OK, I can be in my 50s and still be completely pulled back into the schoolyard'.' Thankfully, that's all a long way behind him now. A lifetime, you might say. Feig admits he is looking forward to receiving the award in person and to visiting a country that has always embraced his work again. 'I think Australians have a great sense of humour, and they kind of get what I go for,' he says. 'All my movies are comedies, even when they're thrillers or whatever. I mean, some are very hidden dark comedies, but they're still meant to entertain you. 'It's OK to laugh when things get extreme,' he says. 'And I just feel like Aussie audiences have always kind of gotten that.'

The Age
an hour ago
- The Age
Why Hollywood's comedy king thinks Aussies appreciate him most
Paul Feig, the American filmmaker behind Bridesmaids, The Heat, Freaks and Geeks, A Simple Favour and a whole lot more, makes no bones about what it means to be the inaugural recipient of a lifetime achievement award from South by Southwest Sydney. 'Gateway to death.' He laughs. 'No, I'm honoured, because I have spent my whole life working on this and hopefully I've got a few more years left. 'It'd be one thing if I wasn't working any more and couldn't get a job,' he continues. 'Then you'd be like, 'Oh boy, there's the booby prize'. But to me it's a great honour because I'm continuing to work and I'm doing stuff that I'm really proud of.' Feig (it rhymes with Smeeg) has just finished shooting a new feature, The Housemaid, which should be out by Christmas. Another Simple Favour – the sequel to his beloved crime-thriller comedy A Simple Favour (2018) – dropped on Prime Video in May, having debuted at the original SXSW in Austin, Texas, in March. And according to he now has about 20 projects – including a sequel to the 2015 Melissa McCarthy movie Spy – in various stages of development. At 62, the perennially dapper writer-director-producer has no intention of slowing down. 'I'm all about speed,' he says. 'My whole thing is I'm looking for runaway freight trains, because the things you develop for years are just caught in the muck and the mire, people overthink, it starts to sag, and people get tired of the stuff that was good, you know.' Getting a project up and running quickly is vital to maintain the momentum, especially in comedy. 'I think energy is the biggest thing that makes a movie or a project great,' he says. 'Everybody goes into it with a head of steam. I'm not saying good things don't come out of being cautious and taking time. It's just for me, that's not a pace I like. I like, 'blam, here it is'.' For the most part, that approach has served Feig well. Having started his career as a performer, he switched to the other side of the camera after his breakthrough role in Sabrina the Teenage Witch was cut after one season because, he was told, they didn't really know how to write for his character. 'It was this thing of, 'Wow, if you're an actor in this business, you're completely out of control'. They can fire you at any time. You are stuck in a contract for seven years unless they let you out of it. So it just cemented in my head that I want to do this.' His first attempt, a self-funded feature he wrote, directed and starred in (alongside illusionist Penn Jillette, of Penn and Teller fame), wiped out his and his wife Lauren's savings and was never picked up for distribution. 'I was like, 'it could potentially be over right now',' he says of the film, Life Sold Separately, which has not been released to this day. But rather than give up, he took inspiration from his friend Matt Reeves, who had just co-created the college drama Felicity with J.J. Abrams (Lost). 'I decided to write a pilot based on my high school.' The show was Freaks and Geeks, and after Judd Apatow, a friend from stand-up days, agreed to come on board as producer, he was off at the races. 'Suddenly we got sold to NBC, we're making a pilot, we got picked up. It was just redemption at the highest possible level.' The show only lasted a single season – and NBC initially screened only 12 of its 18 episodes before dumping the final six one Saturday night a year later – but it launched the careers of actors Linda Cardellini, James Franco, Seth Rogen and Jason Segel. And, obviously, of one Paul Feig. Those 18 episodes will screen at SXSW in October in a marathon 14-hour session. 'Sadly, I'm not going to be there when they're doing it, that would have been kind of fun,' he says. 'But I don't know if I could even survive that. I can't sit that long.' Also screening are Bridesmaids and The Heat. The first time I chatted with Feig was in 2011, when I met him, Kristen Wiig and Rose Byrne on a Melbourne rooftop to talk about Bridesmaids. At the time, the film was at the centre of a debate after some old hands (comedian Jerry Lewis, and journalist Christopher Hitchens among them) insisted women weren't funny. Looking back, can you even believe that was a thing? Loading 'Well, I'd like to say we've moved on, but our current political situation here [in the US] is just such a disaster. Always when things feel like they're accelerating forward, there's some nefarious force to put the brakes on and pull it back. 'I always thought the conversation about 'are women funny?' to be ridiculous,' he adds, 'because all I do is work with funny and talented women. The evidence doesn't bear out any of that, so it all just feels like misogyny to me when people say it.' Feig also found himself in the sights when his remake of Ghostbusters (2016), featuring an all-female team, was review-bombed on Rotten Tomatoes before anyone had even seen it. The attacks on African-American comedian Leslie Jones were especially vile. 'If you look at the timing, it was right during the rise of Trump,' he says. 'The manosphere, which I didn't realise existed, had an axe to grind, and we were the perfect moment for them.' His response, he admits, was one of shock. 'I was such a novice to criticism on the internet at that point because, from Freaks and Geeks to Bridesmaids, The Office [he directed 15 episodes of the US version], all these things I'd been involved with were really popular, it was just nothing but goodwill out there for what I was doing. And so, when suddenly it turns, you're like, 'Wait, who are these evil-feeling forces that are coming at me with such anger and venom?' It kind of knocks you sideways. 'Now I'm immune to it,' he adds. 'But at the time, it brings up all the old bullying and things you went through as a kid. And you just realise, 'OK, I can be in my 50s and still be completely pulled back into the schoolyard'.' Thankfully, that's all a long way behind him now. A lifetime, you might say. Feig admits he is looking forward to receiving the award in person and to visiting a country that has always embraced his work again. 'I think Australians have a great sense of humour, and they kind of get what I go for,' he says. 'All my movies are comedies, even when they're thrillers or whatever. I mean, some are very hidden dark comedies, but they're still meant to entertain you. 'It's OK to laugh when things get extreme,' he says. 'And I just feel like Aussie audiences have always kind of gotten that.'


West Australian
3 hours ago
- West Australian
'I witnessed the birth of Oasis firsthand'
It's hard to think about the 90s without Oasis. Not only were they the most successful British group of the decade, the Gallagher brothers came to define the so-called 'lad culture' of those high times. As standard bearers of a genuine working-class revolution, they were caricatured as the drinking, drugging, brawling 'supayobs' — but Oasis were far smarter, and artier, than they were letting on. They combined the majestic power of the Sex Pistols and the melodic nous of the Beatles to create their own 'Sex Beatles', just like Nirvana was doing. Yet, unlike Kurt Cobain, they were more about redemption than nihilistic self-destruction. They were renegade outsiders who believed in the power of rock'n'roll as a means of escape; their life-affirming songs soundtracked a youthful optimism for better times. I got to know a pre-Oasis Noel Gallagher on the Manchester band scene whilst attending gigs in the late 1980s and early 1990s. He seemed to be at every gig, the Hacienda or the all-night raves in squatted flats in the then-bohemian wasteland of Hulme. He already had an in-depth knowledge of bands and music history, and was as passionate about the classics as great lost Manchester bands such as World Of Twist or Yargo. Soon after, when he started roadying for the Inspiral Carpets, I would see him at their gigs or at the band's office at New Mount Street, the hub of the 80s Manchester music scene. When he first formed Oasis in 1991, he gave me demos — which I still have including one of the band's very first, which he handed me on Whitworth Street near his then-flat in Manchester city centre. It was a demo full of hope of a band straining against a national music scene that had decided Manchester was over. Early Oasis rehearsed next door to my band in the Boardwalk rehearsal rooms around the corner from the Haçienda — the heart and soul of the Manchester music scene. Most of these bands would rehearse a couple of times a week, but Oasis seemed to be in there every day, grafting and plotting in the dusty damp of the cellar rooms. They were in there so much that they had even decorated their room, painting the brick walls white, adding a small pop-art Union Jack painting and two Beatles posters. These were the psychedelic April 1967 photoshoot with American photographer Richard Avedon, and the shot of The Fabs on the steps of Brian Epstein's London flat on the day of the launch party for Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. There was method in the madness. One of the smartest people I've met in bands, Noel always knew what he was doing. The three years on the road around the world with the Inspiral Carpets had been a crash course in how bands worked. He understood the dynamics and the graft as he sound-checked all the Inspiral Carpets' instruments, and had even tried out to be the band's singer when Stephen Holt, their original vocalist, had left. He also spent hours in the office on the phone or looking after the T-shirts. After Inspiral Carpets rejected his audition as frontman, he entered 1993 determined to make it with his own band. It wasn't easy — in the early days the band were overlooked despite his connections and drive. London bands like Suede were all over the music press, and it felt like Manchester bands were out of fashion. A few years later Noel said he felt like 'the last one of my generation to make it'. In that first year, it seemed like Oasis was a hobby built around Noel, with a quiet, 20-year-old Liam in tow. But Liam had rockstar looks and a wild self-belief. And both, growing up sharing a cramped bedroom on a council estate in Burnage, were united by the desire to escape the drudgery of life, the shadow of their errant, difficult father and their then-broken city. In fact it was Liam who had initially found a local band who made a great racket but needed a singer with star power. After coaxing Noel to join, they knew they had something powerful. The brothers' dynamic was fascinating: Noel would write and Liam would deliver his brother's lyrics in one or two perfect takes, just minutes after learning them. It was this innate understanding of his brother's emotions that contrasted so dramatically with the pair's many fall-outs. The brothers' psychodrama was described perfectly in 1997 by an 18-year-old Pete Doherty: 'I subscribe to the Umberto Eco view that Noel Gallagher's a poet and Liam's a town crier.' Still reeling from the effects of the post-industrial meltdown, late-80s Manchester was far removed from what it is today. The city's famous two Sex Pistols gigs in 1976 had sparked a post-punk revolution of the 'Manchester kids with the best record collections', as Tony Wilson once quipped, from the Buzzcocks, Factory Records and the Haçienda to Joy Division, The Smiths, The Stone Roses, and the Happy Mondays. The young Oasis became the final chapter in the city's transformation. Live Forever: The Rise, Fall And Resurrection Of Oasis by John Robb is out now. Oasis play Docklands Stadium, Melbourne, October 31, November 1 and 4 and Accor Stadium, Sydney, November 7 and 8. © John Robb / Telegraph Media Group Holdings Limited 2025