Premiering at Cannes, Caravan is a road movie unlike any other this year. It is gentle, intimate, and powerful in its insistence on giving space to characters who are so rarely seen, let alone authentically portrayed, on screen. Directed with compassion, the film follows Ester (David Vodstrčil), a middle-aged mother overwhelmed by years of caring for her son David, who has Down syndrome and autism. When family tensions boil over during a visit to Italy, Ester takes a desperate leap: she drives an old caravan and sets off on an unplanned journey South with David, towards something freer, lighter, and unknown.

What takes place is not a big adventure, but an honest and personal act of defiance against burnout, against society’s expectations, and against a world that often overlooks neurodivergent people as full, complex individuals. Ester’s exhaustion is clear, but so is her love. It’s in this push and pull that Caravan finds its emotional strength and beauty.

The casting of a neurodivergent actor in the role of David (David Vodstrčil) is a meaningful choice that speaks volumes without needing to shout. In an industry that often relies on non-disabled actors to portray disability, this choice brings a genuine presence that cannot be replicated. The actor is not treated as a symbol or a narrative device, but as a central force in the story. His presence shapes the rhythm of the film, and his improvisation informs its tone. It is, frankly, rare and remarkable to see a performance like this, where disability is neither sanitised nor sensationalised, but simply present, in all its complexity.

Acting with Down syndrome, especially in major roles, remains a significant challenge, not because of ability, but because of opportunity. The barriers are systemic: lack of training support, few inclusive casting calls, and a persistent bias that questions the “believability” of neurodivergent characters unless they’re sidelined or simplified. Caravan pushes firmly against all of this. It trusts its actor. It listens to him. And in doing so, it expands what cinema can be.

Visually, the film is sunlit and natural, capturing the slow pace of a road trip that becomes a journey of change. The camera focuses on small moments such as a smile and a gentle touch, and together with the soft, lyrical music, these details give Caravan a gentle beauty that makes even the quietest scenes feel meaningful.

But it is not all softness. The film doesn’t shy away from the hard truths of care work or the emotional claustrophobia that can define parenthood when structures of support are absent. Ester is not a martyr; she’s angry, hopeful, scared. And in Zuza (Juliána Brutovská), the young drifter who joins their journey, the film introduces an element of gentle disruption, someone who sees David not as a burden but as a person. It’s in this small but meaningful turn that the film finds its soul.

Caravan is, above all, about the longing for a life that allows both care and freedom. It’s about making space for difference, for exhaustion, for joy. And by centering a neurodivergent character as a full participant in his own story, the film does more than tell a beautiful tale. It shifts the conversation.

In the end, Caravan dares to imagine a world where everyone, regardless of ability, has the right to move, to choose, and to be seen. That’s not just hopeful, it’s necessary.

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Written by Maggie Gogler

Featured image courtesy of Cannes Film Festival

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