Son frère (2003) - film review

After many years apart, 30-something Thomas returns to his brother Luc with the news that he is suffering from a potentially fatal blood disease.  Reluctantly, Luc agrees to accompany his older brother to the hospital where he is to be treated for his condition.  Luc gradually wakes up to how much Thomas means to him, in spite of the latter’s apparent determination to antagonise everyone around him.  As Thomas’s fortunes take a turn for the worse, Luc decides to devote himself to the care of his brother, realising that there may not be much time left to settle their differences...

In what is assuredly his most personal and pointed film to date, director Patrice Chéreau combines the minimalist style and dark poetry that have become his trademark with a rare sensitivity, the result being a profoundly moving study anchored in one of the gloomier precincts of human experience.   Son frère is a powerful piece of existential art, a thoroughly compelling meditation on the redeeming power of love and the need to face up to one’s own mortality.  It is a hauntingly evocative film, crafted in a way that is at times savagely brutal in its realism, and yet there is also a lyrical simplicity that makes it one of the most authentic and meaningful French films in recent years.

Adapted from a popular novel by Philippe Besson, the film shows how one young man is affected by his brother’s physical and psychological decline.  It is in essence a love story, in which the younger sibling, Luc, struggles to overcome years of estrangement - caused partly by his closet homosexuality - to rebuild a relationship with his debilitated older brother, Thomas.  It doesn’t help that Thomas’s reaction to his terminal illness is initially one of selfish self-pitying bitterness.   Luc’s newly discovered humanity may not be enough to save his brother, but it does help him to find truth in his own life, and allows him to face the future with greater strength and serenity.  As we watch Luc experience his spiritual awakening we see that death is not merely a full stop to existence; rather, it is life’s dynamo, the loadstone that gives meaning to something that would otherwise have no meaning, the thing we call life. 

As impressive as Chéreau’s direction and writing are, these alone cannot account for the film’s searing impact, its humanity and biting emotional realism.  Just as important are the extraordinary contributions of its two lead actors, Bruno Todeschini and Eric Caravaca - who play Thomas and Luc respectively.   In two extraordinarily demanding roles, these talented actors are so effective in conveying their characters’ torment that at times it is almost too painful to look at the screen and take in their anguish.   In contrast to Caravaca’s sympathetic portrayal of a man trying desperately to make sense of his life, Todeschini challenges us constantly with his equally arresting, but far less engaging, interpretation of a man succumbing to desperation and bitter resentment as his life ebbs away.  The distance which Chéreau puts between Thomas and the audience serves to draw us further into Luc’s inner world, and it is through his eyes, helpless and unbelieving, that we witness his brother’s slow and inescapable descent into Hell.

Son frère is a potent piece of cinema, yet it makes great demands of its audience.  Some of what it presents is acutely harrowing in its portrayal of human suffering; at times, the raw emotions cut through the viewer’s consciousness like a barrage of scalpels.   Chéreau can legitimately be criticised for using cheap shock tactics and stylistic excess in some of his films, but the same cannot be said here.  Whilst certain sequences are certainly hard to stomach, these are appropriate for the film and help to underline the terrible anguish of the two brothers as they are forced to confront the painful truths of existence.  Yet, as uncompromising as the film is, it is also a work of sublime humanity, tackling its bleak subject not with cynicism but with compassion and the keenest appreciation of the fragile beauty of life.  With its masterful composition and riveting central performances, Son frère is a remarkable piece of cinema, one that dares to confront some of the darkest and deepest questions of life, with remarkable eloquence and insight.

© James Travers 2008-2011

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