Clement Virgo adapts David Chariandy’s 2017 eponymous novel about the complex bond between two Jamaican-Canadian brothers.
Climbing an electricity pylon is not an obvious metaphor for life. But, like life, scaling an electrical tower does present a certain level of risk. That’s what the opening scene of Clement Virgo’s adaptation of David Chariandy’s 2017 novel suggests, where we see two young, Black males gear up to make the ascent in what feels like an initiation task passed down from Francis (Aaron Pierre) to his younger brother Michael (Lamar Johnson). The tension established here between the two makes it feel like this film is going to be about peer pressure and sibling rivalry, but this is not the case.
Instead, Brother is about family, masculinity, and the complex web of boundaries dictated by race and class. Although the film’s choppy narrative is hard to follow at times, we’re still able to appreciate the connection between Francis and Michael, through tender moments from the boys’ childhood: Francis often takes the role of father figure, protecting nervous Michael in their sparse Scarborough apartment against a backdrop of indistinct shouting and police sirens that wail beyond the walls. The film’s bleak outlook is bolstered by a grey and gloomy aesthetic as the two sons of Jamaican immigrant parents navigate identity on the cusp of adulthood in ’90s Toronto.
Speaking to the love and sacrifices immigrant parents make for their children in a new country, Brother captures the intense frustration that comes from one family’s failure to cultivate a ‘normal’ and comfortable life. Marsha Stephanie Blake negates any possibility of one-dimensional female or ‘perfect mother’ tropes as Ruth, Francis and Michael’s mother, embodying varying emotions that nod towards the spectrum of feeling in response to loss.
Johnson’s overwhelming insecurities as Michael feel almost palpable, tapping into the relatable discomfort around establishing one’s own identity. His blossoming sense of self becomes crushed once he finds himself burdened with the responsibility of being his mother’s carer, shining a light on the limitations in health and social care for poor Black families. The stoic, tough-guy demeanour intertwined with an inner sensitivity make Francis’ loss acutely felt.
With hopes of becoming a hip-hop producer, Francis takes inspiration from Ruth’s record collection, which also provides a starting point for the film’s soundtrack. Reggae, hip-hop and Nina Simone tracks bring forth bursts of joy and nostalgia that when juxtaposed against the stark, ominous tones that build tension elsewhere in the film, become symbolic of how music unites people both in times of celebration, and times of mourning.
Tension engendered by the looming police presence throughout comes to a crescendo towards the climax. The opening scene’s pylon becomes a metaphor for the delicate line young Black men must tread in order to navigate a system that wasn’t designed for them: if you make it, you’re good. If you put a foot wrong, you die. Aside from well-trodden social politics, Brother’s examination of the myriad ways we respond to grief is what sets it apart from other films that delineate the Black experience.
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Published 26 Sep 2023
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