Brother: Clement Virgo's stunning film adaptation elevates Chariandy's lauded book
A cinematic jaw-dropper with high-wattage stars delivers a compelling, evocative look at growing up in Scarborough, Toronto, between the 90s and early aughts.
Brother, Canada, 2022, 119 mins | Drama | Starring: Lamar Johnson, Aaron Pierre, Marsha Stephanie Blake, Kiana Madeira | Writer/Director: Clement Virgo, based on the book by David Chariandy | Dist. by: Elevation Pictures
Clement Virgo's visually mesmerizing film Brother begins at the foot of a soaring electrical tower, with the buzzing of raw voltage dwarfing its titular characters as they trespass to fulfill a secret rite of passage. Francis, the older brother, is embodied with extraordinary stature by British actor Aaron Pierre who towers over his younger brother Michael, Canada’s own Scarborough-raised, rising star, Lamar Johnson, with his 6’3” frame. Michael is following Francis in what appears to be an impromptu lesson in manning up, requiring him to scale the rising steel lattice tower, the kind most of us only glimpse from a rushing train or car window along the highway.
The sound design fills our ears with a pulsing hum of raw voltage, putting us in the middle of the dare. Our attention snaps into focus as we feel the palpable lethal force pushing from overhead, conveying through the cinema’s speakers. Michael seems meek and unsure of himself, while Francis looks as if he could instill fear into Thanos with his God-like presence. He takes the first few assured steps up the puny bolt-sized pegs as Michael follows cautiously behind. After a slip, Francis reaches down his steady hand offering an assist. The ascent carries the motif of rising into the face of danger through to the end, underpinning the emotionally absorbing scenes that follow.
Writer/director Clement Virgo’s visualization of this thematic element as a lethal current the boys must climb to overcome is nothing short of brilliant. Not only does it infuse the observational story of David Chariandy’s reverential book with a visual hook movie-goers require, but it symbolizes the constant threat within their broader community. Whether it’s the gang violence at the edges threatening to either co-opt them or lethally dispatch them, or the authorities hungry to criminalize them, surviving adolescence without a bullet from a cop or a criminal that would kill either of them as quickly as a high voltage shock, is no guarantee.
Whether it’s the gang violence at the edges threatening to either co-opt them or lethally dispatch them, or the authorities hungry to criminalize them, surviving adolescence without a bullet from a cop or a criminal that would kill either of them as quickly as a high voltage shock, is no guarantee.
Virgo blends the vignettes of the two youths growing up in Scarborough circa 1991 and the ramifications from that experience ten years later into a fluid swirl of chronology that defies linear expectations. Yet, he never loses sight of escalating tension through Francis’s ever-growing myopic paranoia. These experiences form Michael’s character as he searches for meaning through a stoic resolve that defends his own meekness against his Brother’s alpha prowess. He fulfills romantic intrigue in the early stages with his girlfriend Aisha (Kiana Madeira) but later, a mix of protectiveness and undiagnosed PTSD stemming from his mother’s decline causes him to withdraw from the relationship. In places, the film’s fluid chronology over its ten years can frustrate a linear absorption of the story, however, its overall effect exhilarates through its superior construction; kudos indeed to editor Kye Meechan’s execution.
Virgo presents a remarkably faithful adaptation leaving almost nothing undramatized from Chariandy’s book. He brings an epic vision to Chariandy’s precise and evocative prose, demonstrating a mastery of cinematic craft. Meanwhile, he finds space to infuse his own story as a Jamaican-born Canadian. This is primarily accomplished by casting Johnson, Pierre, and Stephanie Blake, who form the story’s core family, making it a Black Canadian experience and shifting it from the Trinidadian and South Asian milieu of the book. This shift exemplifies the importance of the director personalizing the author’s material to create a film unique from the book, presenting an original experience separate from, yet still evocative of, the prose. Something the best filmmakers strive for in putting their own stamp on the material. A feat Virgo accomplishes with virtuosity.
The casting of Pierre as Francis is one of Virgo’s strongest choices affecting the visual experience in a way that tips the story more towards Francis than in the book, written in a first-person memoir style that emphasizes Michael’s experiences as the narrator. There, Francis, though still achieving favor through his personality, is perceived as equivalent to their mother, Ruth, and Michael’s love interest Aisha in terms of their weight in the story. However, as personified by Pierre, he often threatens to steal focus with his incredible screen presence, hulking prowess, and undeniable charisma. Not to mention his mesmerizing eyes that catch all the light.
The film’s narrative arc is more potent and gripping than the book, as Virgo has structured the scenes to fulfill a cinema audience’s need to experience a Hero’s Journey. Something he never loses sight of when constructing the story. This need justifies Francis overshadowing his presence from the book, both in charisma and stature. He must be the protagonist the film requires, which the book does not need to fulfill to this extent. Here your pulse quickens at the mere sight of Pierre. His charisma and stature fulfill Virgo’s artistic choice of portraying Francis as larger than life, the way he would be psychically exaggerated through his younger brother’s eyes. Though this may cause some dissonance with viewers between the realities of whether he can pass for a high schooler, it is an undeniably strong artistic choice that elevates the film.
As the story progresses, Francis begins a decline in his attitude towards “the system” when, in his senior year, only months away from graduating, he sees that the only opportunities presented to him are solely vocational. One day in shop class, he is berated by his white teacher for perceived sub-par results. He rebukes the admonishment and quits high school in a moment of critical overload, from which point his imploding outlook escalates. Though not thematically dissimilar from Michael Douglas’ character in 1993’s Falling Down, where a traffic incident leads to his unraveling, Virgo’s take is far more poignant and heartbreaking. This pinched perception slides into the negative, exacerbated by police shake-downs, understandably leading to Francis’s final breaking point. During a hip-hop DJ audition for his crew, led by his paramour Jelly (Lovell Adams-Gray), where black-on-black racism is heaped upon the portrayed systemic racism, Francis’s own downfall begins to take a sharp dive, which Michael is helpless to prevent.
The more significant ramifications of his actions are the tertiary ones inflicted on his self-sacrificing mother, Ruth, played with peerless gravitas by Marsha Stephanie Blake. Ruth is a domestic worker who often puts in double shifts forced to leave her young boys unattended in the evenings and sometimes, even through the night. Their father has been out of the picture virtually since birth. Ruth slides into a near catatonic state when Francis, clearly the family’s pride, moves out to pursue a path outside “the system” in which she has invested her life by following the rules and insisting on speaking the Queen’s English at home. The story further tests the relationships of all involved when events progress beyond the irreversible.
Brother is a beautifully shot film, lensed by Guy Godfree, that takes lived-in experiences and distills them into universal visual poetry that is profoundly affecting. Its high-caliber performances speak to the depth of its universal truths. Unlike a genre film using similar narratives, Brother does not exploit its characters or circumstances to deliver a heightened visceral experience for thrills. Instead, it is one that evokes memory in palpable ways that serve to start necessary conversations.
Through its use of time as a fluid bowl, flowing between childhood, adolescence, and adulthood Brother rises a tide of culpability, sorrow, grief, and helplessness, tempered by fleeting moments of private joy drawn from a romantic liaison, the release of artistic expression through hip hop, parental love, and brotherly mentoring, presented through an exhilarating cinematic craft. Being a native Torontonian and the son of a European immigrant mother, the film naturally reflects parts of my own adolescence tied to growing up here. However, it’s no stretch to envision it working the same way on any viewer, regardless of geographic location. Its experiences of family, urbanity, and nationhood are universal.
Brother is a poignant film that delivers the immigrant experience inherent in the fabric of Canadian life through exceptional artistry. Even if you count yourself Canadian through ancestry, which I do on my paternal side, to ignore that this country thrives on the strength, fortitude, and sacrifices of its immigrants is to practice willful ignorance. Parents who dedicate their lives to gift a sliver of this country’s promise for their own offspring’s betterment are stronger than perhaps we’ll ever grasp. With a film like Brother, however, those realities are made more palpable than ever. The fact that our artists can move us with these struggles ignites the humanity in us all.
Brother serves to remind us…that though the struggles of life beset us all, neighbourhoods are not equal, and opportunities are not universal
Brother serves to remind us with its stellar, star-driven performances, the sheer brilliance of its filmmakers, and its heartbreaking story that even in the land that promises to make dreams a reality, where the struggles of life beset us all, neighbourhoods are not equal and opportunities not universal. All of us, at some point, need a steady hand to lift us out of tides of danger, be it in the form of spiraling paranoia or a greater systemic threat. Brother shows us we have a greater capacity to lift up our brethren than perhaps we realize. In so doing, we may even lift ourselves up higher than imagined.
Rating
4/5
⭐⭐⭐⭐
Dear Reader, Thank you for being here. Your support makes this possible. Please share my writing with a friend, co-worker, or family member to keep the conversation around film growing.
Will you be seeking out Brother in theatres or at home? If so, let me know how this stellar Canadian film lands with you.