Arnaud Desplechin’s latest film superficially resembles some of his most beloved and best work, family dramas featuring very colorful, neurotic, sometimes impulsive characters by turn extremely sincere and sardonic, loquacious and secretive — films such as “My Sex Life… or How I Got Into an Argument” (1996) and “A Winter’s Tale” (2008). But unlike them, “Brother and Sister” is also a puzzle, even if the director does not make it easy for us to solve it.
The opening scene introduces the two siblings of the title and, with them, the mystery at the core of the film: Louis (Melvil Poupaud) and Alice (Marion Cotillard) absolutely hate one another. They haven’t been in contact for years when she comes to see him in the opening scene, following the death of his six-year-old son, whom she had never met while he was alive. Indignant, Louis throws her husband out of his flat and shouts at his sister who had sagely stayed on his porch. I wrote earlier in the festival about the fact that many French dramas these days begin with scenes of people fighting, but few are as nasty as this one. It’s a surprising contrast to the usually rather congenial atmosphere seen in Desplechin’s films, and as the conflictual relationship reveals itself to be the central dynamic of the story, some people may find themselves disengaging from the film altogether: the clash seems so absurd, its impact on the other friends and members of the family so severe, and the behavior of the two siblings so irrational, that finding out what could be at its origin might seem beside the point.
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But one of the things that make Desplechin’s films so unique and pleasurable is the fact that his characters do not appear to be exist solely to serve a plot or relate some kind of meaning — rather, they seem to simply emerge independent of any planned story, unruly and unpredictable, themselves at the whims of their own emotions and desires, and with Desplechin lovingly following them in their struggles. In “Brother and Sister,” the close-ups on the revolted or devastated faces of the two protagonists evoke the intensity of their hostile rapport, but they also seem to urge us to stay and trust that these frequently obnoxious, irrational people are worth paying attention to.
Not that everyone will need persuading. If you have a brother or sister, it is likely you at least once in your life experienced the sudden rise of unexpected, ugly feelings towards your sibling. But the very ugliness of the rivalry is also reason enough to keep watching. The film’s main events take place after a very dramatic incident puts Alice and Louis’ parents into the hospital, the kind of development that one would expect to make the two enemies try to reconcile. Instead, each carries their bitterness around like a badge of honour, and “Brother and Sister” slowly unravels the tangles of years of strife both by looking at key parts of the characters’ past but also — and mostly — by letting us observe their conduct now.
Through conversations with their family and friends, we catch small details about Louis and Alice’s childhood that seem perfectly banal but which, when put together, point towards some potential causes for the conflict. Alice is the eldest, and her younger brother Louis always looked up to her; she grew up to be a successful actress, and did not react well when he later became a respected writer and moved out of her shadow; their parents instilled in them the importance of achieving big things at a young age… And that’s without counting on the siblings’ own natural temperament. Seen under such a simple, pop psychology light, their problem does not seem all that complex, and certainly not worth splitting a family in two for a decade. But “Brother and Sister” isn’t interested in this rationale as much as it is in the ways it has shaped and continues to shape everything about Louis and Alice.
This is most visible in Louis, who brings a combative and disruptive energy everywhere he goes. Melvil Poupaud plays him as an energetic, quick-tempered, and sardonic man who enters every room like he’s a cowboy in a saloon. His incensed outlook translates in his books, many of which are solely concerned with sullying his sister’s reputation, but also in his general lifestyle, living away from city life in a Stonehouse with his wife, Faunia (Golshifteh Farahani). “Louis is a pariah, I want to be the wife of a pariah,” she says, to explain why she is staying behind while her husband goes to visit his parents, whom he hasn’t seen in at least five years. Louis’ persona non grata status extends far beyond his relationship with his sister.
Marion Cotillard’s Alice initially appears more reasonable: quiet and more hurt than she is angry, she is still in contact with the rest of the family, has a healthy career on the stage, and seems to be a generally kind person. Of course, it is precisely this saintly behavior that drives her brother up the wall. But the way she positions herself as this highly sensitive protector of others also takes its toll on her: when upset, she faints or begins to shake, and generally seems unable to handle any kind of tension.
It is testament to Desplechin’s respect for his characters that he does not seek to brutally expose them as fools who have adopted certain roles because, in a way, the part of the irate or aggrieved victim was convenient for them. Instead of pulling apart Alice and Louis’ ways of being with a sharp scalpel, “Brother and Sister” gives the impression of a sketch that comes more and more into focus as each additional scene fills in more detail in a broad canvas. More impressionistic and less definite than a diagnostic, our understanding of why the two protagonists behave the way they do builds up cumulatively rather than didactically. It generously makes space for the entirety of their lives and histories and allows for the possibility of change. [B]
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