Lamar Johnson

A melancholic immigrant story As someone who was born and raised in Scarborough, I can say that Brother isn’t meant to be a complete representation of one’s experience living in the suburb. It is, however, a ballad of the immigrant experience and the confined opportunities that often come with that experience. Despite being in a country with relative freedoms, the film’s characters are forced to make decisions that are circumstantial at best. The idea that they have to choose between one thing or another – whether it’s family over true happiness, power over safety – is such a powerful statement and really underscores the entire narrative. Even if the story itself isn’t what every immigrant might experience, the collective struggles of making imperfect decisions helps establish a commonality for viewers. And having elements of a typical narrative documenting a world of racially charged violence, Virgo finds a way to elevate the film’s narration by creating an overly somber tone that constantly evolves with the story's alternating timelines. From the very beginning, there’s something ominous with the way Virgo establishes the film. Whether it’s Guy Godfree’s muted cinematography or Todor Kobakov’s melancholic score, Brother feels almost like a modernized Greek tragedy on a smaller scale. There’s a sense of grandeur seeping through its narrative core, creating a sense of purpose in what the film is trying to say. This becomes particularly apparent with the film’s emphatic detailing of police brutality, which always feels weighted, but never exploitative. Virgo knows how to deliver a strong message, and does so without signs of sensationalism.
Toronto International Film Festival 2022: BROTHER

Flexing his filmmaking prowess here, Clement Virgo’s Brother is a striking example of narrative storytelling that reaches a high emotional altitude.