The controlling idea behind Patrice Chereau's Son Frere is the painful, tragic lack of closeness between men. It is mostly Luc's story, how his brother Thomas's disease becomes a watershed for their troubled relationship. An incident that Thomas cannot remember, and we are never shown, has had far reaching consequences that the two might never have confronted, had it not been for Thomas's sickness.
The plot is alarmingly simple. Thomas (Bruno Todeschini) comes back into his brother Luc's life because he does not want to face illness and possible mortality by himself. Of all the people in his life, he has sought out his younger brother for solace and comfort. Luc (Eric Caravaca) makes it clear that he will take care of him because this is what brothers do for one another, but he cannot forgive Thomas for deserting him. He'll go through the motions, but his heart won't be in it.
It is never quite revealed if Thomas has done something unforgivable and Luc has been forced to close his heart to survive emotional trauma. We don't understand if he has shut down because he won't or can't return to the closeness they once shared into their teens. But there is no doubt as to his brother's motives - he's dying and has no one else. Thomas is emaciated, and is put through one degrading, diminishing procedure after another.
In one particular scene, Luc watches as he is prepped for surgery, his body shaved by cheerful, solicitous nurses. Like most of the film, it is agonizing to watch. Luc never jokes with him to ease his discomfort, or asks for male nurses, or holds his hand. At times he almost seems to be enjoying his brother's humiliation.
As the movie progresses (and regresses) he becomes Thomas's sole caregiver and we can see, we can feel him trying to open up. He shares a touching anecdote from their childhood and when he is finished, can't tell if Thomas is awake or asleep. Understand this is not treated as humor. When Thomas falls even deeper into despair, Luc rubs his back as a spontaneous act of affection and tenderness, but at a loss as to how to reach him, for some meaningful way of connecting.
The fact that Luc is gay only intensifies the irony and misery that permeates Son Frere. There is quite a bit of male nudity and none of it is bracing or erotic. It only emphasizes how raw and empty the characters feel. Son Frere raises questions about queer sex and male attachment. In a heart to heart with Thomas's girlfriend Claire (Nathalie Boutefeu), Luc remembers he and his brother jerking each other off as teenagers.
When we see him having sex we sense he is trying to resolve thwarted intimacy with Thomas. I don't mean incest. Luc intuitively makes contact with strangers; he confides to his boyfriend Vincent (Sylvain Jacques) the disappointment that Thomas was never the kind of brother he needed him to be. He longs to heal but never gives this vital information to Thomas.
We must infer a lot from Son Frere's backstory, but I believe it comes by its subtext honestly. More than a few relationships between men were sabotaged by homophobia and you have to wonder if Luc's orientation and his brother's mysterious, platelet-robbing disease (platelets enable us to heal wounds) are metaphors for their destructive, ruined relationship. Chereau may be suggesting that if men bonded with abandon and devotion there might be less use of sex as a passkey. Son Frere explores the sad failure of men to love each other, to reach each other, even when the desire for closeness is keen. In the case of Luc, perhaps it's his male pride that gets in the way.
It's hard to justify my misgivings about Son Frere, a brilliant, excruciating film that feeds us the ashes of profound male estrangement without evincing the radiance that precedes it. Late into the film, we're stunned when a Marianne Faithfull song cues us for another drop; it doesn't seem possible, but sure enough, it happens. Movies like Leaving Las Vegas, Persona, or Shoot the Moon can be devastating, but sometimes that's what the best movie-making is all about. Chereau has brought the same level of intensity to relationships between men as Bergman brought to connections between women. He is fearless and audacious in his exploration.
Imitative fallacy debunks the transmission of content by matching that experience in the hearts and minds of the audience. I'm not sure if that applies here or not. Son Frere makes us ache for a catharsis that never comes. We're desperate for Luc to break down and reconcile with Thomas. Even when they profess love, they cannot make eye contact. Each loves the other but cannot connect in the present moment. Son Frere is frank enough to acknowledge it doesn't always happen. Even when we want it to.