I stumbled over this film quite by accident. I've always been fascinated by Sidney Poitier for his stony dignified demeanor and Will Geer for his irrepressible amiability (even if playing the villain). When I saw that they'd both appeared together in this production, I was curious.
"Brother John" is an extremely eclectic film. The genre of drama/sci-fi just about says it all, all while saying next to nothing. Sure, that's basically what it is... a strange combination of small-town drama, mixed with a dark and murky undertone. The writing is completely honest to both ends of the spectrum, all while explaining less than it suggests. The screenwriter, Ernest Kinoy, tells a tale that is murky yet surprising straightforward. The qualities of racial tension (a common theme of Poitier films) and the aspect of striking workers (a recurring plot point of Will Geer's life) might explain what drew the two stars to the script, and that's the corporeal backbone of the story.
"Brother John" does not play at being a big film, and in spite of its incredible deftness in acting and direction, I'm not terribly surprised by its obscurity. There is no way whatsoever to pigeonhole the plot, and at times, even particularly understand what's going on. In a strange twist, I realized about halfway through that all of the vaguely fantastic elements could have been excised (even as late as in the editing room) and it still would have been a highly serviceable drama about life in the American south.
But, instead, "Brother John" takes a sharp left turn. The title character (played by Poitier) is painted as a strange harbinger of death, like a raven on a fencepost. His identity is never fully explained. Is he the grim reaper, the angel of death, some sort of globe-trotting serial killer? These questions were answered to my satisfaction by the conclusion, but other viewers may not be so pleased, and some will leave feeling completely unfulfilled.
What moved me most was, unexpectedly, the direction and cinematography. James Goldstone, the director, has a surprisingly comfortable relationship with his surroundings. There is little attempt to force framing, to relocate interfering objects, or to stage shots in an unnatural way. His actors move in-behind lamps, tree branches, and the camera makes no effort to circumvent them, unconcerned at being anything but an observer. Just the same, Goldstone has a brilliant sense of composition in the way he slips into deep, almost uncomfortable close-ups, then back to wide, languidly casual views of the whole room or outdoor space. He seems to be letting his actors do what they please, whatever gets the feeling across most honestly. A lot of this hinges on the dim, comforting cinematography of Gerald Perry Finnerman, who underlights almost everything, getting across a strong sense of warmth.
You might call "Brother John" a mystery, and as I leave my thoughts on a film that few remember, I'm struck by the final questions in the dialogue. What about hope, what about love? Is it enough in the face of everything evil? Do we deserve what we've got? Well, we've got it, so it's up to us to live up to it... and maybe that's the real theme of this.
"Brother John" is an extremely eclectic film. The genre of drama/sci-fi just about says it all, all while saying next to nothing. Sure, that's basically what it is... a strange combination of small-town drama, mixed with a dark and murky undertone. The writing is completely honest to both ends of the spectrum, all while explaining less than it suggests. The screenwriter, Ernest Kinoy, tells a tale that is murky yet surprising straightforward. The qualities of racial tension (a common theme of Poitier films) and the aspect of striking workers (a recurring plot point of Will Geer's life) might explain what drew the two stars to the script, and that's the corporeal backbone of the story.
"Brother John" does not play at being a big film, and in spite of its incredible deftness in acting and direction, I'm not terribly surprised by its obscurity. There is no way whatsoever to pigeonhole the plot, and at times, even particularly understand what's going on. In a strange twist, I realized about halfway through that all of the vaguely fantastic elements could have been excised (even as late as in the editing room) and it still would have been a highly serviceable drama about life in the American south.
But, instead, "Brother John" takes a sharp left turn. The title character (played by Poitier) is painted as a strange harbinger of death, like a raven on a fencepost. His identity is never fully explained. Is he the grim reaper, the angel of death, some sort of globe-trotting serial killer? These questions were answered to my satisfaction by the conclusion, but other viewers may not be so pleased, and some will leave feeling completely unfulfilled.
What moved me most was, unexpectedly, the direction and cinematography. James Goldstone, the director, has a surprisingly comfortable relationship with his surroundings. There is little attempt to force framing, to relocate interfering objects, or to stage shots in an unnatural way. His actors move in-behind lamps, tree branches, and the camera makes no effort to circumvent them, unconcerned at being anything but an observer. Just the same, Goldstone has a brilliant sense of composition in the way he slips into deep, almost uncomfortable close-ups, then back to wide, languidly casual views of the whole room or outdoor space. He seems to be letting his actors do what they please, whatever gets the feeling across most honestly. A lot of this hinges on the dim, comforting cinematography of Gerald Perry Finnerman, who underlights almost everything, getting across a strong sense of warmth.
You might call "Brother John" a mystery, and as I leave my thoughts on a film that few remember, I'm struck by the final questions in the dialogue. What about hope, what about love? Is it enough in the face of everything evil? Do we deserve what we've got? Well, we've got it, so it's up to us to live up to it... and maybe that's the real theme of this.