Thomas is dying. He has accepted this and has decided to wait for his death on the coast, at the house where we spent our childhood. I am near him. It’s still summer. I didn’t know that you could die in summer.
I always thought that death came in winter, that he needed the cold, the grey-in-grey and the gloom. Now I’m learning that he can also conduct his work in the sun. I dream that Thomas receives him in bright sunshine.
When Thomas was in hospital during the winter, I thought it would start with a numbness in the limbs, a tension, and then that death would suddenly come with great urgency,in a hurry,violently.But no.There is a certain lightness about him, he comes slowly, it is as if he is fading away in the heat. His imminent death will nevertheless cause catastrophe. It will force us to examine our own existence. It will change us and prompt an unexpected turn in the course of our lives. It will throw us off course, but we won’t be able to do anything about it. This death is the big event. My brother is dying. Son frère is a film about the body; about the disintegration of a body and about faces. It is a film about silence and about enforced chatter. It examines the skin, its folds and its furrows, its fine hairs and beads of perspiration. It is also an exploration of bruises, reddened scars, suppuration and stains on the bedclothes. It is a still life – a Nature Morte. –Berlinale
