A beautiful documentary, ''Brother and Sister'' lets us be part of the lives of Marie and Cyril for eighteen months, and see the world through the eyes of children again, a world of certainties and make-belief.
The kids themselves don't seem to notice the camera at all (with one exception, when Marie whispers into her brother's ear, ''We're going to be in a film!''). They are completely uninhibited, natural. They plan and quarrel, they laugh and cry, they play games (and the piano).
We see vignettes of these eighteen months, those small inconsequential moments of childhood, that are both unimportant and everything. Adults are never fully seen, they are blurred, mostly in the off-screen-space, their faces never visible, there through their voices, but not their physical presence. The focus here is on the children.
In voice-overs, that are scattered across the documentary, Marie and Cyril talk about their ideas and plans, about the other.
Certain images will stay in your head, like a little boy, red in the face, pressing his lips together and shaking with suppressed laughter during a concert, like his sister, grimacing , wrinkling her nose over a bowl of vegetable soup, like two children lying under a wind turbine, wondering if the blades could break free, and fall.
The kids themselves don't seem to notice the camera at all (with one exception, when Marie whispers into her brother's ear, ''We're going to be in a film!''). They are completely uninhibited, natural. They plan and quarrel, they laugh and cry, they play games (and the piano).
We see vignettes of these eighteen months, those small inconsequential moments of childhood, that are both unimportant and everything. Adults are never fully seen, they are blurred, mostly in the off-screen-space, their faces never visible, there through their voices, but not their physical presence. The focus here is on the children.
In voice-overs, that are scattered across the documentary, Marie and Cyril talk about their ideas and plans, about the other.
Certain images will stay in your head, like a little boy, red in the face, pressing his lips together and shaking with suppressed laughter during a concert, like his sister, grimacing , wrinkling her nose over a bowl of vegetable soup, like two children lying under a wind turbine, wondering if the blades could break free, and fall.
