By presenting the film as a "documentary," Fulton and Pepe are able to exploit the conflicts the twins feel without involvement. In fact, it's twice removed from involvement, in that much of it is based on an "unfinished Ken Russell film" about the Bang Bang, to have been called Two Way Romeo. We know from the beginning, through interviews and news footage, that the twins are deceased, so the film focuses on how the tragedy came to be.
It's a story of exploitation and how society seizes on that exploitation to mass produce, and finally destroy, its manufactured heroes. It's also a story of defiance, in that the twins spit the exploitation back into the face of their tormentors, and play it for all it's worth. Finally, it's a story of the futile quest for individuality.
As portrayed by real-life twins Luke and Harry Treadaway, Tom and Barry represent the duality that resides in us all. Even when making love to their girlfriend (Tania Emery), one is impassioned, the other sullen. Connected as they are, they can never connect fully to another, including each other. This spills into all aspects of their life, with Tom emerging as the quiet artist, and Barry playing the role of the raucous rocker. The result is an arresting portrait of inner chaos.
The burgeoning punk setting adds fuel to the metaphor. The twins' conflicts and rivalries fuel their anger, and mirror the angst of disenfranchised youth that gave rise to the original punk movement in England. The music here — all original — is raw, basic, and perfectly conjures up the the ennui and anger of those times. (The soundtrack stands on its own, and will be reviewed separately.) The dialogue, the audience scenes, the sheer feeling that something is about to change, all ring true.
Brothers of the Head may very well be the strangest movie you'll see this year. But it's a strangeness that rings uncomfortably close to our perceptions. It's a film that will haunt you for a long while.
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