LAYKE ANDERSON

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​​​It's a very strange, ephemeral world we're living in. It venerates haste as it does power, yet I still find that creations made from the heart, that strike a nerve, that linger, or maybe show us something we might've seen, though never really seen, thereby turning the ordinary into the extraordinary... So often they're these quirky little personal projects that have endured a very painful process. Some would argue that suffering is a vital part of that process. With hindsight, I would agree with that. But then, we're masochists. All of us. Admittedly, if redemption was a blood sport, then I probably bled for every frame of Sweet Brother.

 

The process of making a feature film as pretty much a one-man army, is not something anyone has ever recommended, and the film was conceived and shot long before A.I. was on our radar. As some of you know, this film has been percolating for a long time. And it didn’t arrive gently. It bled from the wound and emerged from the shallows of sleep, the frailties of sense, and the illusion of safety. It crawled blind through dreams that bite. From the phantom ache of childhood, from the tarnished gleam of myth, and the raw nerve of grief. The surface became sanctum, then cage, then confession. Ungovernable, unbidden and unapologetic. It was the baring of bone, the question burning holes through the dark, and the silence that follows belief when it collapses. Sweet Brother is less something I made than something that refused to let go. But I didn’t make the film to show the world what I see. I made it to ask if anyone else sees it too. Some journeys will change you. Others might destroy you. The lucky ones can't tell the difference. The wage of sin, is love. A metamorphosis, however, demands everything.

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