Thousand Sons: A Film Review
Thousand Sons, currently available on Netflix, appears to exist in a place that feels both timeless and familiar, almost like it could be set in the present or even sixty years ago. This seems to be a key point—the notion that people, regardless of the era, are fundamentally the same. Directed by Daniel Rezende, the film is adapted from Bartel Hugo May’s novel about a lonely figure who discovers a small measure of joy while forming a makeshift family in a quaint coastal village in Brazil. At the heart of this story, which dances between magical realism and heartfelt drama, is the assertion that love is essential. But, perhaps, we might need a bit more than just that simple conclusion.
Key points: These characters live quite literally under a rock—a luxurious Hobbit-like dwelling perched on a massive overhanging shale slab along the Brazilian coast. Camilo (Miguel Martínez) is first seen crouched in a corner, devouring a can of tuna, while his grandfather, long departed, sits indefinitely in a chair. Then we meet Crisostomo (Rodrigo Santoro), a middle-aged fisherman who strikes you as if he has never worn shoes. His home has no door, and he rarely speaks, but he catches and cooks his own fish, dining in a sturdy blue hut beside a postcard-worthy beach. We wonder just how long he has been alone. Within this setting, there’s a voiceover that adds depth to Crisostomo’s character and his desire for fatherhood—echoed by a life-size doll with a smile crafted from red buttons. Will this doll suffice for the missing bond he yearns for? Maybe not. But the film hooks us with an opening scene introducing a recently orphaned boy.
Camilo, in one of his early exchanges with Crisostomo, reveals that he never knew his mother. A flashback gives us a glimpse of Francisca (Juliana Caldas), a small woman who often faces disdain from the village. The other women are taken aback to learn that Francisca is pregnant—evidence that someone had been intimate with her. Tragically, she cannot survive childbirth. Next, we meet Antonino (Johnny Massaro), a teen frequently returning home with bruises due to bullying stemming from his sexual orientation, who enjoys drawing. His mother, Mathilde (Inés Viana), is somewhat paranoid, checking him over as if suspecting infidelity. We soon catch a glimpse of Antonino standing next to a veiled woman at an altar, her eyes filled with tears. And yes, Mathilde plays a pivotal role in orchestrating their wedding.
As the narrative unfolds, we are introduced to Isaura (Rebecca Jameel, as an adult; Livia Silva, as a teenager). Her mother, Marta (Grace Passo), has some eccentricities, waking up one day with a French accent and believing that drinking perfume can cure her problems. Isaura, rebelling against her mother’s wishes, becomes sexually involved with her boyfriend, prompting a severe reaction from Marta. To assert control, Marta plans to marry Isaura to a local “sissy” to prevent her from being touched again. Following the wedding, Isaura takes a quiet stroll along the beach and finds herself near Crisostomo’s familiar blue hut, where—surprisingly—he finally manages to string together more than six words. All these lonely individuals seem to be searching for something. What do they truly need? An accepting space? Or like the Beatles sang, perhaps a combo platter would suffice.
Which movie does it remind you of? Thousand Sons uncovers trends that echo those from previous decades, much like Amores Perros or Babel. There’s a touch of the charm found in Lars and his Real Girl.
Featured performance: I find myself particularly drawn to Jameel’s performance, which brings a complexity that diverges from the more straightforward portrayals of her co-stars.
Sex and skin: The film includes a frontal view of a man, a longer shot of a naked woman swimming in the ocean, and a stylized yet non-explicit intimate scene.
Our view: Rezende appears determined to infuse depth into nearly every moment of Thousand Sons. The actors move and interact with slow, deliberate intent, while the camera captures stunning natural scenery, often framing a solitary figure within it. The score, filled with undulating strings, complements sparse conversations. Some voiceovers may seem a bit overly elaborate—like when a girl feels like “a tiny atom in invisible air.” If the aim is to portray a sense of loneliness and hesitation, I think it successfully hits the mark.
However, some viewers may find the film’s slow pacing to be a concern. As it shifts from one narrative thread to another—introduced with chapter headings—we encounter various characters, all forming a peculiar “found” family. It moves as if through molasses, but this deliberate pacing helps to establish an immersive environment reminiscent of another world, lightly sprinkled with magical realism, away from modern elements like media or cars.
These choices made by Rezende seem quite intentional, aimed at crafting poetic imagery amid a complex narrative. The film often embodies a beautiful quality, yet the overlapping stories, filled with sensitivity and humor, feel heartfelt. Santoro’s portrayal of the slightly underdeveloped man is delivered with earnestness, while the theme of prejudice feels a little simplistic, passed along through generations. The elusive nature of happiness resonates, as this story invites viewers to experience how characters strain to grasp happiness like sand slipping through their fingers. While the film carries genuine intentions, it sometimes gives off a dual sense of being both underdeveloped and overly elaborate.
Our call: Even with its many lovely and heartwarming moments, Thousand Sons drags its heels with a slow build-up leading to a Sherlock-esque ending, making it a candidate for a skip, I think.
