Kimberly Reed’s 2008 documentary Prodigal Sons is one of
those rare, yet rewarding experience of film discovery that one hopes for each
time they see a film. Seemingly inspired by the autobiographical documentaries
of Ross McElwee (Sherman’s March), Prodigal Sons is narrated by Reed, born Paul
McKerrow, and starts out as her story of returning to her hometown in Montana
to attend her High School reunion. The film’s focus quickly turns to her older adopted
brother, Marc, whom she has been estranged for a decade, as he battles mental
illness seemingly caused by brain damage from a previous accident.
The
film addresses preconceived notions in a fresh way. It opens with the title
card in font used in Citizen Kane, arguably the greatest film of all time. This
immediately comes off as pretentious as it is assumed that the choice of font
is meant to signify the filmmaker’s ego in comparing herself to Orson Welles.
It is later learned that Marc’s birth mother is Rebecca Welles, daughter of
Orson and Rita Hayworth, explaining the choice of font.
The
treatment of Reed as a transgender reflects an ongoing paradigm shift in
society. Rather than politicizing or making it the film’s focal point, it
becomes an afterthought to the audience. The “so what?” attitude that Reed’s
family and former classmates takes towards her new identity is refreshing and
allows the central theme of Marc’s struggles to take center stage.
Marc’s
arc in the film is its primary strength. He is first presented as somewhat buffoonish,
quick to turn the attention of any conversation to himself and his brain
damage. He seems unaware of how inappropriate the behavior is in social
situations, causing many people he meets to become awkwardly uncomfortable.
Marc’s personality then becomes monstrous and downright scary as he becomes
physically abusing to Reed and fellow family members. The violent behavior and
homophobic slurs make it easy for the viewer to write him off as crazy and dismiss
him as many of his own family members have had to. It is Reed’s continuing love
and support that turns that around, causing the audience to question their own
beliefs about the violent, unstable nature of mental illness.
The
scenes involving Marc’s abuse at first feels exploitative. Moments of a family in crisis are inherently private
and witnessing them feels inappropriately voyeuristic. These are necessary,
however, to get a full picture of the damage Marc causes his family and
himself. Witnessing a family falling apart amid the backdrop of Christmas
causes the realization that seeking professional help is not only needed, but
essential.
In an
age where mass public murders have become the norm, the film serves as a unique
tool to look at mental illness and its taboos without also having to discuss
gun control. Marc is not evil, even though that is the easiest way to view him.
Reed convinces the audience not to approach him this way by standing by him as
his strongest supporter, even though she is one of his primary victims of
abuse. Her bravery is inspiring and gives the film a hopeful tone that transcends
other social problem documentaries.
As a
filmmaker, Reed is revelatory and will hopefully continue to make films that
are this personal and raw. She presents herself as a masterful champion and voice
for both transgendered and mentally ill, two groups historically neglected or
misrepresented. Prodigal Sons is difficult to watch, yet ultimately rewarding
in its ability to inspire conversations about topics that are ordinarily easier
to ignore.