‘The Brothers Sun’ Is a Sweet Action-Comedy That Takes Itself Too Seriously
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One of the first pieces of advice given to aspiring screenwriters is to try to write conflict without introducing a gun. Often, it’s a practical suggestion — for student productions, prop guns can be hard to come by — but it’s also an important learning exercise. Guns can be a crutch. If a character points a gun at someone’s head, there are immediate life-and-death stakes, sure, but then what? Someone either pulls the trigger or they don’t. The act itself isn’t what matters. It’s the context surrounding the action: Who’s being threatened? Why are they being threatened? What’s to be gained or lost by shooting them or letting them live? How did they get here? What drove them to such extremes? Answering these questions is what gives a story its pulse, and if you’re too quick to get to the gun, then the narrative flatlines.
“The Brothers Sun” certainly isn’t an indie endeavor — “Glee” and “American Horror Story” co-creator Brad Falchuk serves as co-creator and showrunner for the Netflix series, which co-stars Oscar-winner Michelle Yeoh — and, as an action show built around its many fight scenes, car chases, and shootouts, there’s good reason to unholster a sidearm from time to time. But Byron Wu’s eight-episode first season still puts too much dramatic weight on its weapons, trusting the tension of a yet-to-be-squeezed trigger will offset the slack emotional tension. If guns weren’t such a quick-draw response to waning urgency, perhaps “The Brothers Sun” could survive as the sweet family comedy it sporadically tries to be. But its penchant for pistols produces an unwieldy edge; a violent streak too barbaric to be shrugged off when it’s time for silly laughs or family bonding, and thus incongruous with such a warmhearted story.
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Tonally inspired by the tongue-in-cheek comedy of Juzo Itami’s 1992 film “Minbo: The Gentle Art of Japanese Extortion” — and relying on a familiar “Prince and the Pauper” structure — “The Brothers Sun” follows Charles Sun (Justin Chien), his younger brother Bruce (Sam Song Li), and the larger Sun family. The eldest boy was raised in Taiwan under the exacting tutelage of his father, Big Sun (Johnny Kou), a cold but charming leader of a powerful triad, while Bruce was raised in Los Angeles under the aspirational instruction of his mother, Eileen “Mama” Sun (Yeoh.) The two brothers haven’t seen each other for over a decade, but when Big Sun catches a bullet from an unknown assassin, Charles flies to Los Angeles to protect the family.
The only problem: Charles can’t save them by himself, and Bruce isn’t exactly up to the task. While Charles was killing hundreds of enemies with whatever he had on hand — the origins of his awkward nickname, “Chairleg,” are both immediately obvious and treated like a character-defining secret — Bruce was living the sheltered, peaceful life of a lower-middle-class American. Bruce goes to community college. He works part-time as a Lyft driver. He lives with his mother, and he doesn’t seem to mind. (Their only dispute is over Bruce’s secret passion: improv comedy, which, quite frankly, is a hobby no parent, sibling, or friend wants for their loved one.) Bruce had no idea his father was a rich and powerful mob boss, or that his brother was carving out an intimidating reputations in Taiwan’s criminal underworld, one bloody body at at time.
So when Charles carves up a dead body in Bruce’s kitchen one morning, little bro isn’t exactly equipped to help dispose of the remains (let alone stuff the torso into a suitcase, a la “The Americans”). Thus begins a unique reintroduction process. Charles tries to get Bruce up to speed on the family business, and Bruce tries to encourage Charles to open up more often. “If you want to survive in this life, all you can ever feel is anger or nothing at all,” Charles says. “Feeling nothing?” Bruce responds. “It’s like anesthesia. You’re still being hurt even if you don’t feel the pain.”
That it takes “The Brothers Sun” six episodes to verbalize the difference between its two leads isn’t really an issue. Charles and Bruce have a surprisingly earnest connection for two people raised separately, in polar opposite environments. They talk to each other, trust each other, and, for the most part, operate in each other’s best interests. Li brings a cartoonish chipperness to Bruce — he’s not a good improv artist (he would never survive at Groundlings), but he’s a laudable dork. Chien gets the meatier material — and most of the imaginative, if haphazardly blocked fight scenes — using his stern, chiseled expressions to convey convincing anger and anguish, as called for. Their differences and likenesses could be better defined, and their banter could be sharper, but it all fits the buddy-cop mold they’re working with, bolstered by a strong supporting cast. (Credit to casting director Jenny Jue, as well as Falchuk and Wu, for featuring Asian actors in nearly every speaking role.)
If there are bones to be picked with the serviceable action series, it’s with the bones themselves — both those broken and those left untouched. “The Brothers Sun” spends more time with Charles but its heart belongs to Bruce. It wants to be good, to be nice, to be more of a family story than an action extravaganza, and yet its TV-MA bloodbaths routinely break up the good vibes. Some extended fisticuffs fit the show’s frothy side, like when Charles attacks both tiers of a driving range by flinging buckets of golf balls at the bad guys, or when goons dressed as dinosaurs try to invade a kids’ birthday party. But those belly laughs turn stomach-churning when hands are bolted to the floor, desk, and table; when bodies are dismembered or severed heads are boiled in acid; when a favorite character is executed, point blank, right before the rest of the crew is saved in the goofiest, least convincing way possible. The violence is too stark for the loose, hammy story around it, just as the characters are too fanciful to exist within such an ugly reality.
And yet the most unbelievable aspect in all of “The Brothers Sun” is that Michelle Yeoh doesn’t fight. The star of “The Heroic Trio,” “Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon,” and “Everything Everywhere All At Once” isn’t saddled with a completely clichéd mom character — Eileen’s late-developing arc provides motivation beyond her kids, beyond her husband, beyond preserving a peaceful domestic existence — but it still calls on her to protect what’s hers, which should mean at least one scene showcasing Yeoh’s incredible athletic prowess. And, to be fair, there is exactly one (1) scene where she goes toe to toe with a killer, but it’s hardly a showcase of Yeoh’s abilities (or even worth the wait).
Yeoh, of course, is an actor. She does not have to perform the same actions again and again. She can play any part she so chooses and, by now, she should certainly have her choice of parts. Even here, in a formulaic crowd-pleaser, she elevates each key scene so its import is unmistakable. But to watch such a talented physical performer sit out or sit passively amid so many swirling kicks and punches seems like a waste, at best. At worst, it reminds audiences that there’s something’s missing; that what they’re seeing isn’t the best it could be; that too often, someone’s just holding a gun, with no idea what to do with it.
Grade: C
“The Brothers Sun” premieres Thursday, January 4 on Netflix. All eight episodes will be released at once.
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