When love sits between us
Responding to Can Be by Mohammedally Shushtari
Can Be, 2022 (Film still)
Mohammedally Shushtari’s film Can Be beautifully shows all of the emotional complexities of two siblings, a brother and sister, Noura and Faiz, grappling with their father’s death. Each embodies conflicting emotional responses, clearly feeling misunderstood by the other. But, as each character learns to accept the other’s feelings, they map a path towards not only empathy for their sibling, but also a more holistic healing experience for themselves. It’s a narrative rich with cultural context and tension: Can Be tells the story of how familial expectation is complicated by immigration, as well as showing the fraught but intense love between siblings.
Aside from an establishing shot that is repeated at the end, the entirety of the film takes place during a therapy session attended by Noura and Faiz. The two sit side-by-side in a counselling room that looks stylish and well lit, but slightly sterile, like an IKEA showroom. A therapist, a woman in her early 30s, speaks gently and warmly as she sits across from them.
Noura is measured and seemingly self-assured, if a little condescending and self-oriented. She has been coming to therapy for a while, and uses manicured self-care language to speak about herself and her emotions. Her first interaction with Faiz is when, almost immediately upon him entering the room, she asks him to take his hat off. It’s an off-handed comment that reveals a level of authority she feels over him. Soon after, the therapist asks how the process of grieving has been for the family, and Noura responds by sharing what she specifically has been going through. When the therapist asks her to access her “shadow self” (a concept created by psychologist Carl Jung to explain the darker parts of our psyches), by recalling a time she felt rejected or inferior, Noura easily articulates a childhood memory and analyses her need to acknowledge and celebrate her younger self, signalling her comfort engaging with these concepts.
Conversely, Faiz’s discomfort is palpable through the screen immediately. It is his first time attending this therapy, and he fidgets constantly. Ominous music plays as we see his face for the first time. This discomfort turns into rage when he is asked to participate in the same shadow self activity. After struggling to recount a painful childhood memory, he abruptly pivots to telling his therapist, “I think Noura’s shadow is actually telling her she might be fake, not being genuine. That she needs to open up.”
The two siblings’ oppositional emotional responses are in part the result of their living situations during the time of their father’s illness. It’s unclear where the film is set, but Noura has been living abroad, in Germany. She wasn’t able to be with her family while her father was sick, but she did send money. It’s a conflict that arises often for immigrants and migrants, and the families they leave behind. Watching the film as the child of immigrants, I was struck by how familiar the tension is. When my parents’ family members in India are sick or struggling, I see my parents anguished for a sense of control and input. They feel that their love isn’t less just because they live far away or are unable to always travel and be with their family. And yet, they cannot participate in the daily lives of their loved ones. When my mom visits her parents, she’s not up to date on their schedules and medications and routines. As much as she wants to be there for them emotionally, she has come to terms with the reality that other people, those in closer physical proximity may be better equipped to help.
As their conversation progresses, Noura asserts that because she paid for her father’s treatment, she did enough to support him. As I’ve observed in my own family, she wants to feel that her physical separation meant nothing, that her money meant she was a strong participant in the caretaking expectations of her family. But in reality, Faiz was the person left to do most of the physical caretaking, leaving him feeling abandoned by his sister and alone in his grief and the responsibility he had to take on.
The film’s greatest strength is in how both siblings’ responses are humanised. It quickly becomes clear that Noura’s polished way of talking about her emotions is a defence mechanism to mask the messy feelings of regret and longing she is experiencing. Similarly, Faiz’s rage thinly obscures his more vulnerable feelings of rejection and hurt. It’s only in conversation with another that the siblings are able to access the unsavoury feelings they are trying to hide but that the other person nonetheless sees in them.
As they continue to talk, Noura reaches a breakthrough. She recognises Faiz’s strength and apologises for leaving him to endure the pain of losing their father alone. In turn, he shares a peace offering in the form of a revelation, implicitly reassuring his sister that, despite her absence at the end of his life, their father loved her deeply. Love can still be felt across borders and countries.
When the establishing shot repeats at the end of the film, Faiz is no longer alone. He leaves the frame with Noura by his side. We are reminded of the transformation the two have gone through together, and how, ultimately, their love is deep and unconditional. Each sibling triggers feelings of shame and loss in the other, but by accepting those emotions rather than pushing them away, the two are ultimately able to build to a place of understanding and mutual support.
