There’s nothing quite like the love between siblings, which is something that anyone who has been raised alongside a brother or sister (or multiple of either or both) will know extremely well. We’re either handed this unfamiliar person, or, in some cases, handed to them depending on who was born first, and told that they will be a friend for life, someone on whom you can always depend, or at least that is what we tend to be told a lot of the time. Obviously, each individual case is different, and siblings can often drift apart as time progresses, pursuing their own lives and detaching themselves from the bond that was shared in childhood. It’s an idealistic view to say that all siblings eventually find their way back to each other, but it is clear that Brian Cox genuinely believes this to be true, as it forms the foundation of Glenrothan, his touching directorial debut in which he works alongside screenwriters David Ashton and Jeff Murphy to explore the confines of a challenging relationship between two complex men who also happen to be brothers. The film follows Donal, who left his native Scotland decades ago, settling in Chicago where he raised a family (including two very gifted daughters) while also running Donal’s Dive, a local club where he is usually the headliner, to a small crowd of adoring fans. However, a fire destroys the establishment and plunges Donal into a state of despair, to the point where he has no choice but to finally take his brother Sandy up on his offer to visit their home in small-town Scotland, where Sandy has been running their family’s whiskey distillery for decades. As soon as Donal arrives, the tensions begin to flare, particularly when inquiring minds begin to wonder why the brothers have been estranged for decades, the reasons becoming extraordinarily clear as they observe them interacting, making it quite obvious why they initially fell out, but now have the opportunity to remedy the situation. A lovely film that may not be major in any particularly meaningful way, but nevertheless has a unique quality that we certainly can appreciate for what it is, Glenrothan is a delightful, sentimental comedy that knows how to tell a compelling story, even at its most obvious and predictable.

There are two key intentions that went into the development of Glenrothan, namely those of brotherhood and patriotism, and the extent to which Cox goes to weave them together is certainly compelling. The core of the story is the relationship between two very different brothers, one a loose-cannon hedonist, the other a more family-oriented individual who prefers to maintain order. The result is a film that employs the very common odd couple dynamic in exploring the relationship between Donal and Sandy, both of whom look at life in very different ways, leading to the ongoing clash between them. It is obvious that the focus here was to create a comedy, and the film is relatively well-equipped when it comes to handling these elements, managing to be quite funny where required. However, it does find its way to a more soft-hearted message, which is related to the story centring around two brothers who do love one another, but have unfortunately had this affection clouded by years of disagreement, which pushed them apart from one another, leading to this reunion in which it seems like everything is eventually remedied. This coincides beautifully with the second thematic thread, which is that of patriotism – the film has been described as Cox’s attempt to pay tribute to his native Scotland, a place that he holds incredible affection for, but has not been able to represent on screen as much as he’d like, considering most of his career revolves around American productions. This is where the film is at its most interesting, since even if we set aside the theme of brotherhood, it is clear that there is a lot of work being done to create a sense of place, where the director can pay tribute to his homeland in a way that is very much indicative of the deep love he holds for it. There are some wonderful sequences in which Scottish culture is represented on screen, and while there’s nothing too unique embedded in this story, there is still an unexpectedly moving quality in how Cox represents Scotland that makes Glenrothan so wonderfully moving, even when there is not all that much to say.

If nothing else, Glenrothan is an opportunity to see two of Scotland’s finest actors collaborating for the first time, with the director doing double duty on both sides of the camera, proving that he has a skillfulness that allows him to do both. At a glance, it may seem peculiar to have Cox and Alan Cumming playing brothers, but all doubt immediately falls away once we see their work in practice. The clear age gap between them is written into the screenplay (and actually becomes the foundation for one of the film’s most impactful moments), and their very different styles of acting come together beautifully. Cox’s gruff but gentle warmth contrasts perfectly with Cumming’s tendency to play more acidic, skittish characters who always seem to be on edge, or plotting something in the process. They have extraordinary chemistry, and single-handedly make this film worth watching. There’s a joy in seeing two very strong actors playing across from one another, and while they were evidently united by their shared love for Scotland, there is much more going on beneath the surface than many may expect based on a cursory glance. They’re wonderful in the film, and manage to eclipse the supporting cast, which is more mixed – Alexandra Shipp is as charismatic as ever, bringing a genial magnetism to the film that is very much needed for a story revolving around two older protagonists. Unfortunately, her character doesn’t have much of an arc, and feels like she merely exists to bring a youthful energy to the story, which was not all that necessary. Shirley Henderson conversely has an interesting character, but one that is mostly squandered by a screenplay that doesn’t know if she should be treated as an important character or just the comedic relief. It’s not to say everyone in Glenrothan isn’t doing absolutely superb work, but it does sometimes feel slightly weighed down by the execution, which doesn’t do a massive service to its cast, who are nonetheless always willing to do whatever was necessary for this story to make sense, even if there are diminishing returns as we make our way through the film.

There has been some criticism thrown towards Glenrothan on account of it supposedly being a far less nuanced affair than we may expect. This is not entirely untrue, since it is evidently the work of someone who has not directed a film before, but still is willing to put in the effort, which does make a big difference. Cox has a clear message that he wants to convey, and while his directorial eye may not be the strongest, there’s enough potential here to help us overlook those particularly lacklustre qualities. Part of the criticism we can find has to do with the underlying storytelling, which is certainly not as emotionally nuanced as we may expect – there are moments scattered throughout this film that feel coated in the kind of sickly-sweet sentimentality that only comes when a film is made by someone venturing into the medium for the first time. To his credit, Cox does find ways to make this relatively by-the-numbers family-based comedy work without relying too heavily on the obvious tropes, and while it does lean into familiar narrative beats, it earns much of its emotional impact through its sincerity, which is a solid replacement for originality. It is clear that Cox adores his country, and the story’s central relationship gives it a warmth that is impossible to dismiss. It does help that he chooses to highlight some of the most beautiful landscapes in Scotland, with some parts of Glenrothan playing out like a tourism advertisement for the country, which would be tacky if it wasn’t so earnest. The cultural touches added to the film provide it with a genuine sense of identity, beyond a screenplay that would be derivative had it been handled by someone without this sense of affection for the country. Tonally, the film oscillates between comedy and drama, and while it is never particularly complex, it does succeed as a relatively earnest and heartfelt film that will appeal to those who want something meaningful, with the greatest strength being the message about the mending of a fractured relationship, which may be obvious but still feels mostly very sincere in a way that may be surprising to those who write the film off as just another conventional comedy about a dysfunctional family.

Without being too snarky, I will readily admit that Glenrothan plays less as an introduction to an exciting new voice in contemporary direction and more as an opportunity for an actor to cross an item off his bucket list. This doesn’t invalidate the merits of the film, but it does explain some of its shortcomings – but this doesn’t at all get in the way of the blissful escapism offered by this film. Cox has clearly made the film he intended to make, a wonderfully moving tribute to Scotland, which is the primary focus and one of the core reasons the film is not a complete misfire, since it is impossible to dislike something that has this much affection behind its creation. It ultimately doesn’t seek to reinvent the family comedy, nor does it seem interested in saying anything particularly daring – but it does want to explore fractured relationships and the path towards healing in a meaningful way, even if it may not possess the emotional complexity that we often tend to find anchoring these stories. It is helped enormously by the stellar work being done by Cox and Cumming, who lead the film brilliantly, committing wholeheartedly to its premise in a way that is always endearing, even if the film that surrounds them can occasionally be quite one-dimensional at best of time. Glenrothan is a film that succeeds less by surprising its audience and more through the act of inviting us to bear witness to this straightforward but moving story that peddles in warmth and compassion much more than it does originality, which is easily forgivable when dealing with something this genuinely likeable, where themes such as forgiveness, the undeniable comfort of home and the enduring bond between siblings ultimately form the foundation for an earnest, moving exploration of the human condition in all its various forms. As far as directorial debuts go, Glenrothan is imperfect, but it is undeniably heartfelt, having a genuine sense of affection for its story, setting and characters, leaving behind a strong but meaningful impression that does prove to be worth the price of admission alone, even if the film is not always as consistent as it could’ve been. It’s difficult to resist the charms of the film, which proves that even the most derivative stories are worth exploring when they’re told with conviction, honesty and a lot of genuine humour, all of which define this simple but truly lovely little comedy.