Wilbur Wants to Kill Himself

In the quiet corners of a modest city, two brothers return to the home that still bears the echo of their mother’s passing. The apartment above a modest bookshop, left behind by a father who has drifted away, becomes both sanctuary and reminder of what has been lost. The house is steeped in the soft hum of everyday life—pages turning, street sounds filtering through thin walls—while the weight of grief settles like dust on every surface.

Harbour, the elder sibling, assumes the role of reluctant caretaker. He tries to keep the family’s small business alive, balancing responsibility with a yearning for normalcy that feels just beyond his grasp. Across the hallway, Wilbur drifts between moments of resignation and flickers of restless energy, caught in a lingering melancholy that makes each day feel like a rehearsal for something he cannot name. Their contrast creates a fragile rhythm: one brother’s steady pulse against the other’s wavering heartbeat.

Into this uneasy equilibrium steps Alice, a hospital cleaner whose quiet kindness and love of books begin to brighten the cramped space. She arrives with an unassuming grace, offering shared stories and simple gestures that hint at the possibility of new connections. As friendships deepen and tentative affection blossoms, the brothers find themselves navigating unfamiliar emotional terrain, discovering that love and companionship can be as restorative as they are unsettling.

The film’s tone sways between gentle dark humor and tender melancholy, painting a portrait of ordinary lives touched by extraordinary sorrow. Its visual style favors muted palettes and intimate framing, inviting the audience to feel the weight of each character’s inner world without needing grand gestures. Within this softly lit landscape, the brothers, Alice, and the lingering presence of their mother create a resonant tableau of loss, resilience, and the quiet hope that something healing may emerge from the cracks of their broken lives.

Last Updated: August 10, 2025 at 10:51