‘Abang Adik’ Review: Malaysia’s Oscar Submission Is a Touching Tale of Brotherhood and Identity

A deeply moving humanist drama with potent social and political undercurrents, “Abang Adik” charts the hardships faced by two orphaned Malaysian brothers who have no legal identity in the country of their birth. The mightily impressive first feature written and directed by renowned producer Jin Ong will move many viewers to tears as the brothers’ struggles within the large community of stateless Malaysians and undocumented migrant workers in Kuala Lumpur spiral toward tragedy.

Featuring standout lead performances by Taiwanese actor Wu Kang-ren and local star Jack Tan, “Abang Adik” has proved a commercial and critical hit since releasing locally in December 2023 and on Netflix in mid-2024. A significant achievement in Malaysian social realist cinema and winner of numerous awards at regional and international film festivals including Udine Far East, New York Asian and Taipei Golden Horse, it marks a standout among this year’s crop of Oscar international feature film contenders.

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Abang Adik (meaning “older brother and younger sibling” in Malay language) continues the focus on social justice, economic inequality and cultural identity in films produced by Ong, such as “Shuttle Life” and “Miss Andy.” In his first assignment as writer-director, Taiping-born Ong has fashioned a tale that is often bleak and confronting but never tilts into melodrama or indulges in poverty porn.

First and foremost an engrossing character piece — one that should connect with audiences and encourage them to empathize with those less fortunate — Ong’s carefully crafted screenplay succeeds in shining a convincing light on the realities of daily life for those invisible people living on the margins of one of Asia’s more prosperous societies. The skill with which Ong has balanced human drama with robust social and political commentary is best exemplified by the project’s passage through Malaysia’s traditionally very conservative film censorship system with only minor cuts (the trimming of a long kissing scene being one of these).

Set in the throbbing Pudu Market district that’s home to a sizable sector of the city’s unofficial population, Ong’s film introduces 40-ish Abang (Wu, “Fly Me to the Moon”) and 30-ish Adik (Tan, “Shuttle Life”) as Malaysian orphans of Chinese descent who lack the required paperwork to obtain the national IC (identity card). Without the precious piece of plastic, Abang and Adik are denied basic citizenship rights and have been forced to live the kind of shadowy half-lives described in the film’s opening text quote from “Shadow” by Romanian writer Marin Sorescu.

Kind-hearted softie Abang seems resigned to his fate and wants only to keep looking after little brother Adik, an angry young man who engages in sex work with despondent female client Wendy (Alison Khor), and is mixed up with Kamarul (Bront Palarae), a crime boss selling fake documents and false hope to illegal migrant workers who flock to Kuala Lumpur from across Asia. The difference between the brothers is starkly drawn in the film’s early passages. While Abang quietly guts chickens in the Pudu wet market and takes odd jobs for half the wages a legal worker would receive, Adik is seen fleeing from a raid by immigration police in a dilapidated apartment block. This pulsating sequence ends with the shocking death of an illegal worker that can easily be interpreted as suicide brought on by abject despair.  

Like many Pudu residents, the brothers have forged a family of sorts with others who are disadvantaged and detached from the mainstream. In their case, it’s a bond with neighbor Ms. Money (57-year-old stage veteran Tan Kim-wang in an excellent film debut), a trans sex worker who serves as an aunty figure and commentator on the state of social and political affairs. “At first, the government let them in, and now they arrest them instead,” says Money after yet another raid by immigration police.  

The only glimmer of hope is provided by Jia En (Serene Lim), a dedicated NGO worker who seems to be making progress with the brothers’ case for recognition. Having fallen in love with Burmese refugee Su (April Chan), only to watch on helplessly as she was moved to a different country by aid agencies, Abang now appreciates the value of official status. But Jia En’s encouraging news is rejected by Adik, whose self-destructive impulses and lingering anger over past events trigger a tragedy that forces the brothers to flee their home and become fugitives.

At this point, the film shifts tonally from a slice-of-life drama filled with rich primary colors to a crime thriller in which DP Karthik Vijay employs a colder palette and more formal framing and shot compositions. As the brothers face life-changing decisions and details from the past come to light in brief and telling flashbacks, these richly drawn characters acquire layers of complexity that are compelling and deeply affecting. It is with considerable writing and directorial skill that Ong explores the intensely symbiotic and co-dependent nature of Abang and Adik’s relationship while they are separated for a long stretch of screen time in the film’s second half.

Themes of loyalty, love and sacrifice are powerfully expressed in sequences such as a lengthy and extraordinarily moving monologue in sign language that reaches deeply into Abang’s troubled soul and captures what life must be like for someone whose destiny has largely been determined by cruel fate and circumstances beyond their control. As previously hidden details of the tragic incident emerge, the quality of Ong’s writing and the superb performances of his actors ensures that the film’s emotional impact is fully earned and never feels imposed or contrived.

Ong’s accomplished and technically polished film is especially well served by the music of Malaysian Japanese singer-songwriter Ryota Katayama and fellow first-time feature film score composer Wen Hung. The duo’s elegant arrangements of traditional instruments and construction of haunting soundscapes are perfectly in tune with characters whose difficult lives are punctuated by moments of joy and hope.