A Practical Look at We The Animals
The 2013 film We The Animals is an American coming-of-age drama directed by Jeremi S. Morowitz, adapted from Justin Torres' 2008 debut novel. It follows three young Puerto Rican brothers navigating life in Syracuse, New York, during the 1980s. The film premiered at the Tribeca Film Festival and became notable for its raw, vérité-style approach to family trauma and adolescence. The film is available through several streaming platforms depending on your region. As of my last check, it has cycled through services like Hulu, Amazon Prime Video, and occasionally Tubi as part of their free ad-supported library. I'd recommend checking JustWatch or Reelgood to see what's currently available in your area, since licensing deals shift pretty frequently. The physical media options are more limited. There was a DVD release through Music Box Films, but copies tend to show up sporadically on sites like eBay or Amazon Marketplace at varying price points. I personally picked up a used copy a few years back for about eight dollars and haven't found it cheaper elsewhere.
What the Film Actually Is
I need to be clear here: this is not a typical coming-of-age story with a neat narrative arc. The film is deliberately fragmented. It uses jump cuts, overlapping dialogue, and an intimate handheld camera style that puts you inside the heads of the three brothers — Jonah, Cretonia, and Abel. The narrative doesn't build toward resolution. It builds toward atmosphere. The story is loosely autobiographical, drawn from Justin Torres' own experiences growing up in Syracuse with two older brothers and a father who was physically and emotionally volatile. The film doesn't dramatize events the way a traditional screenplay would. It stitches together moments — some tender, some brutal — and lets the emotional weight accumulate without commentary or resolution.
Production Context
Jeremi S. Morowitz was a recent NYU film school graduate when he made this. That matters because the film's aesthetic choices reflect a certain fearless amateur energy. The cinematography by Christopher Teague uses a lot of extreme close-ups, shallow depth of field, and natural lighting. In one scene, the camera stays so tight on a child's face that the background dissolves into blur, making you feel claustrophobic in a way that serves the story rather than distracting from it. The score is sparse and mostly diegetic — music comes from within the world of the film rather than layered on top. This was a deliberate choice that I think works in the film's favor. A conventional orchestral score would have told you how to feel about each scene. The absence of that guidance forces you to sit with the ambiguity.
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Common Misconceptions
First, this is not a family-friendly movie. The content includes sustained depictions of domestic violence, sexual exploration among adolescents, and intense emotional distress. It received an R rating for good reason. I've seen people recommend it loosely as "a poignant indie film" without mentioning those elements, which I find misleading, especially if someone is planning a movie night with mixed audience expectations. Second, the ending is not ambiguous in the way some viewers interpret it. The final sequences are intentionally elliptical, but the film does provide concrete information about where the characters end up. The vagueness is stylistic, not plot-driven. Don't watch this expecting a traditional three-act resolution or character closure.
Performance Notes
Matthew López played the lead role of the eldest brother and it was his first acting credit. Most of the young cast were relatively unknown, which contributes to the documentary-like quality of the film. Christopher Rivera, who played the youngest brother, delivered a performance that required him to convey complex emotional states with minimal dialogue. I think this is one of the most technically demanding aspects of the film and something that's easy to miss on a casual viewing. Most coming-of-age films from the mid-2000s to early 2010s were either heavily serialized television dramas or conventional indie fare with familiar beats. We The Animals occupies a different space entirely. It's closer to the French New Wave tradition of emotional immediacy than to mainstream American cinema of its era. The pacing is deliberate, sometimes uncomfortable, and it refuses to patronize the viewer with explanatory context. For anyone interested in film as an art form, this is worth studying for its sound design choices and camera work. The film often pairs extreme intimacy with sudden emotional whiplash, which is a difficult balance to pull off without feeling manipulative. Morowitz gets away with it because the performances are grounded enough to carry the formal risk.
If you're looking for something easy to watch, this isn't it. If you're looking for a film that captures the sensory experience of growing up in a chaotic household, it's worth your time. Just go in knowing what you're getting into and don't expect a clean narrative payoff.
