“Father Mother Sister Brother” builds from a simple truth: No two families are fully the same, and all are wholly alike. From there, the sky’s the limit, giving director Jim Jarmusch free rein to riff and refrain through an anthology that spins that thought towards different ends. Playing like variations on a theme, Jarmusch’s shaggy-dog triptych affably loops through moments of awkwardness and family strain, finding fresh notes in the repetition.
Mind you, repetition comes with the territory for a filmmaker well into his fifth decade as Indiewood’s crown prince of cool, often leaving little room for surprise. Instead, both audiences and actors alike go into one of his jams for the very same reason, all of them looking to tap into that familiar wavelength of deadpan unflappability. Premiering at the Venice Film Festival, “Father Mother Sister Brother” ever so subtly shifts that pattern, peeling back the veneer of aloof charm to reveal something messier and more vulnerable just underneath.
Still, don’t expect Adam Driver or Cate Blanchett to break a sweat or shed some tears – in a Jarmuschland, even the rawest emotions break few decibels. Here, the most piercing moments come in the spaces between words, in the silences, sidelong glances, and skipped beats of families that have simply run out of things to say. And in classic Jarmusch fashion, those same pauses just as often double as gags.
“Father” opens the triptych, playing pathos for laughs in what proves the film’s most mischievous sleight of hand. Siblings Emily (Mayim Bialik) and Jeff (Adam Driver) creep along a chilly country road, estranged from each other and even more distant from their father. As they swap the stock worries of middle-aged children about a parent’s decline, the drive feels like the slow climb of a roller coaster, each lurch forward ratcheting up the dread. When they finally arrive at a ramshackle abode, the sight of a bedraggled Tom Waits at the door already says everything.
Small talk papers over the silence as the uneasy trio trade clichés and sip tap water, chatting about everything while saying nothing at all. That dear papa – credited only as Father in the cast list – may not, in fact, be living such a desolate life first becomes suspect from the books on his reading table, and then becomes evident from the Rolex on his wrist.
When the film shifts to the gender-switched variation in “Mother,” those totems reappear: a car, a watch, a box of books, an idiom (“Bob’s your uncle!”), an offhand aside, and a warming drink—all resurfacing in playful permutations across the three stories, turning the film into an endearing kind of puzzle. First you scan the room for paraphernalia, if only to distract from the thin conversation; then you notice those same elements in part two, taking pleasure in the pattern; by the time you reset for part three, you’re fully invested, eager to see how Jarmusch will riff on the theme after first playing the song, then teaching you the score.
The film, in other words, feels like a more tonally cohesive “Coffee and Cigarettes,” shot in one contained stretch rather than pieced together from shorts made over a decade. And as with that earlier anthology — as with any anthology — some vignettes land more forcefully than others. In this instance, there is no other but “Mother.”
And so we begin again, now following two sisters on their yearly trip across Dublin for tea with dear Mama (Charlotte Rampling). Timothea (Cate Blanchett), tucked behind a bowl-cut and oversized glasses, has the look of a turtle – and she’d just as soon retreat into her shell, especially around family. Lilith (Vicky Krieps), with a shock-pink mane perfectly matched to her outfit, instead hides in plain sight, barreling through Ma’s house and questions like a walking exclamation point.
Given the film’s threadbare structure, which leans heavily on surface trappings – and the unmistakable stamp of Saint Laurent Production, recently behind “Emilia Perez” and “The Shroudsæ – “Father Mother Sister Brother” can sometimes feel like a pictorial brought to life by a particularly prestigious cast. The effect lands hardest (and distracts least) in the second segment, which follows a catty clan that favors sartorial flair, all played by Grande Dames clearly reveling in the camp. Rampling, Blanchett, and Krieps ricochet off one another, trading glances and barbs like dollhouse gladiators in passive-aggressive bloodsport. Though you wouldn’t want them as kin, they put on a good show.
That threadbare approach feels even more exposed in the meandering “Sister Brother,” which follows bereaved twins Skye (Indya Moore) and Billy (Luka Sabbat) as they drift through Paris for one last look at their late parents’ flat. Repeating familiar notes as a dirge, the film closes with the most ordinary and least supernatural of ghost stories, leaving its youngest characters to face life as orphans. That letdown is partially by design, as surprise and effervescence give way to a stoic inevitability. But even if the finale makes strong thematic sense, it rarely engages on other, arguably equally important, levels, making for somewhat deflating experience.
But all that’s par the course, I suppose. Like any family, “Father Mother Sister Brother has its ups and downs. And, like any family, you’re allowed to pick favorites.
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