Venice Review: Jim Jarmusch’s Father Mother Sister Brother is a Compilation of Mature Themes

      Father Mother Sister Brother presents three films for the cost of one. The first takes place by a chilly lakeside in the residence of a man (Tom Waits) who is visited by another (Adam Driver). The second is set in a verdant suburb of Dublin where Charlotte Rampling portrays the mother of Cate Blanchett and Vicky Krieps. This film is written and directed by Jim Jarmusch, potentially the only filmmaker capable of assembling such a stellar cast and having them engage in casual conversation over tea. His ongoing interest in this endeavor should be appreciated.

      The director is undoubtedly familiar with the anthology format: works like Mystery Train, Night on Earth, and Coffee and Cigarettes serve as prime examples of this often overlooked structure. If the first two segments were shot in black-and-white, they could easily fit into Coffee without much alteration. Although no one smokes, the humor bears a resemblance, and while the drinks are tea, they are at least served in cups. Of the three stories, I have a particular fondness for the middle segment showcasing Krieps as Lilith, the free-spirited sister of Blanchett’s restrained Timothea, a public servant who has secured a position at the heritage society. The dynamic between the two actresses, with Rampling observing intently, is likely worth the price of admission.

      Beyond that, there are elements to appreciate, if not love. The opening segment carries an energy reminiscent of Samuel Beckett, with Waits portraying the roguish father of Jeff (Driver) and Emily (Mayim Bialik)––conventional siblings who are making their annual visit. In the final segment, Jarmusch shifts to an autumnal Paris where twins Skye (Indya Moore) and Billy (Luka Sabbat) have recently lost their last parent and return to their childhood flat for one final visit. (In the brief role of the landlady, Jarmusch casts veteran actress Françoise Lebrun, evoking the eerie resonance of the empty flat from Vortex.) A series of recurring jokes connects the segments: a worn Rolex, the debate over whether something other than alcohol can be toasted with, the phrase “Bob’s your uncle,” and others. Each segment also begins with some driving and music. It may not reach the heights of Perfect Days, but it’s not far off.

      Artistically unburdened, with nothing more to prove and occasionally indulging in dad jokes, both The Dead Don’t Die and Father Mother Sister Brother affirm that Jarmusch, much like Wenders, has entered his period of late style. This film exists simply for the sake of existence, art for art’s sake: the kind of work that does not demand your attention and isn’t especially eager to provide much in return. Fans of the vibrant colors and emotional resonance of Pedro Almodóvar’s recent The Room Next Door may find themselves easily adjusted to its rhythms, but Father Mother Sister Brother lacks the style of that film or Almodóvar’s knack for poignant melodrama.

      Jarmusch’s depiction of cool is less timeless than that of the Spanish filmmaker, but late style transcends that comparison. Those who appreciate his earlier works will allow the artist to experiment with concepts that he may not have the time or resources to fully explore—essentially extending a benefit of the doubt, or “imaginative sympathy,” as Richard Brody once put it. “Lateness,” as Edward Said wrote, “is being fully conscious, full of memory.” Father Mother Sister Brother may elicit some cringe, but it meets that criterion. I’m glad it exists.

      Father Mother Sister Brother had its premiere at the Venice Film Festival and is set for release on December 24.