Rental Family (2025) - Film Review

      Rental Family, 2025.

      Written and Directed by Hikari.

      Featuring Brendan Fraser, Takehiro Hira, Mari Yamamoto, Akira Emoto, and Shannon Gorman.

      SYNOPSIS:

      Fraser portrays an American actor lost in Japan, engaged by a rental family agency to “act” in the lives of strangers. He plays a father connecting with a daughter he’s never met and a companion for a man who simply wishes to play video games—these are the lives he encounters. Yet, within these brief performances, genuine truths emerge. Gradually and poignantly, we come to realize that the only authentic aspects of many of these lives may be the lies they are paying for.

      Rental Family includes moments reminiscent of a soap opera—such as a man suddenly appearing to inform a young girl that he is her father, or two strangers pretending to elope so one can reunite with their true love. These instances are not merely segments of the film; they embody its essence. Rental Family explores a world yearning for connection but struggling to find it outside the realm of Capitalism. Fraser, perfectly cast, embodies both sides of this desire, portraying an actor who fills these roles while also purchasing companionship for himself. The film inherently acknowledges its own contradictions, ‘selling emotion,’ as one character states, yet it still feels authentic.

      Fraser expressed at a screening I attended that Rental Family reflects the “loneliness epidemic” prevalent in today’s society. The character he inhabits, Phillip, is not just compensated for being a part of others’ lives, but he also seeks out companionship at a cost. Tragically, one of his closest bonds is with his agent, which exists solely over the phone—no handshakes, no eye contact, merely a voice on the other line. The actor who rents himself out also hires someone to fill his own emotional void, and the sole person who knows his true name is unaware of his real face. In a reality where connection is commodified or reduced to a ringtone, Fraser's portrayal poignantly illustrates the painful human cost involved. What does it truly mean to matter in someone’s life, even if just for a fleeting moment? And more chillingly: what occurs if the actor chooses to remain after the performance ends?

      In this film, Fraser doesn't just plow through; he glides seamlessly. Towering both physically and emotionally, he represents a gentle giant who seems to bend not just under the low door frames of Tokyo apartments but also under the invisible burdens of others’ needs. Following The Whale, we witness a transformed Brendan Fraser—one less focused on physical comedy and more inclined towards fostering intimacy. If the eyes are indeed windows to the soul, Fraser embodies Shang Tsung from Mortal Kombat—able to channel grief and numerous personas, all within a single character.

      He is complemented by Takehiro Hira, from Shōgun, who portrays the stoic yet compassionate owner of the rental family agency. Together, they embody two facets of the same dilemma—one striving to maintain the illusion, the other contemplating the nature of reality. Newcomer Shannon Mahina Gorman skillfully avoids the clichéd pitfalls of child actors, delivering a grounded performance that smartly avoids excess, becoming one of the film’s greatest assets.

      Director Hikari wisely chooses to exercise restraint. In less skilled hands, the narrative of a little girl requiring a father figure could easily devolve into overly sentimental manipulation. However, Hikari places trust in her actors’ expressions as much as in their dialogue. She discovers emotional depth not in overt breakdowns or grand speeches, but in the unspoken moments following an actor's departure. She directs like a musician, harmonizing not only with the score but also with production design and editing, recognizing that the silence in between can be the most significant.

      The film’s score, by Alex Somers and Jónsi of Sigur Rós, is both ethereal and deeply human. While it may not be the pinnacle of Jónsi's work—the honor still belongs to Matt Shapiro’s 2008: The Cinescape on YouTube—it subtly enhances scenes without overwhelming them, providing the audience with the desired simulated memories. The remixed version of David Byrne’s Glass, Concrete & Stone, effectively featured in the trailer, is also utilized well here.

      Much of the film resembles a travelogue: with Fraser ducking under doorways, strolling through parks, and quietly sitting in convenience stores. All of these moments are beautifully shot by Takuro Ishizaka. However, these instances are not mere filler; they constitute the essence of the film.

      The screenplay leaves little room for depth—by design. Each scene plays out like a vignette, presenting only fleeting insights into these temporary connections. Yet, within this fragmentation, Hikari discovers something valuable. The third act (which I won’t reveal) offers a predictable but impactful emotional resolution, leveraging the story's constraints as a narrative strength.

      Rental Family stands