Screening at NYFF: Jim Jarmusch’s ‘Father Mother Sister Brother’

The sardonic stylings of Jim Jarmusch abound in his latest, the tri-pronged Father Mother Sister Brother. However, their result here is unexpected: a tonal tightrope whose difficulties are disguised by a seemingly effortless reflection on aging parents and accepting the frayed bonds of family. The gentle drama—which won the coveted Golden Lion at the Venice Film Festival—seems unassuming at first but builds its three semi-related sagas both gradually and melodically, with the help of a star-studded ensemble who are all completely dialed into the director’s poetic wavelength.

Split between three distinct stories titled “Father,” “Mother” and “Sister Brother,” the film traces the bonds and idiosyncrasies of three sets of characters through family reunions that range from absurd to deeply moving. In the first, well-to-do American siblings Jeff (Adam Driver) and Emily (Mayim Bialik) drive out to the isolated cabin of their widowed father (Tom Waits), who pretends to be poorer than he actually is in order to gain their sympathy. In the second, an English family in Dublin sees a similar (and similarly awkward) reconvening, as the prim and proper Timothea (Cate Blanchett) and her free-spirited sister Lillith (Vicky Krieps) join their uptight mother (Charlotte Rampling) for tea. The third story departs from the basic premise of its predecessors but keeps in mind their reflective nature, as French-American twins Billy (Luka Sabbat) and Skye (Indya Moore) reunite to clean out the Parisian apartment of their recently departed parents.

Although simple in appearance, Father Mother Sister Brother beats with the wisdom of an artist in his early twilight. Jarmusch is 72, an age at which a person has undoubtedly seen loved ones depart and one that might even bring with it reflections on one’s mortality. In that vein, the film takes on an almost dreamlike significance. While its stories aren’t directly connected, there are common elements between them—quips, turns of phrase, overhead shots of hot drinks and even Rolexes that might be real or fake—that tether these tales across time and space and make them all feel like the projections of the same psyche. Viewers might try to string together some coherent meaning from the triptych, but this search for meaning is perhaps the point, as each tale emanates from the very same, mildly perturbed psyche. It’s a film about looking back on one’s life and taking stock, a process that takes three remarkably different forms that are all ultimately connected by a similar wistfulness.

In “Father,” as Jeff and Emily drive down a long and frigid road, the discrepancies between what their father has or has not told them come gradually to light, but the siblings bear it all with strained smiles. Jeff is far more willing to give in to their father’s oddities by plying him with cash and groceries, even though neither one of them seems sure where the money is going. They don’t ask, perhaps because they don’t want to know the answer—or perhaps because even the worst possible outcomes don’t really matter. He is, after all, their father, a strange and hoarse-voiced man who surely has his reasons, and so they put up with his attempts to socialize with them every once in a while (Waits is magnificent in the part of a lonely patriarch who pushes people away despite his welcoming words).

“Mother” sees several inversions of this familiar premise, such as the sisters arriving separately and presenting a much more divided front, which their mother finds easier to control. The subject of their father isn’t broached, so perhaps Rampling’s unnamed, overbearing character is a widow too, but the loss that hangs over this second reunion is of a more esoteric sort. If there’s a tangible absence in Rampling’s living room, it’s the lack of openness and understanding with which the three women navigate their relationships. The bespectacled Timothea is eager to please her commanding mother, while the pink-haired Lillith carries herself with a façade of punk rock rebellion. Neither of the first two stories delves deep into the childhood chapters that obviously molded these dynamics, but the thing about families is those flashpoints and “origin stories” can often be pushed to the recesses of one’s mind for the sake of peaceful coexistence.

None of the three segments features traditional conflict-and-resolution—Jarmusch’s musings rarely fit into this mode—but the director layers hints of unspoken yearning which the characters may never access. All three stories, for instance, feature characters watching skateboarders (presented in slow motion) with utter fascination from behind the safety of their car windows, as though they embodied some kind of liberation forever out of reach. And yet, there’s a contentment between the characters, especially in the first two stories.

In the third, “Sister Brother,” twins Billy and Skye find themselves at a much more precarious crossroads. They’re left to reflect on their parents’ lives and their own, with only old photographs and documents to guide them. Suddenly, the peculiarities that Waits and Rampling bring to their respective roles in “Father” and “Mother” leave a void in this third vignette, as the siblings nurse their grief with mild drugs and take on a more relaxed disposition as they exchange sweet nothings about how much they value one another. It’s the most easygoing of the three segments, and yet, the one where it always feels like something is missing—but this is a purposeful flourish and one that begins to tug at the heartstrings the more the duo learns about their mother and father.

Jarmusch’s withdrawn visual approach has a tender quality, which allows each character the space to express their desires and what they might even want from their respective families. Sometimes the answer is as simple as being completely seen, but few characters are able to fully verbalize these thoughts, which is where actors like Driver, Krieps and Blanchett can make minor but meaningful decisions that flesh out the film’s emotional contours, even in silent moments.

In its totality, Father Mother Sister Brother functions as a look back on hazy memories that have long since settled into something nebulous, though the characters occasionally try to access them to make conversation, turning each reunion into a quiet crossroads of sorts. There’s even a finality to their goodbyes that they may not fully recognize, but Jarmusch knows just when and how to hold on these moments long enough to imbue them with warmth, bittersweetness and a touch of dramatic irony. Whatever happens next, wherever these characters go from here, the seemingly ordinary time they spend together on our screens takes on extraordinary proportions in the process, thanks to the subdued drama Jarmusch has long been known for—the kind that never announces itself but gradually sneaks its way into your heart.