by Parker Constantine
A triptych of carefully observed family dynamics, Father Mother Sister Brother, is a return to classic Jim Jarmusch form. Featuring 3 disconnected vignettes woven together by musical interludes, each story offers a different look into an unconventional, awkward, family.
We begin with Father, in which Tom Waits grumbles around his house and makes his best effort to communicate with his two children, Jeff (Adam Driver) and Emily (Mayim Bialik). The father seems to rely on his two children not speaking to each other, as Jeff and Emily slowly realise on the drive over that their dad might not be what he seems.
A wall caved in last year, Jeff gladly paid for it, but Emily never even knew about it. Cracks begin appearing but their emotional distance from one another prevents them from exploring it further. Driver and Bialik play their characters incredibly wooden, which for some may be very appealing, but can also be quite off-putting for the first 10 minutes of a film. I found myself recoiling from their extreme awkwardness.
Once they arrive at their father’s house, the awkwardness increases tenfold. Waits shuffles around, thanks them plenty of times for coming, offers water and dinner but can’t seem to figure out what “conversation” with his children should be; he speaks to them as if they are strangers.
The cinema was scattered with laughs, but I found the story offered plenty of comedy, albeit very very dry.
In the most revealing piece of dialogue, father remarks “Bob’s your uncle,” but is met with blank faces. After a moment of processing, Jeff says “but Ted’s our uncle.” It makes sense, then, that his literal way of thinking would allow him to give his Father plenty of money to pay for fabricated housing emergencies. But there are more secrets to Father waiting to be discovered.
We transition to Mother, lying on the couch of her palatial home, speaking to her therapist. She worries her children need her too much, but speaks with a cold distance typical of the British upper-class. Her posh-ness is immediately evident.
One child, Timothea (Cate Blanchett) vies for her mother’s approval, modelling her way of speaking, her manners and maintaining a suitably boring life. Meanwhile, rambunctious Lilith (Vicky Krieps) is not so needy, rebelling from polite society, but ultimately is Mother’s favourite.
Timothea, understandably, is deeply repressed, tormented by her Mother’s preference for the punk one. Mother stuffs the conversation with empty platitudes and forced smiles, keeping the tea flowing so they each can drink instead of talking.
The trio meet once a year for a high tea and don’t see each other again for the rest of the year. The arrangement seems to work well. The adult sisters regress to their childhood dynamic, it’s probably for the best that they only have to bear each other once a year. It seems they might behave this way ad infinitum.
The stories of Mother and Father are connected by their inability to let any real emotion show; in both stories, the families talk about water as a way to make the time go quicker; they have nothing real to say to each other.
So then, Brother and Sister come as an excellent relief. Two young ones, Skye (Indya Moore) and Billy (Luka Sabbat) meet each other in Paris to clear out their childhood home, following the death of their parents in a freak plane crash.
Their conversation is immediately real; they talk about drugs and grief, all topics the two families prior would not be able to come close to. The siblings share a mild twin telepathy, which allows the film to release its sincerity in the form of their genuine bond.
For the first time, characters burp, slouch and relax. In their abandoned childhood home, they cry and hold each other. Their intimacy is earned. In Father, Jeff says “you can’t choose your family,” but here, Skye says “thank you for being my brother.”
Much of their sincerity is earnt by them being unconventional. They had nomadic childhoods, raised by artistic parents with a myriad of fake ID’s. Their risk-taking makes them human, as opposed to the previous 2 stories of risk-aversion.
The film’s camera is often observant and lingering. It finds small moments to focus on and is not afraid to absorb a space. The performances are subtle, but impactful in their realism. This is Jarmusch operating at his finest micro-storytelling, reminiscent of his 90s works like Down By Law and Coffee and Cigarettes. This is mumblecore via beat poetry.
I fear Father Mother Sister Brother may not be for everyone. As the lights in the cinema came up, I overheard snippets about its extreme awkwardness. There’s no denying it is understated, but for those in the mood for a cup of Jarmusch tea, you’ll certainly find Father Mother Sister Brother a great gift.
by Parker Constantine