Review of 'Father Mother Sister Brother': Family tensions, subtly wrought

The holidays bring good mood: an opportunity to reflect, but also, most likely, family anxiety. Jim Jarmusch's latest film is not set during the season, although the faint flashes of discomfort, resentment and guilt that pass across his characters' faces may seem painfully familiar to audiences who have an uneasy relationship with their parents. “Father Mother Sister Brother” is here to commiserate, but because the veteran indie author remains a keen chronicler of the everyday, he has no patience for sentimentality or trivial resolutions. The film plays out so simply that you'll be surprised how moved you feel at the end.

“Father Mother Sister Brother” is divided into three chapters, each examining a separate family. In the first segment, set somewhere in the Northeast, siblings Jeff (Adam Driver) and Emily (Mayim Bialik) visit their unnamed father (Tom Waits). The second story moves to Dublin, where sisters Timothea (Cate Blanchett) and Lilith (Vicky Krieps) arrive at their mother's (Charlotte Rampling) house for their annual tea party. And in the final chapter, twins Skye (Indya Moore) and Billy (Luka Sabbat) meet in Paris to close the apartment of their parents, who recently died in a plane crash.

Jarmusch has sometimes divided his narratives into pieces: his films “Night on Earth” and “Coffee and Cigarettes” were conceptually linked anthologies. Initially, “Father Mother Sister Brother” appears to be similar, but there is a cumulative power to the film, which won the Golden Lion at the Venice Film Festival, that reveals a subtle but profound thematic undercurrent.

The first clue appears in the “Father” chapter, which begins with Jeff and Emily in the car. There is a stilted quality to the conversation as they talk about their eccentric and inscrutable father. The visit has a strong air of obligation (they don't see Dad very often) and when he awkwardly welcomes them to his ramshackle house, there are pregnant pauses and pursed lips. Not much happens, until the end of the segment introduces a twist that suggests the yawning chasm between what we think we know about our parents and what the truth of their lives is.

Once we move on to the “Mother” sequence, we begin to acclimate to the film's unnerving rhythms, which is a good thing considering that, if anything, Timothea and Lilith's relationship with their mother is even colder. Their mother's polite and overly formal behavior cannot hide her confusion about how to relate to her children. Wearing an unflattering haircut and glasses, Blanchett plays Timothea as terminally shy, still longing for the approval of his distant mother. In comparison, Krieps' Lilith is more assertive, proudly showing off her pink-dyed hair and bragging about a Lexus she doesn't actually own. Rampling crackles like a matriarch who can detect her children's lies and insecurities but has the good manners to say nothing. Or maybe it's not kindness at all, but rather a way to ensure that you'll always have the upper hand.

The film's persistent fragility may unsettle some viewers. That's partly the point, but hopefully they'll soon be swept away by the film's melancholic undertow. Working from a minimalist keyboard score that he co-wrote, Jarmusch fills the silences with ineffable despair. You can feel it in the way Emily looks out her father's window at the lake beyond, the wintry tableau at once calm and poignant. You feel it when Timothea silently inspects himself in the bathroom mirror, wishing his life was more than it is.

Moments like that could make you cry. But Jarmusch's deadpan approach often chases that sadness with wry laughter in moments of unfiltered honesty. Krieps loves playing her character, a talkative poseur hoping to surprise her mother and sister. (At one point, Lilith announces, “I almost hate to say it, but my life has been like a dream.” Blanchett's reaction is delightful.) Over time, we learn to look beyond Jarmusch's deceptively mundane surfaces to see the tense, unresolved issues within these sheltered families. Characters occasionally expose their true selves, then just as quickly retreat, afraid to touch on a real conflict.

Which brings “Father Mother Sister Brother” to its most moving sequence. It would be a spoiler to reveal anything about Skye and Billy's intimate saga, but what is clear is that Jarmusch has designed the installments of “Father” and “Mother” in such a way that the final segment of “Sister Brother” arrives differently. Just as important, Moore and Sabbat's charming performances slyly alter our impressions of those earlier chapters, generating some of the tenderest moments of Jarmusch's career.

Turning 73 in January, Jarmusch has lost none of his boldness or preternatural cool, but the depth of feeling in recent works like 2016's “Paterson” becomes, here, a bittersweet meditation on the anguish of trying to unlock the mystery of our aging parents. In “Father Mother Sister Brother,” family can be hell, but the only thing worse is when they are no longer with us.