None of the three has much to say to each other, hinting at longstanding resentments under the surface. But their strained politeness never gives way to outright conflict. Nor is Jarmusch as a writer much concerned with psychological realism: when Driver’s character fails to comprehend the phrase “Bob’s your uncle,” we may well wonder just how cartoonishly stupid he’s meant to be.
The formula is repeated in story number two, set in Dublin, where the vibe is less chilly but not by much. As a character study, this is the most achieved of the three sections, largely thanks to the cast: Cate Blanchett and Vicky Krieps as contrasting sisters on a rare visit to their imperious mother (Charlotte Rampling), a bestselling English novelist who has good intentions but can’t help but shame them for not living up to her standard.
Finally, we’re in Paris, where the expatriate American parents are out of the picture, having died in a plane crash shortly before the story begins. Indya Moore and Luka Sabbat are their adult children who reunite to clean out their apartment; the warmth between them is evidently intended as a relief after the awkwardness showcased in the earlier chapters, though we’re still a long way from the rapid-fire exchanges between Giancarlo Esposito and Rosie Perez in the much more energetic Night On Earth.
When the Moore and Sabbat characters congratulate each other on having been raised by non-conformists, we again may wonder how much irony is intended. Still, there’s no mistaking the feeling of smugness imparted by the many neat rhymes between the film’s three segments. Each member of the lead cast wears at least one red item of clothing – and while there’s nothing wrong with this device, I wish Jarmusch had left us to notice it for ourselves rather than drawing it to our attention so insistently.
With all this said, Father Mother Sister Brother is not as empty as it might appear. Beyond the literal theme of family, the most crucial element linking the three stories is the question of who’s paying the bills, necessarily a matter of ongoing concern to any filmmaker looking to stay afloat (the film is a co-production between five countries, financed primarily by Yves Saint-Laurent).
Jarmusch may never have sold out in the sense of going to work for a major Hollywood studio, but the Tom Waits character here, an old hipster not quite as unworldly as he looks, may be the most honest self-portrait this filmmaker has given us yet.
In cinemas now
