Father Mother Sister Brother

 

Writer/director Jim Jarmusch

Jarmusch at Venice

Jarmusch on the set

MOTHER FATHER SISTER BROTHER                B+                                                         USA  Italy  France Ireland  Germany  (110 mi)  2025  d: Jim Jarmusch

If too many people like a film I make, I feel like I’ve done something wrong.

I don’t know where the hell she came from in this case, but I generally bring an idea with me for about a year, sometimes more than one, until I finally start writing, very quickly.  In this case it took me three weeks.

My favorite thing is to wake up and have no plan.
—Jim Jarmusch

This is Jarmusch’s version of an Ozu film, exploring the personality-driven intricacies of complex family dynamics, where it’s all about the silences between the characters, as the emotional weight of the film is the exploration of that undiscovered interiority, creating a quietly contemplative aspect to the viewing experience, which seems like an anti-action, puzzle-piece counterpoint to what we’re used to seeing, funny, tender, and astutely observed, yet more than anything it feels personal and refreshingly honest, told in a triptych style, a technique often used in both cinema and literature, and a device he has used before, which is difficult to pull off as invariably some episodes are stronger than others.  In this case they are brilliantly blended together by editor Affonso Gonçalves, while shot in New Jersey, Dublin, and Paris by two extraordinary cinematographers, Frederick Elmes, who shot the first chapter, and Yorick Le Saux, who shot the second and third.  Like all Jarmusch films, this is an experience where nothing and everything happens all at once, where the key is deciphering the many clues hidden between the lines, as there’s plenty of deception or hidden secrets with parents who are protective of their children.  Strangely rejected by the Cannes Film Festival, many have dismissed this as a minor film, in much the way Haiku poetry is derided in the poetry world, too small, abstract, yet it still paints a vivid picture, suggesting there is something noble about the power of art, which can also be terribly deceptive.  This is indisputably the work of a mature artist growing older, grappling with their own sense of mortality, as this is simply where the mind wanders when you get older, feeling spacious and ponderous and completely unpretentious, where there’s something so ordinary and believable about it, with the filmmaker stating his goal, “We wanted to make a small, quiet film.”  Among the earliest and more memorable discoveries of this filmmaker came with the hard-to-find Mika Kaurismäki documentary film, TIGRERO: A FILM THAT WAS NEVER MADE (1994), with Sam Fuller bringing Jarmusch deep into Brazil’s Mato Grosso rain forest jungle, interacting with the Indigenous Karajá people, a group Fuller met and filmed in the mid 50’s for a film that was never made.  The hip modernism Jarmusch brings to such an isolated and secluded region is hard to fathom, as this presents him in a uniquely different light, seeing him in such a remote area wearing a Ramones T-shirt, literally expanding our conception of an artist.  Singer Tom Waits has been part of Jim Jarmusch’s regular cast since the utterly hilarious jailbreak-on-the-bayou movie, DOWN BY LAW (1986), while other notable films include the three-act STRANGER THAN PARADISE (1984), an example of plotless, low-budget, independent filmmaking, Mystery Train (1989), another triptych, a musical pilgrimage to Memphis, Tennessee, home of Sam Phillips and Sun Records, Night on Earth (1991), with five interconnecting, chance encounter stories involving a taxi cab driver and passengers in five cities, Dead Man (1995), an acid western, and still, arguably, his best film, GHOST DOG: THE WAY OF THE SAMURAI (1999), a samurai assassin gangster flick, COFFEE AND CIGARETTES (2003), eleven vignettes connected by the titular theme, BROKEN FLOWERS (2005), a cross-country road trip reconnecting with former lovers, THE LIMITS OF CONTROL (2009), an immersion into the haunted, surreal atmosphere of a paid assassin, Only Lovers Left Alive (2013), a vampire flick, Paterson (2016), a tribute to New Jersey poet William Carlos Williams via a modern day bus driver, and The Dead Don't Die (2019), another absurdist zombie movie.

Winner of the Golden Lion (1st place) at the 2025 Venice Film Festival, carefully constructed to allow small details to accumulate, reminding viewers just what it is to be a film poet, it opens with a hauntingly personalized, bass-heavy jazz performance of “Spooky” by British-German singer-songwriter Annika Henderson (aka Anika), Spooky YouTube (2:11), an original Classics IV song from 1967 that essentially establishes the mood and sets the stage for what follows.  Six years since his last feature, the first thing we notice is that Ozu’s pillow shot transitions (The enigmatic 'pillow shots' of Yasujiro Ozu) have been replaced by abstract flickering light passages between episodes, giving us some time to reflect upon what we see happening onscreen, with each of the three sections taking place in the home of a parent where their estranged children come to reconnect.  Opening on a windy, countryside road filled with bare trees and fresh snow on the ground, two siblings, Jeff and Emily (Adam Driver and Mayim Bialik, apparently catching the eye of Jarmusch as his favorite Jeopardy host) chat amiably on their way to visit their widowed and reclusive father at his lake house, sharing their assessment that he’s not a very trustworthy figure in their lives, turning out to be none other than a grizzled old, confusing-looking Tom Waits, who provides the film’s most powerful performance.  Jeff seems concerned about his financial situation since the death of their mother, wondering how he’s getting by, leading a hermetic life, where everything appears run down, offering assistance when he can, bringing along a box of groceries, while Emily is more skeptical about just how dire his situation is.  The setting of the house, situated right on a lake, is to die for, where anyone would dream of living in a house like that, with the camera lingering on the giant-sized window overlooking the lake.  Nonetheless, the father mentions there are a multitude of needed repairs, but suggests he’s doing as well as he can, but seems to be playing the sympathy card.  Jeff falls for it hook, line, and sinker, while Emily is rather amused by it all, pointing out that he’s wearing an expensive Rolex watch, which the father quickly claims is a fake, where the real drama comes only after they’ve left, placing everything we’ve seen before in a different light.  The truism that Jeff reveals is that you can pick your lovers and friends, but you can’t choose your own family, which more than ever rings true in these interconnected segments.  Written by Jarmusch, this episode sets the tone for spare, minimalist dialogue, with plenty of embarrassing and uncomfortable pauses in between to convey emotional distance, balancing wry, offhanded humor with a steady drip of information, while always remaining understated and moody, with something of an abstract, rhythmic flow about it.  A choreography of interpersonal relationships, pondering whether we ever really know the people closest to us, it shares the methodology of South Korean director Hong Sang-soo films, the maker of small, minimalist dramas, as both filmmakers rely upon the power of observation, with no sentimentality and no false drama, devising intimate scenes with powerful performances where awkwardness prevails, replete with lies, resentment, and love, where this is like the antithesis of a Mike Leigh film, where so much of this would otherwise be so wrenchingly despairing.  What’s most amusing is that Waits has always had something of a subterranean Beat poet vibe, where even at this late stage in his life (age 76), he’s still got a rebellious streak.    

While this is something of an actor’s showcase, with the filmmaker allowing plenty of empty space and room to breathe, remaining subtle and impressive, with a keen eye for detail, yet it begs the question, when was the last time we really talked to our families?  The moving presence of skateboarders is a recurring motif, seen in slow motion directly in the middle of the country road in the opening, while darting in and out of the streets of Dublin and Paris in the next segments.  A contrast between this youthful endeavor and ruminations on mortality is immediately evident.  Two sisters who couldn’t be more diametrically different, a punkish, pink-haired Vicky Krieps as free-spirited Lillith and the much more uptight, conservatively-repressed, almost invisible presence of Cate Blanchett as Timothea reunite with their imperial mother (Charlotte Rampling), a successful novelist who refuses to speak about her work, for their annual afternoon tea, the only time all year when they actually get together, though they all live in Dublin.  Their relations are nothing less than strained, where it all feels so terribly formal, as the host mother has impeccably arranged finger food with an assortment of delectable pastries in an immaculate house where everything is in place.  The conversation feels distant and camouflaged, a chamber piece of passive-aggressiveness, with each daughter vying for attention while struggling with insecurities in their personal and professional lives.  All dressed in the color red, as if pre-arranged, Father Mother Sister Brother Exclusive Movie Clip - Color ... YouTube (2:07), the domineering mother, offering a sense of cold authority, appears to be very high maintenance, while her children come to represent unfulfilled expectations, which may have led to uncomfortable childhoods, so they fidget around nervously at the table, expressing some disquieting tension, where the picture of perfect décors hides what’s simmering underneath, leaving viewers undoubtedly perplexed by what’s not being said.  The final chapter is notable for the parents not being present, as Indya Moore as Skye and Luka Sabbat as Billy are twin black siblings cleaning out a Paris apartment following the mysterious death of their parents in a tragic airplane crash.  Their closeness is immediately evident, seen hugging, kissing, and holding hands as they meet in a café before visiting a now-empty apartment that Billy has taken great care to save all the belongings, seen in an excursion to a local storage locker, but it’s unclear what they plan to do with it all.  These American émigré parents led extremely private yet unorthodox lives, perhaps involved in some spy stuff with multiple identities, and their unconventional lifestyle has left an imprint on their children, both raised in Paris, inquisitive and extremely well educated, where after going through some old photos, childhood drawings, and multiple fake documents, they both become aware of how little they actually knew about them.  There’s even a cameo appearance from the building landlord, Françoise Lebrun from Jean Eustache’s revered magnum opus The Mother and the Whore (La Maman et la Putain) (1973), who reveals that the parents died owing three months’ rent, and that she personally prevented the insurance company from seizing their belongings, an act of kindness that suggests she may have known more about them than her own family.  In their memories there is warmth and tenderness, still learning little secrets about their parents while browsing through their things, discovering small unexplained mysteries.  Blending humor and melancholy, capturing the frustrating yet essential nature of family bonds, the film relies heavily on subtext, recurring visual cues, and uncomfortable silences to convey deep-seated emotions and complex histories, with Dusty Springfield singing a riff on the opening song, Dusty Springfield - Spooky (Just Dusty) - 04 02 1971 • TopPop YouTube (2:39), while a musical collaboration between Jarmusch and Annika Henderson creates a haunting soundtrack, Father Mother Sister Brother | 2025 | Jim Jarmusch & Anika | Original Motion Picture Soundtrack | Original Score | OST, with the Jackson Browne song These Days YouTube (3:35) playing out over the end credits, with the delicate voice of Anika sounding like a reincarnation of The Velvet Underground’s Nico.

The Ice Storm

 

Director Ang Lee on the set

Lee confers with actress Sigourney Weaver

Ang Lee directing a scene

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE ICE STORM         B                                                                                                        USA  (112 mi)  1997  d: Ang Lee

In issue 141 of the Fantastic Four, published in November, 1973, Reed Richards had to use his anti-matter weapon on his own son, who Aannihilus has turned into the Human Atom Bomb.  It was a typical predicament for the Fantastic Four, because they weren’t like other superheroes. They were more like a family.  And the more power they had, the more harm they could do to each other without even knowing it.  That was the meaning of the Fantastic Four: that a family is like your own personal anti-matter.  Your family is the void you emerge from, and the place you return to when you die.  And that’s the paradox — the closer you're drawn back in, the deeper into the void you go.                                                                                                         —Paul Hood (Tobey Maguire)

Despite all the accolades for this film, set in the early 70’s, and all the awards (though shut out by the Oscars), with some proclaiming it “the best American film of the 90’s” (The Ice Storm: Baby, It's Cold Outside | Current), you’d be hard-pressed to find a group of more wretchedly miserable people, the adults especially, who in nearly every single scene are exposed for the unlimited reach of their moral hypocrisy, mirroring the lies and criminal corruption within the Nixon administration, setting a dubious standard for the insufferable, ethical malaise sweeping the entire country.  Throughout this grim examination of East coast suburbia, a study of what passes for social interactions in a landscape of wealth and extravagance, there is nothing resembling an actual conversation, as people only pay lip service to the idea of listening, instead it is clear they are simply bored with the emptiness that wealth has brought them.  The parents are so self-absorbed that the term responsibility is a dirty word, as kids are largely left on their own, like lambs led to the slaughter, having little opportunity to be healthy and happy, as this is a film that exposes just how fucked up people are, and if there are any doubts about the effects of passing hedonistic values onto the next generation, look at what they’ve become as voters in the political landscape of today.  Evidently, like the adults in this picture, all the warning signs of danger have been ignored, leading us straight into the dumpster era of sadistic intolerance, malignant narcissism, and abhorrent self-centeredness that is Trump and his minions.  While Tobey Maguire does a lovely contemplative introductory narration, where the world of Marvel comic books, specifically the combined superpowers of The Fantastic Four, serves as inspiration for a dysfunctional family unit, this plays out more like a horror film, where even after all these years it’s still hard to watch.  Like Ang Lee’s previous film, Sense and Sensibility (1995), this explores the uneasy family dynamic through an observational lens, though instead of shooting through the formal prism of 19th century Jane Austin, this is a modern adaptation of Rick Moody’s acclaimed 1994 novel, with a meticulous script by James Schamus that omits most of the provocative sex from the book, toning it down considerably, studying two troubled affluent families in suburban Connecticut during the Nixon Watergate hearings of 1973, where it all comes to a head during a flash wintry blizzard that sends chilling danger signs over a Thanksgiving weekend that are completely ignored.  While there are beautiful images captured by cinematographer Frederick Elmes and terrific use of flutes and gamelan bells in the Mychael Danna soundtrack, as well as an excellent performance by Christina Ricci playing a disturbed, sexually precocious 14-year old, this is a truly uninspiring and obnoxiously empty film about the nuclear family in decay, an era of skyrocketing divorce rates, with kids coming to the realization that their parents may not end up together.  Filled with empty people having little or nothing of significance to say, this is another one of those adults behaving badly films, where there is no hint of redemption, yet to Lee’s credit, he keeps the mysteries unexplained, with Lee finding his own voice nearly a decade later with the emotionally intense Brokeback Mountain (2005), a towering work that surpasses this in every respect.   

The film was distributed through Fox (also releasing a series of Fantastic Four films), owned by Rupert Murdoch, known for espousing conservative values on his television network, yet was largely viewed as an independent film, perhaps hoping to entice more progressive viewers, but the film never generated money at the box office, and lost more than $10 million dollars.  Lee had an affinity for Susan and Alan Raymond’s 12-hour television documentary An American Family, released in 1973, which chronicles the flamboyant dysfunction and disintegration of a family, an early example of reality TV that aired on public television, where the raw honesty captured the public’s imagination, described by Dennis Lim in The New York Times ("Reality-TV Originals, in Drama's Lens") as a “counterculture hangover.”  Lee transformed that California locale to an upper class setting on the East coast, where the torments of two suburban families were a reflection of a longstanding disconnect that had been brewing under the surface for years, leaving strangers living together who were clearly at odds with each other.  A portrait of the American Dream in distress and on life support, suburban respectability is all a mirage, but this pales in comparison to Hitchcock’s Shadow of a Doubt (1943) or David Lynch’s BLUE VELVET (1986), and re-explored later in Todd Fields’ Little Children (2006), where optimism has been replaced by a deep-seeded cynicism that infects the lives of ordinary citizens who are lost and simply can’t find their way.  While the adults are utterly despicable, their lives seemingly beyond repair, it’s the kids that offer some semblance of hope, but the loveless example that has been set for them is filled with traps and dead ends, where it’s only a matter of time before they start resembling their parents, and the Sisyphean cycle starts all over again.  Each generation seems to have a built-in resentment for the next, unable to adapt to the rapid cultural changes and adjustments that come so much easier for their kids, as the core of the parent’s existence is suddenly obsolete.  Lee sets the scene in a wintry landscape with bare trees, dead leaves, patches of snow on the ground, and crisp wintry air, creating an apt tone for a film about sexual detachment and alienation within the family, with the dialogue filled with irony and bitterness, where there’s practically no communication at all.  Each scene is fairly short, the conversation brief, giving the film an abrupt nature, where it’s all about what’s not being said.  With a terrific cast, told almost entirely in a flashback, the film begins and ends with Paul Hood (Tobey Maguire) on a commuter train from Manhattan to New Canaan, Connecticut, where he gets philosophical in a voice-over narration as he reads a Fantastic Four superhero comic book, where he makes a stunning realization, “The more power they had, the more suffering they could inflict on each other without even noticing it.”  This becomes the overall theme of the film, a subversive message about unintentionally undermining your own family, told in an absurdist manner, where the entire film may be viewed as a sober reflection on the loss of innocence, though another chilly, repressed emotions film it recalls is the rarely discussed, understated yet emotionally devastating Robert Redford film Ordinary People (1980), which actually won an Academy Award for Best Picture before falling into obscurity.

Paul is later seen in a snazzy boarding school discussing the existentialism of Dostoyevsky, where he dreams of female classmate Libbets Casey (Katie Holmes in her film debut), the object of his desires, where he foolishly, though he thinks flirtatiously, recommends that she read The Idiot.  Kevin Kline and Joan Allen play his clueless parents, Ben and Elena Hood, while Christina Ricci plays his smart-alecky and sexually adventurous younger sister Wendy who enjoys sticking it to her parents and may be the unsung star of the show.  In something of a mirror image, Jamey Sheridan and Sigourney Weaver play the Hood’s best friends and neighbors Jim and Janey Carver, leading parallel lives with two rather screwed up boys, molecule-obsessed Mikey and toy mutilator Sandy, played by Elijah Wood and Adam Hann-Byrd.  Both families paint the picture-perfect portrait of the ideal American suburban family, yet the future is filled with a restless anxiety, where an underlying sense of gloom permeates everything.  While Ben Hood pretends to be looking forward to spending Thanksgiving weekend with his children, at least that’s what he tells them, he’s instead distracted by an obsessional sexual affair with Janey Carver, something his wife Elena senses, but Ben wholeheartedly denies, while their children are actively engaged in their own clandestine sexual pursuits.  For example, Wendy meets Mikey at an abandoned swimming pool filled with dead leaves, where they share a kiss, but not before she removes the chewing gum from her mouth.  When Jim Carver returns from a business trip to Houston, announcing ”Hey guys, I’m back,” his older son makes the astute observation, “You were gone?”  Meanwhile Wendy also plays sexual peekaboo with Sandy (“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours), whose preferred activity is blowing up things, where he actually mouths the words “I love you,’” to which she responds, “Are you drunk?”  But she can also be seen donning a Nixon mask to wear when she and Mikey are about to have sex in the basement, only to be caught red-handed by her sanctimonious father who reads Mikey the riot act, blaming him for everything while absolving his daughter from all sins (although she was the initiator), absurdly seen carrying her silently through the wet and muddy woods on their return home as she complained of cold feet.  Ben isn’t exactly perceived as Don Juan by his acid-tongued, ice princess partner in crime Janey, shushing him after sex when he drones on endlessly about golf, reminding him, “You’re boring me.  I already have a husband.”  In another instance, just as they’re about to get undressed, she’s apparently heard enough of his incessant blabbering, inexplicably leaving without a word, driving away in her car, leaving him naked and alone in her house.  Ben may be the ineffective and guilt-ridden father, but Janey Carver is literally sleepwalking through her marriage.  The ambiguity of some of these mixed messages may leave some to question the pervasive theme, wondering whether it belongs to progressive aesthetics or more regressive “family values” that demand punishment for society’s moral transgressions, as this is the conservative backlash from the liberating spirit of the 60’s Summer of Love, yet this austere, emotionally inert depiction of family dysfunction is largely overshadowed by the theatrical fireworks of the great American playwrights, Eugene O’Neill, Tennessee Williams, and Arthur Miller.             

In the early 70’s, the ideals of the 60’s, from social change, political disenchantment, to casual sex, finally reached the mainstream, but society remained paralyzed from the lingering effects of lost hopes that died with the stream of 60’s political assassinations.  The film effectively dissects the inept and failed patriarchy at the heart of white, Anglo-Saxon Protestant (WASP) culture, complete with stereo phonographs, boxed TV sets, gaudy, polyester leisure suits, hairstyles that require tons of hairspray, water beds, and modernist homes with shag carpets and wall-sized windows overlooking the woods outdoors.  But drugs and casual sex were the most prominent escape routes before the AIDS epidemic put a halt to much of that, still on the last vestiges of the 60’s sexual revolution, when the porn film DEEP THROAT (1972) became a unique and popular success, with people testing the boundaries of their structured upbringing.  Alcohol was served at every social gathering, and there was rarely an adult seen without a drink or a cigarette in their hand, usually both, but sex in this film is portrayed as a grotesque misadventure, the ultimate expression of the failure to communicate.  The Watergate scandal that saturates the airwaves is about to bring down a crumbling presidency, the extremely unpopular Vietnam War rages on, and disillusionment with authority pervades the country and is felt in every nook and cranny.  Nixon’s dishonesty is echoed by Ben Hood’s dishonesty, yet the detached nature of the film is everpresent, exposing the contradictions of suburban life, a pit of cultural confusion and lost souls, yet nothing is more emotionally demoralizing than the steamrolling effect from a swinging seventies, neighborhood wife-swapping party, where consenting adults place their car keys in a bowl when they arrive and go home at the end with the person from the opposite sex who selects their keys.  In this film the expression “Love the one you’re with” becomes subverted into anyone other than who you’re with.  Illusion and reality are put to the test and fail miserably, as the results are never what you expect, yet belief in the dream is what led you to place your keys in the bowl in the first place.  Everyone hopes for something better, never thinking that things could actually get much worse.  Paul has his own misadventure in the city, where things never live up to the dream, yet the haunting effects of the weather outside sends warning signs and danger signals that are routinely ignored, as a frozen rain storm suddenly coats every surface in a glaze of ice, creating treacherous conditions, with tree branches and power lines falling under the weight of the ice, making roads impassable while cutting off electricity, where entire communities are immobilized.  Despite attempts to navigate the icy terrain, coldness and cynicism have been injected into the landscape in equal measures, as people are left isolated, cut off from all that they find familiar, discovering a frozen world instead, where one catastrophe after another leads to horrific and disastrous results, where in the end nothing is celebrated except disillusionment.  Part satire, part psychological drama, and part tragedy, Lee has taken what is essentially a fragmentary piece of fiction and turns it into a coherent and vividly recognizable period piece that attempts to convey emotional honesty and authenticity, but continually keeps viewers at a healthy distance.   

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