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.

Sleepwalk

 

Director Sara Driver

SLEEPWALK                 B+                                                                                                            USA  Germany  (78 mi)  1986  d: Sara Driver

Coinciding with the UCLA black student filmmaker’s L.A. Rebellion movement on the West coast, among the driving forces of a new American independent cinema were also NYU film students of the late 1970’s and early 80’s that included Spike Lee, but also Jim Jarmusch, whose name became synonymous with the burgeoning New York underground art scene centered around the CBGB music club, forming a close collaboration with Sara Driver, his future partner, co-writing her student film YOU ARE NOT I (1981), while also sharing the cinematography duties on this film with Frank Prinzi, incorporating long takes with static camerawork.  Along with Phil Kline, the film’s musical composer, they formed an eclectic group of cutting-edge New York artists known as No wave, which included various other impoverished artists living on New York’s Lower East Side.  Their limited means allowed them to produce more radical and experimental art work, coinciding with a pre-AIDS historical period when the city of New York was near bankrupt, forcing people to take whatever odd jobs they could just to pay their rent.  According to Driver, she worked in a Xerox shop along with Kim Gordon of Sonic Youth, where the long, monotonous hours Xeroxing documents may have contributed to the overall somnambulistic mood of the film.  According to a 2012 interview from Huffington Post, "Flashing Back With Sara Driver on the Bowery",

This area was not heavily populated.  It was like a war zone.  You had an instinctive reaction to the street.  You had to be tuned into everything around you otherwise you would get hurt.  You would run into your heroes on the street, like Burroughs, and they had an influence on your work.  And that was a wonderful time in the city when we had repertory art houses and a lot more European films.  Studios didn’t own theaters the way they do now.  I got a great education from NYU and from these cinemas.  I was influenced by Jacques Rivette’s films, and Tarkovsky’s.  Their magical realism was a big influence on Sleepwalk.   

In fact, this film recalls the inventive cloak-and-dagger playfulness of Rivette’s Céline and Julie Go Boating (Céline et Julie vont en bateau) (1974), or the Juliet Berto character in Out 1 and Jacques Rivette R.I.P. (1971), where an underlying sense of nocturnal danger lurks just underneath the surface, shot almost entirely at night within just a few city blocks, where the now gentrified intersection of Soho, Chinatown, and Tribeca reveals what was then a run-down and decaying neighborhood with streets noticeably empty, not to mention pervasive signs of graffiti, where much of this film feels as if drifting in a trance, creating an increasingly spooky effect, all centered around a mysterious Chinese manuscript in The Year of the Dog.  Selected as the opening night film for Critic’s Week at the 1986 Cannes Film Festival, the film seems to exist in its own netherworld, like an alternative reality, where any number of things go wrong or just don’t seem right, where instead of tying up loose ends, like the perpetual search to solve crimes with doglike tenacity by Peter Falk’s Lt. Columbo (1968 – 2003), this film is more about the loose ends themselves, incidents with no resolution, things that happen for no apparent reason, mysteries that remain unresolved, where we’re instead aimlessly drifting through time, as the title suggests.  This film was a major influence on Jarmusch’s GHOST DOG: THE WAY OF THE SAMURAI (1999) and the avant garde surrealism of Guy Maddin, particularly on his outlandish screenplays that just cry out for novel cinematic techniques and special effects. 

A surrealist fantasy based on someone’s experiences working at a computer all day, positioning itself between dreams and reality, between first person subjectivity and accidental voyeurism, the film has the look of a B-movie with a manuscript that takes on characteristics of a children’s fairy tale, while the film features an overworked central protagonist, Nikki, Suzanne Fletcher, who actually resembles a ghostly silent film character, yet she’s a single-mom who works at a Soho copy shop, never showing much expression, leading a relatively mundane existence, accidentally cutting her finger, drawing blood, while her eyes also momentarily glow green.  In addition, playwright Harvey Perr is the boss of a nefarious backroom operation performing weirdly inconsequential assignments, with Steve Buscemi in heavy glasses carefully inspecting a table filled with photographic slides, as if searching for a missing ingredient, an Asian woman blithely collects paper strips, one after another, where it would be hard to find a more boring job, while another loopy-eyed woman paints the exact same watercolor.  Adding a great deal of spice is Nikki’s roommate Isabelle, an utter revelation by performance artist Ann Magnuson in flaming red hair, who just offers plenty of energetic personality and pizzazz in an otherwise slowly moving picture, dropping by her job to borrow money in a humorous appearance, as if moving in an altogether different speed.  Nikki’s world is turned upside down when two shady characters, Stephen Chen as Dr. Gou (whose name means “dog” in Chinese), and Tony Todd as Barrington Rutley III (with bandaged and mutilated fingers), hire her to translate an ancient Chinese scroll, no questions asked (Nikki just happens to speak fluent Mandarin Chinese!), which appears to have been stolen by Barrington, seen earlier in what resembles a shadowy German Expressionist dream sequence bathed in a red light.  Ordered to never let the manuscript out of her sight, Nikki works late, but after she leaves the computers and telephones turn back on, seemingly expressing a life of their own.  As she walks home alone, bizarre events occur, with an off-putting sound design featuring a highly inventive percussive score that forebodes upcoming dread.  When she sees a young boy in his underwear standing alone at an intersection, she graciously helps him across the street, only to see him run back across and stand there again, a young girl throws confetti into the air, while a grown man in a suit barks at her on the sidewalk.  These idiosyncrasies simply appear and disappear, seemingly on their own wavelength, adding a mysterious texture to ordinary reality. 

Waiting home alone is her young half-Chinese son Jimmy (Dexter Lee), quickly throwing some TV dinners into the oven, suddenly realizing the manuscript smells like almonds, with Isabelle arriving home agitated, complaining about a long list of disappointing boyfriends before remembering Nikki’s boyfriend called earlier.  When she calls back there is no answer, but Driver leaves a stark image of the phone ringing along with an unmade bed next to an open window in his empty apartment.  The next morning, arriving to work early, the manuscript itself seems to be providing the film’s narration, spoken by an unseen Asian woman’s voice, as it was at the film’s opening, which then intermingles with Nikki speaking the words in her head as she transcribes them.  As if by magic, an Asian woman arrives at her desk, identifying herself as Ecco Ecco (Ako), the likely narrator, claiming the stolen manuscript belongs to her, describing it as dangerous, asking to meet later on a deserted rooftop, but she never shows.  Instead, police arrive later at the office with the gruesome news that she’s been executed, strangled by her own hair, reporting several fingers missing.  Done for the night, she leaves the office alone, where certainly one of the hair-raising scenes of the film is the old-fashioned elevator ride down seven stories, filled with ominous sounds, inexplicably stopping at every floor, where the open door reveals something different on each floor, offering a window into people’s private lives, but also just a collection of strange and curious things, meeting Barrington at the bottom with his missing fingers.  On a barren street resembling a desolate wasteland, she encounters a black dog whose eyes also glow green.  By the time she gets home, Isabelle’s head has turned bald, resembling the story in the fairy tale, where little by little, the manuscript seemingly has powers that begin to take over her life, with her finger magically cured afterwards.  In a mindboggling idea that sounds utterly preposterous, hoping to make her feel better, Nikki suggests Isabelle and Jimmy spend a few days relaxing in an Atlantic City hotel by the beach while she works on the manuscript, where Isabelle could gamble and Jimmy could find other kids to play with.  Leaving in the dark of night, on the other hand, just feels overly weird.  Of course, Isabelle, her head wrapped in a scarf, makes a quick stop, visiting a Chinatown herbalist for hair treatment with Jimmy sleeping in the back seat, when the car gets stolen by a small-time crook (Richard Boes), who hilariously brings the car for quick cash to an overly pregnant fence who freaks out when she sees a kid in the back seat.  Utterly clueless as to what to do, the film indescribably takes off on two tracks with an inept kidnapper who really isn’t such a bad guy, though his archaic methods are crude, and Nikki, equally in the dark, stammering out into the streets calling her son’s name, eventually growing tired, laying her head down by the East River and going to sleep, where we’re never sure if what transpires is real or simply imagined.  Macabre and unsettling, Driver really provides an alternative universe that feels completely original.