Jay Rohr
Rental Family puts the world in perspective without taking the pulpit. The way this is poetically achieved is priceless. This isn’t a film full of declarative statements. It’s a series of interactions and reactions which in turn spark responses in viewers. To suggest everyone will react similarly is foolish, but the conversations Rental Family sparks, whether internal or interpersonal, are guaranteed. This is the kind of movie it’s hard to leave without your mind dwelling on notions stirred up by various scenes.
The film follows Brendan Fraser (The Whale) as Phillip, a struggling actor from the U.S. working in Japan. One day he receives a curious offer to play a sad American at a funeral service. It becomes his introduction to professional stand-in or family rental services which have been a growing business in Japan since the 1990s. Initially uncomfortable with the job, Phillip gradually begins to see the benefit of his work. As he helps clients cope with the vacancies in their lives, his problem becomes less about helping people live a lie and more about caring too much for these artificial relationships.
In essence, Rental Family proposes the possibility that a faux connection can be just as genuine as the real thing. As such, the movie quietly explores the fabulous and flawed nature of social interactions. Arbitrary as such constructs can seem, the film reveals the deep need for connection they facilitate.
Director Hikari, who also wrote the script with Stephen Blahut, achieves this mainly by having events unfold. Characters rarely talk about what they’re doing or why. The film simply follows as each participates in various family rental services. Occasionally, this leads to secondary scenes showing a sidewise consequence. For instance, at risk of minor spoilers, Phillip’s interactions with different people lead to him being more joyful, not to mention cleaning up his dirty apartment.
The particular focus is on Fraser, who masterfully conveys a great deal with simple expressions as if he doesn’t need a syllable of dialogue. From time to time, there are minor bits of exposition, however, it’s never anything that doesn’t feel like an organic conversation. Phillip chatting at a restaurant with a coworker about why she does stand-in services is a question anyone would ask, and it informs audiences about the business as well as the character Aiko (Mari Yamamoto).
One could argue Rental Family occasionally strays dangerously close to seeming like a white man from the U.S. telling others, in their own country, how to live their lives. However, that culture clash is kind of the point. Brendan Fraser’s character is someone learning to accept there are alternative forms of living life which may not be the best, yet they no less serve a purpose. In that respect, Rental Family highlights how our social interactions are culturally constructed, meaning they come with baggage people don’t necessarily acknowledge.
At the same time, Rental Family provides the kind of perspective shift that can only come from seeing existence through the lens of another society. Hikari is careful never to glorify Japan as an elevated contrast. The flaws there are made heartbreakingly plain by some of the family rental assignments. What comes across is a display of how imperfect the world is, yet through interactions with others, people can overcome the cracks. It’s condemnation with a sigh — that’s just the way it is — followed by a sad smile when things work out for the limited best. The overarching point being there’s more than one way to live life; people just need to be open to all the possibilities.
The movie mainly focuses on two of Phillip’s assignments. As such, viewers mostly watch him interact with an aging actor afflicted by dementia and playing surrogate father to a precocious young girl named Mia played admirably well by Shannon Gorman in her first feature film. Akira Emoto (Shin Godzilla) gives a charming performance as an elderly movie star afraid of being forgotten, showcasing the haunting impermanence of all relationships. Mia’s role pointedly makes it clear there is a need for the service. Meanwhile, both assignments explore the necessity of a lie over the truth.
Therein lies the brilliance of Rental Family. The movie makes a case for and against the very thing being portrayed without taking a stance itself. Characters may express a position, but the film doesn’t say anything except that life is better lived interacting with other people.
Throughout, Hikari does an amazing job cinematically expressing larger notions. Watching people’s lives unfold through windows at a distance suggests the atomized nature of contemporary existence, while inspiring the wonder of what’s going on throughout a city. Picturesque glimpses of the metropolis and surrounding island never feel like tourist bait. Rather, the world of Rental Family is a quiet question cinematically pondering the makeup of society.
Some elements towards the end do feel a little unearned. The relationships between Phillip and his coworkers seem implied more than organically grown. Certain situations unfold a tad predictably to get a happy ending. In addition, it is a little odd that after seven years in Japan Phillip rarely speaks the language. It’s not that he ever seems incapable, but in a film centered there, it’s convenient for U.S. audiences, notoriously opposed to subtitles, most of his interactions are in English. One could argue that’s part of his role as a stand-in, that his clients don’t expect him to speak Japanese. However, he rarely speaks to his colleagues or people on the street in their native tongue.
Still, Brendan Fraser gives a magnificent performance that’s likely to elicit well-deserved awards chatter aplenty. Mari Yamamoto (Tokyo Vice) is equally marvelous but never given enough time to shine as brightly as she seems capable. She’s a supporting role that could easily have been a lead since her storyline is its own thought-provoking branch.
Overall, Rental Family is magnificent storytelling. Engaging performances combine with poetic cinematic style to envelope an audience. It’s a gentle heart squeeze to inspire a lost smile.
