Films for Breakfast

Sometimes, as lovers of cinema, I think we can take for granted the fact that films are still being made by iconic directors like Scorsese or Spielberg. While I wouldn’t place Jim Jarmusch in that same category (and I don’t think he would either), he’s nevertheless responsible for iconic and deeply influential independent films – Ghost Dog, Broken Flowers, Mystery Train, Coffee and Cigarettes, and Stranger Than Paradise, to name just a few. Even his more recent work, such as Paterson and Only Lovers Left Alive (can I even call these recent? How are they both already around a decade old?), I found incredible. I wasn’t particularly taken with his last film, The Dead Don’t Die, so hearing that Father Mother Sister Brother was something of a return to form, that embraces his dramatic, deadpan comedic sensibilities, immediately piqued my interest.

For better or worse, Father Mother Sister Brother is exactly what you might expect from a late-stage Jarmusch work. This wry, introspective drama adopts an anthology structure, presenting three isolated, self-contained stories about adult children and their relationships with their parents and siblings. What’s most interesting is how the film is never quite what you’d expect from that logline, yet entirely what you’d expect from Jarmusch himself. There are no moments of heightened drama here. There’s certainly an undercurrent of resentment, fractured relationships, and even deep love, but Jarmusch deliberately refuses to emphasize or dramatize these emotions in any conventional way.

Instead, and perhaps most admirably, he lingers on the discomfort of seeing a parent you no longer live with after having spent most of your life under their care. The awkward silences while catching up, the quiet realization that they’re aging and there’s nothing you can do about it, and, in some cases, the lingering sadness of feeling unable to be fully honest about who you are around them. These moments aren’t pushed or emphasized; they’re simply allowed to exist and resonate.

The film’s first segment takes place in America, following siblings Jeff (Adam Driver) and Emmy (Mayim Bialik) as they travel to visit their father (Tom Waits), whom neither has seen since their mother passed away. There’s an unspoken agreement between them to get the visit over with as quickly and painlessly as possible, especially given that their father has a habit of asking for money and experiencing “episodes.” When they arrive, he’s seemingly genuinely happy to see them – but the conversation never moves beyond pleasantries and the shared awkwardness of a long, complicated history. No one is having a bad time, exactly, yet everyone seems to understand just how difficult it is to communicate naturally with one another. Waits and Driver are particularly effective here, both giving performances that are deeply understated but perfectly in tune with the film’s tone.

The second segment shifts to Dublin, Ireland, where sisters Lilith (Vicky Krieps) and Timothea (Cate Blanchett) separately arrive to visit their mother (Charlotte Rampling). Somehow, this chapter is even more subdued than the first, yet I found myself taking a great deal from it. While the opening story quietly observes the shared understanding between siblings regarding a difficult parent, this segment introduces a fascinating dynamic in which Lilith is not being entirely honest with either her mother or her sister. The film leaves it to the viewer to infer her deeper motivations, but it’s Timothea’s silent observation of Lilith that gives the segment its emotional weight. And, of course, it’s hard not to appreciate seeing Blanchett, Krieps, and Rampling share the screen.

The third and final segment takes place in Paris and changes things up slightly. This chapter follows twins Billy (Luka Sabbat) and Skye (Indya Moore) as they visit their recently deceased parents’ apartment. This segment worked the least for me overall, but I still found its quiet tenderness to be effective; the twins reminiscing about their childhood, their parents’ love, and the shared space itself was genuinely moving. In a way, it serves as a gentle counterpoint to the earlier chapters: when your parents are still alive, confronting them can be uncomfortable; when they’re gone, regardless of age, you can’t help but wish you’d had more time.

Taken as a whole, the film works, even if it doesn’t measure up to Jarmusch’s strongest material. I’d personally place it toward the lower tier of his filmography. That said, there’s a real sense of tenderness running beneath these stories. The anthology format doesn’t always cohere as neatly as it might, and the film feels quite short when all is said and done, but Jarmusch has always been a filmmaker for whom emotional messiness feels intentional – and Father Mother Sister Brother is no exception.