Loneliness has become an epidemic, touching more than a quarter of the global population, yet appearances often disguise it. A happy family picture on social media, a school ceremony, a fun afternoon with friends, even today’s trend of meetups that advertise connection but stay on the surface, can work only to cover up the ache beneath. Japan, a society deeply invested in appearances and facing its own crisis of isolation, found its own way to fill the void as far back as the 90s (!!!): rental family services. Here, actors can be hired to play fathers, husbands, or companions, sometimes to maintain face, sometimes simply to provide company.
Hikari’s Rental Family is built on such a fertile theme, and places it as the core of a crowd-pleasing film, an adequate approach. In Brazil, we would call it a sessão da tarde movie, a popular label given to crowd-pleasing films, as they are screened on a popular TV program that airs only feel-good films. I like those movies. Just two years ago, I had Air and The Holdovers ranked extremely high on my year’s best list. I have cried at About Time, Billy Elliot, or Little Miss Sunshine (and many many others). I was prepared for Rental Family to be that kind of film, a warm hug at the end of the day with some true emotions underneath. But this subgenre, as underestimated as it is, only works if its core rings true. In Rental Family, it more often does not.
In building that core, Hikari takes the approach of someone at Subway being offered far too many options and saying, “all of them, please.” There is the old man, a retired filmmaker who has outlived his role in the world, the immigrant who struggles to belong in his new country yet is already disconnected from his first, the single mother raising her daughter without a father, the daughter herself growing up without true connection, the boss consumed by work who returns to nothing at home. And more! Every character introduced carries a hole in their life that could sustain an entire film. That is not necessarily a problem in itself, since Little Miss Sunshine also juggled many themes, but it complicates matters for Hikari, who must now try to say something meaningful about all of them. Instead, the film takes the safe route, brushing past these arcs and offering glimpses of emotion as if mere representation were enough, while never landing with real force.
What makes this even more frustrating is that the film has such a strong technical foundation. Takurô Ishizaka’s cinematography captures Tokyo with immense warmth and intimacy, showing great love for the city and its beauty (natural and architectural) that contrasts well to how characters are constantly framed in corners to emphasize isolation. Jónsi and Alex Somers’ score feels like the culmination of their collaboration, finally achieving the dreamlike blend of melancholy and uplift they have refined for more than a decade. Hiroshi Matsuo’s editing mounts the film with elegance, weaving in soothing montages throughout. The highlight is the sequence set to David Byrne’s Glass, Concrete & Stone, the film’s true magical moment. Add a talented supporting cast and you have all the pieces needed.
Yet Rental Family seems content to stop there, as if presenting these pieces were enough. From that point it settles for the safest choice every time, beginning with the casting of Brendan Fraser. Who better than the recent Oscar winner with a teddy bear aura to play a surrogate father? On paper it makes sense, but the obviousness undercuts the story. It is also hard to believe that the agency would hire him as their token white actor, someone so instantly recognizable that he could ruin a client’s life the moment someone recalls him from a commercial. His bond with Shannon Mahina Gorman’s Mia forms too easily, and his side of the connection is barely explored, even though the script tries to patch it with the character constantly stating his own parental issues. Their relationship then disappears for a long stretch of the film and never grows into the depth it promises.
The same goes for Akira Emoto’s Kikuo Hasegawa. Emoto brings real sensitivity to the role, yet his storyline barely scratches the surface. The film avoids the harder truths about his connection with his daughter, instead pivoting to frame Fraser’s character in an unnecessary subplot that feels like filler while skirting the real questions about responsibility within the rental family system. Again and again the film chooses the easiest route and leaves its potential untouched.
It makes the film thematically hesitant. Are rental families good? Yes, until they are not, the film answers. It settles on a vague “we just need more empathy” in the world message that feels incredibly shallow given the richness of the premise. Many viewers will walk away convinced they have seen something profound because the concept itself is profound. Yet the film ends up too timid, too neat, and way too safe.
This is part of Reviews On Reels TIFF 2025 Coverage. Due to the hectic rhythm of a film festival, it may be tweaked in the future.
Still courtesy of TIFF.