The idea of “family” has evolved dramatically over time. Since the dawn of civilization, it strictly meant those connected to you by blood. But in recent decades, that definition has expanded in ways both beautiful and complex. There’s the concept of found family where the people who may not share your DNA but offer the same sense of belonging, care, and wisdom that traditional families do. And then there are rental families where there are people you can hire to fill a familial role, whether that’s a parent, partner, sibling, or friend, depending on what the client needs. The practice, most commonly in Japan, has sparked no shortage of debate. Supporters see it as a form of emotional healing in an increasingly lonely world, while critics argue it’s emotionally manipulative and prevents people from confronting their deeper issues. Whatever your stance, director Hikari places this very practice at the heart of her latest film, Rental Family. And to put it simply, it feels like a nice, warm hug.
We follow Philip (Brendan Fraser), a struggling American Actor working in Tokyo, Japan. As roles begin to dry up, his agent lands him a gig working for a Japanese “rental family” agency, playing stand-in roles for strangers. As he immerses himself in his clients’ world, he begins to form genuine bonds that blur the lines between performance and reality.
The key to Rental Family‘s success lies in its honesty and sincerity as Hikari was not afraid to show the full picture of the practice of Rental Families. Philip, despite living in Japan for over eight years, still feels like a stranger in Japan. He spends his evenings staring out his shoebox apartment watching his neighbors’ live their lives wishing there was more to his own as the only connection he has is with his agent and the toothpaste ad where he toothpaste tube posing as a superhero. When the gig of becoming a “token white guy” for hire at a rental family firm comes knocking at his door, he finds the practice strange, yet he reluctantly agrees because of how good the pay is.
Phillip, ever the consummate professional, throws himself wholeheartedly into every “role” he’s hired to play. Whether he’s posing as a “husband” so a woman can freely love her girlfriend, acting as a “reporter” to give an aging actor a sense of validation, or becoming a “friend” to someone trapped in the isolating fog of hikikomori, he approaches each performance with quiet sincerity and compassion. None of it feels false or emotionally manipulative as Philip brings an emotional honesty to the way he connects with his clients. It’s the kind of delicate balance only Brendan Fraser could pull off so effortlessly. And through these borrowed identities, Phillip begins to rediscover meaning in his own life, confronting his own loneliness with a newfound sense of empathy and purpose.
Yet even as Phillip finds purpose and a sense of healing in his work, he begins to recognise the darker side of his profession. One of his assignments, he is assigned to being a “father” to help a young girl gain admission into an elite school, but she doesn’t know he’s an actor. To her, Phillip is her father. Furthermore, he watches his coworkers endure both physical and emotional abuse from their clients. He knows that his work brings comfort to others, yet he can’t shake the feeling that he’s also complicit in their pain. Caught between empathy and obligation, sincerity and performance, Phillip begins to question the morality and ethics of his job. It’s within this emotional tension that Rental Family finds its deepest truth, that, in one way or another, we’re all role-playing our way through life.
Rental Family may not resonate with everyone as its gentle sentimentality won’t be for every taste, but it undeniably feels like a warm embrace, reminding you that you matter. It’s the kind of film that doesn’t need to dazzle or provoke to leave an impression. Sometimes, simple, sincere, and tender storytelling is exactly what the heart needs. And with Brendan Fraser leading the charge, it’s hard not to get the warm and fuzzy feelings.
My Rating: B+
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