Rental Family

Rental Family is one of those concepts that could have turned into a facile exercise in tourism, along the lines of “isn't this culture weird?” What is quietly impressive is the firmness with which Hikari Miyazaki (the filmmaker born Mitsuyo Miyazaki) refuses to go down that path. On the contrary, she treats the idea of renting human presence as a symptom of a global phenomenon: modern loneliness and the means we use (literally or emotionally) to be seen. The Tokyo setting here is not a neon gimmick, it is a different universe that nevertheless allows you, in a way, to disappear, and the film understands this invisibility on a physical level: cramped apartments, narrow sidewalks, a constant flow of bodies passing you by as if you were not even part of the scenery.

At the center is Brendan Fraser as Phillip Vanderploeg, an American actor in Japan whose legacy is a ridiculous toothpaste commercial featuring a superhero who still resembles a cardboard cutout of his life: smiling, heroic, and fake. Phillip's real life is dull, insignificant, repetitive: auditions that lead nowhere, meals eaten in bed, a kind of gentle self-effacement. Brendan Fraser embodies him with that particular blend of awkwardness and wounded sincerity that makes it seem like he's apologizing just for being there, which fits perfectly with the story of a man who is technically a professional actor but who longs for something authentic.

The film's first big shock is a job offer that boils down to Sad American, which leads Phillip to a funeral... where the deceased is very much alive and organizing his own funeral to hear kind words and remember why life is important. It's funny, disturbing, and strangely moving, and it introduces the film Rental Family as a company that hires actors to fill the missing roles in people's lives. The company is run by Takehiro Hira as Shinji, all efficiency and raw pragmatism, who sells the service with a line that is both cynical and true: they “sell emotions.” From there, Hikari Miyazaki takes on a series of odd jobs, as a cooperative playmate for a recluse and a rental husband for someone trying to save face, which set the tone: a comedy that is lighthearted on the surface but ethically unsettling underneath.

This unease becomes inevitable with the film's main mission: Phillip Vanderploeg is hired by the character Shino Shinozaki, a single mother who needs a father to accompany her daughter to an interview at a prestigious school, and the daughter, Mia (Shannon Mahina Gorman), is encouraged to believe that Phillip is her real father. Shannon Mahina Gorman is terrific because her character isn't written as a cute accessory; she's lively, skeptical, exuberant, and emotionally alert. The early scenes are great in part because the power dynamic is reversed: Phillip Vanderploeg is an adult in name only, while Mia is the one with character and lucidity. Their bond, once it begins to form, is undeniably touching—drawings stuck on the wall, little routines, the slow melting of resentment—and that's exactly why it's also a little scary, because the film asks you to invest in a relationship based on a lie.

At the same time, Phillip Vanderploeg has another long-term job: posing as a journalist profiling an aging actor, Kikuo Hasegawa (Akira Emoto), whose memory is fading and whose family wants him to feel seen before he passes away. Akira Emoto brings a lifetime to this role, not through theatrical “performances,” but through the sense of history that emanates from his posture and pauses. This subplot draws on the film's most honest idea: attention is a form of love, and being forgotten can feel like dying while still alive. This is also where Phillip's confusion about performance intensifies: he is not just playing a role, he is temporarily becoming the vessel into which someone else can pour their grief.

The secondary characters hint at an even darker and more complex film beneath the apparent gentleness. Phillip's colleague, Aiko (Mari Yamamoto), is often hired as a “substitute mistress,” taking on the responsibility and abuse so that unfaithful husbands don't have to face the consequences, and Mari Yamamoto embodies this professional weariness with bite and bruised dignity. As for Shinji, played by Takehiro Hira, he feels like he could belong in a much harsher film that would challenge this economic model rather than sugarcoat it. The screenplay (co-written by Stephen Blahut) sometimes favors comfort over confrontation, and the film feels like it shies away from more complex implications just as they start to get interesting.

Formally, Takurô Ishizaka's cinematography presents Tokyo in a bright and clear light rather than fetishizing the neon nightlife, which suits a story where loneliness is commonplace and unglamorous. The music by Alex Somers and Jón Þór Birgisson (aka Jónsi Birgisson) lends the atmosphere a warmth that is sometimes magnificent, sometimes a touch insistent, and this is essentially the film's defining gamble. The film is at its best when it acknowledges that a connection can be real even if its setting is artificial, and at its weakest when it resolves tensions a little too neatly. But the emotional thread works, largely because Brendan Fraser anchors everything in a performance that makes you believe that his character isn't trying to save anyone, he's trying to learn how to exist in the same setting as others without disappearing.

Rental Family
Directed by Hikari
Written by Hikari, Stephen Blahut
Produced by Eddie Vaisman, Julia Lebedev, Hikari, Shin Yamaguchi
Starring Brendan Fraser, Takehiro Hira, Mari Yamamoto, Shannon Mahina Gorman, Akira Emoto
Cinematography: Takurō Ishizaka
Edited by Alan Baumgarten, Thomas A. Krueger
Music by Jónsi, Alex Somers
Production companies: Sight Unseen Productions, Domo Arigato Productions
Distributed by Searchlight Pictures (Unites States), The Walt Disney Company France (France)
Release dates: September 6, 2025 (TIFF), November 21, 2025 (United States)
Running time: 110 minutes

Viewed on January 15, 2026 (VOD)

Mulder's Mark: