‘Protect Empathy at All Costs. And Live Groovy Lives.’

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Honestly, I didn’t think Jim Jarmusch’s latest film, Father Mother Sister Brother, had much of a chance at the Golden Lion at Venice this month. It wasn’t because it was bad – far from it! – but because it was so understated, minimalist, and just… different. It felt like a real oddity amongst all the bigger, more ambitious and urgent films competing for awards. But this quiet film, which is really three separate stories about siblings and their parents, has a way of getting under your skin. At first, the awkward pauses and simple acting felt strange, but as the movie went on, it became strangely captivating and powerful, especially in those final, deeply moving moments. It’s such a joy to watch with an audience! I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it since, and it feels like a fantastic comeback for Jarmusch, whose last movie was the pretty divisive (but timely) zombie film The Dead Don’t Die back in 2019. It’s a return to what he does best: Father Mother Sister Brother has that same dry, deadpan humor as his classic films like Down by Law (1986) and Stranger Than Paradise (1984). The way it’s structured, with multiple short stories, reminds me of some of his other great films too, like Mystery Train (1989) and Night on Earth (1991). It’s going to be the Centerpiece screening at the New York Film Festival, which is exciting. Jarmusch himself says he wasn’t trying to make a statement about family or anything really, but somehow, he absolutely did.

I remember you once saying, “I’ve always tried to use limitations and look at them as strengths.” And honestly, watching Father Mother Sister Brother, it really feels like a movie that came about because of limitations. Was that how it all started?
Definitely. It’s super limited, if we’re being real. There’s no action, no violence, no big drama, no nudity, no sex – basically, it doesn’t have a lot of the things we’re used to seeing in movies. What’s left is a really observational, minimal style. It’s still a cinematic experience, though, because it is a film – it has its own musicality, and the performances from my fellow actors are just incredible. But yeah, it absolutely grew out of working with those limitations.

My stories always come together from many different sources. I spend a long time – often years – gathering details before I actually write the script, which I usually finish in about a month. This one began with a simple thought: Wouldn’t it be interesting to see Tom Waits and Adam Driver play father and son? I wanted to highlight the contrasts between their characters – not as the actors themselves, but the roles I envisioned. I’m also a big Jeopardy fan, and Mayim Bialik hosted the show. While she’s well-known as a TV actress, I hadn’t actually seen her acting work. She was my favorite Jeopardy! host. Whenever she was on, I found myself thinking, “Okay, let’s see what she’s wearing, what her style is.” I really enjoyed her presence. That led me to imagine a different version of Mayim on Jeopardy! as the sister of Adam and Tom, and their father. As I was developing that idea, the concept of Vicky Krieps and Cate Blanchett as very different sisters came to me. Charlotte Rampling, who was fantastic, became their mother. And then the third story developed: Paris is the second most important city to me after New York. I’d worked with Indya Moore and Luka Sabbat briefly before and really liked them. The twins in the final chapter really represent the kind of people I connect with, you know? I’ve always been drawn to outsiders.

My mother and her brother, Uncle Bob, were twins. They shared a sort of telepathic connection. It’s a bit personal, but I’m okay with sharing. Their father, my grandfather, was a career criminal and spent a lot of time in jail for forgery and scams. He left them when they were young. Their mother-my grandmother, who was a wonderful woman I adored-worked as a teacher to provide for them. This meant they were often left to fend for themselves as children. Throughout my life, the phone would ring, and my mother would immediately know it was Bob, her brother. She’d answer, and it always was him. I recall one instance where she said, “I have a feeling Uncle Bob isn’t feeling well. I should call him.” She did, and he had a bad flu. They truly had a special connection, and that was just something I grew up noticing.

It’s not entirely clear where the inspiration for this work came from. I haven’t talked about it much in interviews, though I did speak briefly in Venice, where someone asked about the focus on family. I was surprised by that question, as the intention wasn’t to explore family dynamics specifically. However, families represent relatable and complex issues for everyone, which I found intriguing. I didn’t set out to make a statement about families, or really about anything at all. I simply wanted to observe these imperfect characters without judgment, portraying people we can still empathize with.

It’s been six years since your last film, The Dead Don’t Die, which received a mixed reaction – and we discussed this at the time. Although it was a comedy, it felt deeply pessimistic, almost like your own version of Salo. It came across as a complete rejection of everything, which I actually found quite touching. Was that the feeling you were aiming for when you made it?
Not exactly. I’m still very worried about how quickly the climate is changing and the fact that those responsible for the problem aren’t going to fix it. I put a lot of those feelings into The Dead Don’t Die. However, I always thought of it as an absurdist comedy. The zombie theme is pretty clear, of course. But it was a difficult time for me personally, and making the film was very stressful. There were too many special effects, and I lost focus because I was constantly dealing with budget issues instead of creative ones. By the end, I realized it hadn’t seriously harmed my health, but I could see how it could have. I prioritize my well-being – I’m vegan and practice Tai Chi, which helped me cope physically. But I could feel the stress taking a toll. I thought, I don’t want to die young while making a movie! I have other things I want to do! So, I stepped back for a while, almost five years. Eventually, I started to feel the urge to film again, to write and to shoot.

I’ve been following this artist’s work for a while now – they’ve always done so much, from art shows to playing live music, and they’ve always stayed true to themselves. But it feels like these days, it’s getting harder and harder for artists to actually *make a living* doing what they love. I was really curious to hear if they’ve felt that too.
Yeah, they definitely have. They see it happening across the board, especially in music. They were talking about Spotify – it’s amazing we have access to so much music all the time, but it’s a real problem that musicians are getting totally ripped off and aren’t paid fairly. It’s tough to even make money from recordings these days. There’s been a nice comeback with vinyl, which is great, but it’s just not enough to really support a musician. Playing live shows is also a struggle. There are fewer venues around, though honestly, that’s still probably the best way for musicians to earn a little money, you know, to actually eat! They’re not exactly sure what’s changed, but it’s definitely a tough time to be someone who relies on creativity and artistic expression to make a living.

Looking back, what has been your most reliable source of income? Was it a specific movie or project?
I’ve always insisted on retaining the copyrights to my films. This means that after a certain period – it used to be around ten years, but now it’s more like 25 – the rights come back to me, and I can license them again. I usually go directly to Criterion, as it’s my favorite streaming service – I consider it essential. This has allowed me to keep my small business afloat, which involves continuing my work and supporting the people who help me. However, things are starting to decline. The income isn’t keeping pace, even though I own the rights to these films; it’s heading in the wrong direction.

Early on, the French producer and distributor of my film Down by Law were very good to me, and I earned a small profit. Broken Flowers was also a big help; Bill Murray and I both received a share of the film’s earnings, and it did quite well. Whenever Bill received payment, he’d always ask, “Did you pay Jim?” and they would quickly respond, “Oh, right, we’ll take care of that.” Bill really looked out for me, and I earned enough to cover my mother’s expenses so she could stay in her own home in Ohio during her final years-which meant a lot to me and was costly. I was also able to help out those close to me, and I have Bill to thank for a lot of that. I’ve made a little money from some of these films over time, but I never really struck it rich. I could have chosen a very different career if I’d been focused on making a lot of money. However, I’m quite stubborn, and I always insist on having full artistic control over my films and choosing my own collaborators. I’m willing to walk away from a project if I don’t have that control.

I find it fascinating that you didn’t intentionally focus on family dynamics when creating Father Mother Sister Brother. When we watch a film, it’s natural to reflect on our own family – our parents, siblings, and those relationships. So, I can see why people asked you about that.
I completely agree. However, I wasn’t expecting those kinds of reactions, as family wasn’t the main inspiration for the script. It’s really neat to hear people say things like, “This film made me want to call my mom.”

The title of my review was actually: “Jim Jarmusch Wants You to Call Your Mother.” I immediately left the theater feeling the need to phone my mom. 
Ah, I see! So you wrote that review!

We were both in Venice, which meant we were in the same time zone. It made me think, I really should give her a call right now. But then… my phone actually rang, and it was my mom! I felt like that was a really good sign.
That’s wonderful. I really like that. It feels like there was some kind of unspoken connection. Families can be incredibly strong.

But you also managed to avoid the predictable tropes often found with this type of story. We see the first two stories and immediately sense a distance between the parents and their children. Then, in the final episode, we see the twins, who seem closer to their parents, but also don’t fully understand them. The movie ultimately explores how we can never truly know each other, and I found that to be quite beautiful.
Parents often present a carefully constructed image to their children for many reasons – to be a role model, to offer guidance, or to keep certain aspects of their lives private. They aren’t always fully open and honest. Sometimes this is done with good intentions, to be considerate or protective, but other times it’s more self-serving. It’s common for children not to have a complete understanding of their parents. There’s a lot of hidden information, though not necessarily with malicious intent. I don’t condone lying, especially to take advantage of others, but sometimes lies are meant to protect someone, even if that often backfires. The motivation isn’t always purely negative. So, I felt the parents in the third chapter had a lot of secrets, particularly the mother, but they clearly had a loving family. One of my favorite moments in the film happens there. Indya’s character, Skye, is sitting in the kitchen of the abandoned apartment, and her brother Billy walks in and asks, “What’s up?” She replies, “I was just thinking about Dad’s cooking.” That simple moment perfectly illustrates the father’s role and showcases a genuine familial love. Food is so important when it comes to children and nurturing them, and it was such a small insight, but I really appreciated that moment.

The film’s straightforwardness is really appealing. It feels very basic, at least initially. And you’ve always been seen as a minimalist director, particularly earlier on. But how do you achieve that level of simplicity without confusing or losing viewers?
Well, I don’t really consider the audience while I’m working. But creating something that *looks* easy actually requires a lot of work. I like to think of it like arranging flowers. Even a small adjustment to the arrangement can change the whole composition, even if it’s very subtle. I was intentionally trying *not* to make a statement. There isn’t a specific message, just a kind of understanding look at things. So it took a lot of focus. I don’t want to delve into it too much, but I discovered some things while making this film that I didn’t fully understand until after I finished it – things that are actually helping me prepare for my next project. That’s a bit unclear, I apologize. “Could you be even less specific, Jim?”

Let me tell you, I work with Affonso Gonçalves, who is a truly exceptional editor. We always begin by reviewing every single take of each selected shot and taking detailed notes – a process that takes about two weeks. It’s incredibly demanding, but he believes it’s essential for him to have a record of every moment I responded to, commented on, or thought had potential. Going through all the footage, I was surprised by how focused I actually was. Listening to my direction and adjustments, I realized, “Wow, that person was really paying attention!” I always considered myself a bit distracted, but it seems I was actually very, very focused while making this.

It’s the small details that really matter, especially after someone we love is gone. Those are the memories that stick with us. I think of a special dish my grandmother used to make, or a particular habit of my grandfather’s – not the big events of their lives, but these little, tiny things.
Yeah. My father had a few strokes, and when I’d visit him in Cleveland towards the end, he’d lost his ability to speak for a long time. I once took him for a drive. We weren’t particularly close, but when I was a kid, I was really into identifying cars, and my dad always enjoyed that. So, we were driving, and he hadn’t spoken in months. A new model of the Lincoln Town Car drove by, and he said, “Lincoln Town Car.” I remember it so clearly. It seems like such an ordinary moment, but it brought me back to those happy times when I’d point out a ’59 T-Bird or something similar as a kid. Actually, those were the last words he ever spoke – “Lincoln Town Car.” These little things might seem silly, but they really stay with you and have a lot of meaning.

Watching Father Mother Sister Brother with its first audience in Venice was a special experience. It was clear people weren’t sure what to make of it at first, and that initial uncertainty was part of the charm. The awkward pauses and interactions between the family members were actually quite endearing. You could see the audience trying to figure things out, and then, after a few minutes, they were completely captivated. You could really feel the film starting to connect with them.
I was particularly impressed by how the film unfolds over its three parts. These aren’t meant to be seen as individual shorts; they build on each other emotionally. The most powerful moment is at the very end, when the twins embrace in their parents’ empty bedroom. It’s a bit more sentimental than I usually include, but it felt necessary for this story. Everything was very deliberately crafted. It felt like composing a piece of music with three movements – themes reappear, and I enjoyed adding little recurring jokes, like the Rolex and the various toasts. Things like saying “Bob’s your uncle” were just for my own amusement initially. There are subtle, repeating motifs, but overall, it was a very carefully constructed film, and I’m quite pleased with how it turned out.

In the past, you mentioned using around 70 percent of your filmed footage due to film styles and budgets. Over time, your approach shifted to one of exploration – shooting more, experimenting more, and finding the movie during editing. However, watching your new film, it felt like a return to your earlier filmmaking style. I’m not sure if that’s accurate, but did your process change for this one?
It did, largely due to working with the actors. The script was also quite concise and well-defined, so it didn’t require extensive improvisation. I tailor my direction to each actor’s strengths. In this case, most of the actors stayed very close to the script, with the exception of Tom Waits, who thrives with more freedom. Mayim and Adam are very precise in their performances, while Tom is more free-spirited. After the first day of shooting his scenes, Tom pulled me aside and asked, “So, Jim, you hired these two professional killers. What am I supposed to do?” I told him, “Tom, let’s just do our thing – you do you, we do us, and it’s going to be great that we all approach it differently.” They’re very focused, but he seemed a little intimidated by their precision.

Honestly, when we last spoke, things felt pretty bleak with the Democratic primaries happening, and the world just seemed…well, messed up. That was 2019, and looking back six years later, I think it’s safe to say it’s gotten even worse. So, it’s really striking to have a film come out now that feels so quiet and beautifully human. It doesn’t scream politics, but it definitely feels like a conscious shift from the negativity surrounding us.
People keep saying it’s not political, and that got me thinking about something Jehnny Beth from Savages said. I really admire her attitude and her music. I jotted down a quote of hers a few weeks ago. She said, “Art doesn’t have to talk about politics to be political or to change the world. Artists are here to open us, to make us feel more in touch with others and connected and empathetic. That’s what art does.” And I thought, Gee, I wish I’d said that! I was totally unprepared for winning the Golden Lion in Venice! It was a complete surprise, so I didn’t have a speech ready. But I *had* read that Jehnny Beth quote a few days before, and I ended up paraphrasing it a bit. I definitely agree with Godard that everything is political on some level. Just because you don’t directly address politics doesn’t mean something isn’t. For me, though, the really political act is protecting empathy. I remember the last time I saw Joe Strummer – it was about five weeks before he passed away. We were in New York, and he walked me home from a restaurant because I was feeling sick. He stopped right at my door, looked me in the eye, and said something I’ll never forget. I actually repeated it recently. He said, “Jim, our job is to protect empathy at all costs, and to live groovy lives.” Then he just walked off into the rain, and sadly, he died five weeks later that summer. I saw him next at his funeral in London, in a coffin. Ever since then, I’ve been trying to live by that. “Protect empathy at all costs, and to live groovy lives.” That’s what I’m aiming for – enjoying the weirdness of life, but also trying to protect empathy through my work.

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2025-09-29 16:58