International portrayals of Japan often gravitate toward the eccentric, and the country’s real-life “rental family” industry has long been irresistible fodder for global media. Director Hikari’s Rental Family steps into this space with a softer, more human lens, offering a Japanese-American co-production that explores what people seek when they hire stand‑in partners, parents, or friends.
At the centre is Brendan Fraser’s Philip Vanderploeg, an American actor adrift in Tokyo whose career highlight is a seven-year-old toothpaste commercial. When he’s offered a job with Rental Family, a company run by Shinji (Takehiro Hira), Philip initially balks at the idea of performing emotional labour for strangers. But as Shinji explains the stigma surrounding mental health in Japan and the quiet epidemic of isolation, Philip begins to see the work as something more than a gimmick. It’s a niche role, yes, and one that conveniently requires a token foreigner, but it’s also a chance to fill a void for people who can’t ask for help any other way.
The film’s premise could easily veer into heavy territory, yet Hikari keeps the tone light, even tender. The moral ambiguity of the rental family industry lingers in the background, but the narrative focuses on the emotional micro-moments that shape Philip’s assignments.
* His first job - a staged wedding for a closeted lesbian seeking to appease her parents - sets the tone: surreal, bittersweet, and quietly revealing.
* Later, Philip is hired to pose as the father of a young girl to help her gain confidence for school admissions.
* In another thread, he plays a journalist interviewing an ageing director desperate to feel relevant again.
* He is also hired as a companion friend by someone dealing with hikikomori.
These encounters blur the line between performance and genuine connection, and Philip’s growing emotional entanglement becomes the film’s most compelling tension.
Fraser brings a gentle, good‑natured sincerity to Philip, an echo of the emotional depth he displayed in The Whale, while Mari Yamamoto delivers a standout performance as Aiko, a colleague who specialises in playing the mistress hired to apologise to wronged wives. Her scenes, often ending in a slap (for an extra 20,000yen!), add a sharp, comedic counterpoint to the film’s softer beats.
The movie’s Japanese locations were shot entirely on-site adds texture without slipping into postcard clichés. Kagurazaka-dori and Zenkō-ji Temple in Shinjuku are particularly vivid, while Amakusa in Kyushu provides a serene backdrop in the film’s later chapters. These settings don’t overshadow the story; instead, they quietly reinforce its themes of displacement and belonging.
Check the filming locations listed below, and perhaps visit them yourself the next time you visit Japan. Locating them while watching the film is like a full-time job!
Jónsi & Alex Somers have always carried this ability to feel like breath, like weather, like the emotional temperature of a room shifting. In Rental Family, that quality becomes essential. The story deals with loneliness, performance, and the ache of wanting to be seen, and the duo give those themes a sonic language soft, shimmering, slightly fractured.
Hikari doesn’t sensationalise the rental family industry. Instead, she treats it as a prism:
* For the clients, it’s a way to fill a void they can’t articulate or socially access.
* For Philip, it becomes a mirror reflecting his own loneliness back at him.
* For the audience, it asks uncomfortable but tender questions about the emotional labour we outsource, and the emotional labour we hide.
The film’s lightness is deceptive; beneath it is a very real ache. And that’s why the score matters so much: it gives voice to the things the characters can’t say out loud.
Rental Family doesn’t hide its trajectory. The “just a job” façade inevitably gives way to deeper feelings, and the film leans into its own predictability with warmth rather than irony. Its bilingual dialogue occasionally suffers from muffled English delivery, but the emotional clarity remains intact.
Ultimately, the film asks a deceptively simple question: if white lies can be compassionate, where is the line between comfort and deception? And what does it cost, emotionally and financially, to outsource intimacy?
The Western world might find it hard to understand the reason behind the actual rental family agencies, but for people who need their services, they are the last lifeline.
Rating: 5-stars
Images: all screengrabbed while watching it via Prime Video.
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