It’s that time of year again. The time of year when you can’t walk into a multiplex or turn on your television (especially the Hallmark Channel) without encountering a movie determined to make you feel good about the holidays. It can all make you feel as Scrooge-like as washed-up Hollywood action movie star Brad Mac, the protagonist in Chris Foggin’s new addition to the overcrowded genre. It’s no spoiler to reveal that by the end of Tinsel Town (a cute punning title), Brad has learned to embrace the holiday, even if it means having to appear in a British pantomime show.

Brad is played by Kiefer Sutherland, displaying an admirable willingness to make fun of the fact that his days as Jack Bauer on 24 are long behind him (at least until the next reboot). In the best Scrooge tradition, Brad — a three-time Razzie Award nominee who at the story’s beginning is filming the seventh installment of his cheesy action movie series Killing Time — is an obnoxious blowhard who hits on his married co-star and refuses to do his own stunts.

He quickly gets his comeuppance when he’s informed that the studio has nixed future installments of the franchise and that he’s basically become unemployable because he’s too difficult. His beleaguered agent says the only job available is a theater role in England, so Brad reluctantly makes the trek across the pond.

Greeted by his cheerful driver Nigel (Mawaan Rizwan) and informed that they’re headed to the Savoy, Brad settles down for a nap in the car. When he wakes up, he discovers that he’s not in London but rather the small town of Stoneford, three hours away. He’s not staying at the famous Savoy Hotel, but rather the Savoy Guest House that’s currently without running water. And the role he’s about to take on is Buttons in a pantomime production of Cinderella.

Just a few minutes in, it’s obvious that Tinsel Town requires a significant suspension of disbelief. But if you’re in the right frame of mind, you’ll just go with it. Nearly everything that occurs next proves thoroughly predictable, from Brad’s outrage at his current predicament to his hostility toward the cast and crew working on the show to his disengaged relationship with his young daughter (Matilda Firth), who’s now living with her remarried mother (Alice Eve) in London.

Along the way, however, Foggin and his quartet of screenwriters deliver plenty of entertainment. It’s not surprising, considering that the director and several of the scribes were previously responsible for such similarly sweet British comedies as Bank of Dave and Fisherman’s Friends.

It also helps considerably that the cast includes more than a few ringers, including Rebel Wilson as Jill, the show’s choreographer; Derek Jacobi as the stage door manager who used to be a panto star himself; and stage legend and three-time Olivier Award winner Maria Friedman as the actress playing the Fairy Godmother. Jacobi in particular gets the chance to shine, with a poignant monologue in which his character talks tenderly about his deceased husband.

The plotting becomes needlessly complicated at times, such as with Jack becoming a local hero after foiling a burglary, and later disgracing himself with a drunken tirade at a Christmas tree lighting ceremony, which leads to him being arrested and put on trial. There are subplots involving Jill’s contentious relationship with her bullying ex-husband (Danny Dyer) and the burgeoning romance between the panto’s Prince Charming (Lucien Laviscount, Emily in Paris) and Cinderella (Savannah Lee Smith, Gossip Girl). By the time the film ends with a spirited ensemble rendition of Katy Perry’s “Roar,” you may feel as overstuffed as if you’d gorged at a Christmas banquet. 

There are plenty of amusing moments involving the colorful townspeople and the central character’s fish-out-of-water unease in his new situations. But Tinsel Town is most effective when concentrating on Brad’s inevitable heartwarming transformation from arrogant movie star to gleeful member of the panto’s hardworking ensemble, and his newfound maturity in terms of being a loving father to his daughter. Sutherland makes it all work, delivering a thoroughly winning performance that makes you buy into the overall hokum.

As natural disasters in Los Angeles go, a rain delay temporarily washing out a music festival is pretty low stakes. But fans had to scramble last week after a sudden thunderstorm made Tyler, the Creator’s flagship festival at Dodger Stadium soggy and unnavigable.

Now kicked forward a week, a few acts (Sombr, Tems, Clairo) dropped off the bill, a few (Kali Uchis) joined in their stead, and travelers with nonrefundable plane tickets had to find other ways to amuse themselves in L.A. for a week. But once the Dodger Stadium gates finally opened, everything was more or less smooth sailing. Here are the highlights of the weekend’s performances.

Timothée Chalamet’s ‘Marty Supreme’ blimp makes an appearance

Last week, actor Timothée Chalamet released a parody of a marketing meeting, for his upcoming film “Marty Supreme.” The 18-minute clip consisted of the Oscar nominee pitching the team outlandish advertising ideas like painting the Statue of Liberty orange. In the Zoom meeting, he says, “We should have the blimp go above Flog Gnaw and rain ping-pong balls, Marty Supreme-branded, rain ping-pong balls on everyone.”

Low and behold, right before Tyler, the Creator’s set, a bright orange blimp reading “Marty Supreme” began circling Dodger Stadium — just as Chalamet prophesied. People all around the festival could be seen stopping and pointing out the flying spectacle.

But thankfully, no raining ping-pong balls made an appearance. (Cerys Davies)

Geese fly high

If every generation deserves its own cool/sexy/mystifying rock band, then Gen Z’s (or maybe Gen Alpha’s) seems to be Geese. Led by the deep-voiced Cameron Winter, the group from New York appeared at Flog Gnaw less than 24 hours after a hometown gig at the Brooklyn Paramount on Friday night. “We finished a tour but we couldn’t stay away from the limelight, so we got on a plane just this morning,” Winter told the crowd. Geese plays skronky yet weirdly beautiful guitar music that inspires both swaying and moshing; it’s in a clear lineage of NYC acts that stretches back through the Strokes and Television to the Velvet Underground. But here at least you could detect a distinct L.A. presence in Emily Green’s John Frusciante-coded strums and in the doomed-heartthrob proclamations that made Winter sound a little like Jim Morrison. (Mikael Wood)

Happy 10th anniversary to Mac Miller’s “GO:OD AM”

In the sea of vendor pop-ups, Mac Miller’s yawning face, the cover of his 2015 release “GO:OD AM,” stood tall. In celebration of the album’s 10th anniversary, photographer Brick Stowell put on a small exhibition to honor the late Pittsburgh rapper. While standing in line, fans were chatting, sharing anecdotes of listening to Miller’s music or memories of when they saw him perform at Camp Flog Gnaw many years ago. Inside, the exhibition is simple, consisting of a few large-scale prints of photos Stowell selected. Some of the images focus on a smiling Miller or depict him playing the guitar or with friends. The record played softly in the space and a few people sat on the couches, with their eyes closed. In the midst of the music festival’s craziness, the tent was filled with a weighted, reverent energy. (C.D.)

Kali Uchis mixed red-hot seduction with ICE-cold activism

As a last-minute addition to the festival’s lineup, Kali Uchis might’ve been expected to put in a no-frills performance. Instead, the eternally vibey psychedelic-soul star sang the lovey-dovey “All I Can Say” from inside a giant teacup — “If you came with someone you like, you could kiss them,” she suggested — and did “Heaven Is a Home” on the back of a motorcycle driven by a woman in a lace bodysuit and shades. (There was also a giant bed with satiny pink sheets.) Uchis is among pop’s foremost fantasists; her music invites the listener to get lost in an expertly appointed dreamland. But here she also had the real world on her mind: She played a video in which she said that everyone in her Colombian American household worked three jobs when she was growing up and that “immigrants built this country and make it what it is today.” As she left the stage, Uchis said, “ICE is terrorizing our community” and called out “their violations against human rights.” (M.W.)

Tyler, the Creator’s heartfelt thank you

“We couldn’t let that rain stop us — no, no, no,” Tyler, the Creator said not long into his hour-long set, and indeed Flog Gnaw’s mastermind seemed just a bit more amped than usual as he presided over the festival that almost wasn’t. Dressed in a red leather suit à la Eddie Murphy in “Delirious,” Tyler came out punching with “Big Poe” and “Sugar on My Tongue,” which also open “Don’t Tap the Glass,” the high-energy hip-house album he dropped this past summer with very little warning. But he also performed stuff from last year’s “Chromakopia,” which just snagged a nomination for album of the year at February’s Grammy Awards. (“Don’t Tap the Glass,” amusingly, is up against LPs by the Cure and Wet Leg in the alternative music album category.)

Tyler’s stage was designed to resemble a New York City subway station complete with a train car that he climbed atop and herky-jerked his way across. For “Don’t You Worry Baby” he was joined by a female dancer on roller skates; for “Noid,” a couple of guys with cameras helped him act out his unhappy thoughts on paparazzi. As the set went on, Tyler started shortening each song, limiting himself to only a verse or a chorus to pack in more hits: “Earfquake,” “Wusyaname,” “See You Again.” He thanked the crowd for hanging with the festival’s postponement — “I know it wasn’t ideal,” he said — and for “rocking with us for 11 years” of Flog Gnaw. The connection he’s forged is real. (M.W.)

Ca7riel & Paco Amoroso’s roller coaster of a set

Fresh off 5 wins at the Latin Grammys earlier this month, Ca7riel and Paco Amoroso left the CFA crowd delightfully perplexed. The audience started off on the smaller side, as Tyler, the Creator was wrapping up his set. But as the Argentine rappers, decked out in Versace, plowed through their catchiest hits like “Dumbai” and “Sheesh,” a dancing stampede made its way over.

Less than a year after their viral NPR Tiny Desk, the notoriously kooky duo flexed their ability to slip between genres. One moment, a pulsating EDM beat, beaming lasers and intense fog machines took over the stage — emulating a rave. The next moment, Ca7riel is angrily screaming “F— you!” at the top of his lungs over an aggressive punky guitar solo. Finally, they act like their microphones have become dumbbells, and start to sing about their “#Tetas,” on their satirical, body positivity anthem. Ca7riel and Paco Amoroso will never let you know their next move. (C.D.)

Fans raise their phones as Kali Uchis performs during Camp Flog Gnaw.

(Ronaldo Bolanos / Los Angeles Times)

Clipse turn in a triumphant set

The Clipse have had a hell of a year. After releasing their first album together in 16 years, “Let God Sort Em Out,” the formidable Virginia rap duo of Pusha T and Malice embarked on a victory lap, which included a successful reunion tour and a flurry of hilariously entertaining interviews. In the midst of that, they also stopped by NPR’s Tiny Desk — a performance that had more than 3.5 million views as of November— and racked up four Grammy nominations including best rap album and album of the year. So it was only right that they were invited to perform at Camp Flog Gnaw once again. (They also performed at the festival in 2023.)

Fittingly, the Clipse opened their set with the menacing “Chains and Whips,” which is jam packed with lethal, high-level bars about why contemporary rappers simply can’t sit with them. Not wasting any time during their set, the veteran emcees went bar for bar, diving into more tracks from their latest album including “Birds Don’t Sing” (a dedication to their late parents) and “P.O.V.,” which Tyler, the Creator joined them for just in time following his own high-energy set.

Satisfying their day one fans, the Clipse also performed a handful of their classic records like “Mr. Me Too” and “What Happened to That Boy.” As they rapped the lyrics to one of their most recognizable tracks, “Grindin,” a montage of Black people doing step routines, dancing and recreating the Neptunes beat on lunch tables played on the massive stage screens.

Much like “Let God Sort Em Out,” the Clipse’s performance further solidified why they’ve been in the game for more than 20 years and why they aren’t going anywhere anytime soon. — (Kailyn Brown)

Childish Gambino’s fast-paced, fan-voted retrospective

Childish Gambino’s set was a race against time. Prior to his set, the 42-year-old singer/rapper/actor (also known as Donald Glover) allowed fans to vote for his setlist. Playing anything from his biggest hits like “Redbone” and a very short snippet of “This is America” to his cover of Outkast’s “Prototype” and the 2011 release “Les,” Gambino made it clear he only had an hour and wanted to get to as many songs as possible. He often played the first verse of a track, allowing it to peak in the chorus and quickly brush past it — making the set feel like an invigorating sprint.

Halfway through the performance, Gambino, sparkling his glittery wifebeater, took a moment to get vulnerable with the crowd. This was his first performance since he had to abruptly cancel his world tour last year. He explained that he had a stroke unknowingly, on stage in Louisiana, and later found out that he had a hole in his heart and needed surgery. As he narrated his story, the sky lit up with a drone light show, depicting images of a heart and other dynamic patterns.

He said, during all of these health problems, the only things he could think of were “how many people I’m letting down” and “here I am still copying Jamie Foxx,” which got a laugh out of the crowd. Throughout the remainder of the show, he continued to exude a grateful energy, saying repeatedly, “I didn’t think I’d be able to [be here].” As he played the chosen songs, it was as if his only goal was to make the crowd as happy as possible.

The rapper left with a final message, “You have one life, so live your life as you want.” (C.D.)

Blood Orange puts CFG in a trance

Following Geezer’s (Kevin Abstract and Dominic Fike) endearing display of friendship, Blood Orange kept the cameraderie going on the fest’s main stage. Though the multi-piece band behind Dev Hynes’ musical moniker may sound melancholic, their energy was jolting. During tracks about grief and loneliness, like the cathartic “Charcoal Baby,” only Hynes could get the entire crowd to head bang.

After releasing his most recent album, “Essex Honey,” Blood Orange made his impromptu return to the fest — calling last year’s set “one of his favorite shows.” The British singer and his band trade instruments with a sense of ease — splitting their time among a cello, keyboards, synthesizers, a drum machine, electric and acoustic guitars. In this intricate display of instrumentalism, dark electronica and high-pitched vocals blend into feelgood jazz and ’80s synth pop without notice. With dense fog and transculent pink lights, the whole set started to fuse into a unifying dreamy moment. (C.D.)

Helicopters, a megaphone and pink hair curlers: ASAP Rocky keeps Flog Gnaw classic

Right before ASAP Rocky was meant to close out the festival, a helicopter started to circle the area, shining its light down on the crowd. A mock news livestream took over the stage’s screens in search of the Sunday headliner, accusing him of “never dropping the album.” On stage, the Harlem rapper descended on a floating helicopter of his own, megaphone in hand and pink curlers in his hair.

He made it clear he was there “to start a riot” (and he did consistently check in on the densely packed crowd too). The 37-year-old rapper was soon joined by a few dozen hooded figures, carrying upside-down American flags, who began to mosh while he continued to spit his ever-steady flow. Switching between his older stuff, like “L$D” and “Potato Salad” (which he was joined for by Tyler, the Creator) and more recent beloved singles like “Praise the Lord (Da Shine)” and “Sundress,” Rocky stuck to what he knows best — looking pretty and skillful rhymes. (C.D.)

A swing carousel at Camp Flog Gnaw.

(Ronaldo Bolanos / Los Angeles Times)

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T-Pain knows your knees hurt

“I am old as f—,” T-Pain said as the R&B-rap crooner took a pause from his hit-studded set on Sunday night. “I was running out of time to do this. I saw the dimensions of the stage and my knees gave out.”

At 41, he is decently seasoned by Flog Gnaw standards (though still a surprisingly deft dancer). But his set was arguably one of the best-attended of the weekend, for good reasons.

Recent reappraisals from a mega-viral Tiny Desk concert and a boisterous Coachella set proved what close listeners have known all alon: Pain is an absolute savant of melody and ear-tickling chord changes, with a gorgeous R&B voice whose famous digital treatments were artistically prescient rather than any sort of fix.

Yet to Flog Gnaw’s young crowds, blissfully free from the AutoTune wars of the 2000s, Pain now represents an idyll and purity of party music in hip-hop, rising from the mire of the Great Recession and the aspirations of President Obama with witty, self-aware hit after hit that showed a musician in total command of his craft, writing songs that transcend today’s cynical bleakness.

This redemption arc is well earned — how can you not listen to “Bartender” and long for the easy, sweet camaraderie of sidling up to your favorite server (though today that cocktail will more likely be N/A)? Dispatches from a saner time of millennial life like “Up Down” and “Can’t Believe It” landed like an envelope of Instax photos from a half-remembered house party. For Gen Z, it was Unc Culture embodied in the best ways.

Other than a brief villain segment (where Pain sung his verses from collabs with Chris Brown, Kanye West and R. Kelly; more an indictment of the men of R&B, really), his set delivered hit after hit and re-framed them within R&B history. He did what the genre is best at — stirring up the old glow of past happiness, even if that was spilling tequila down your pinstriped business-casual wear at a Hollywood bottle club in 2008. (A.B.)

Tyler, the Creator performs during Camp Flog Gnaw.

(Ronaldo Bolanos / Los Angeles Times)

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Doechii, the classroom disciplinarian of your dreams

Doechii framed her raucous Sunday night set as a stern classroom lecture on the craft of rapping. But in that case, she’s the kind of teacher that you bump into at the grocery store with a cart full of booze and a you-didn’t-see-this wink.

The Grammy favorite and new TDE superstar is so mercilessly good at rapping, so fully possessed of her gifts onstage, that her set made me wonder how all the backing-track reliant MC’s still get away with it. From the vicious opening lines of “Stanka Pooh” — “Let’s start the story backwards / I’m dead, she’s dead, just another Black Lives Matter” — to the joint-snapping house-music workout of “Alter Ego” and the horror-comedy sex romp of “Spooky Coochie,” she never settled for less than the full scope of her talents, deeply honed.

A gleefully bawdy and physically gifted dancer, with of sneaky comic timing and a low-key powerhouse singing voice, by the time she got to the deep cut “Boom Bap” and fan favorite “Catfish,” Doechii made an impeccable claim to being one of the best rappers working today.

She didn’t play the Grammy contender “Anxiety” — one sees how that song wouldn’t make sense in this relentlessly hard hitting context. But whatever worries keep on trying her, after Sunday night, she can definitively leave them behind. (A.B.)

Zack Fox brings us to the (f)unction with globetrotting set

Just 15 minutes into Zack Fox’s hour and a half DJ set on Sunday afternoon, which was dubbed Zack’s Big Nasty & Booty Shake, many audience members were already sweating and shedding the layers they wore in preparation for the evening cold.

Garbed in leather uncle sandals with white socks, an Atlanta Falcons apron and a grill for a DJ stand (because he was cooking, duh), the rapper, comedian and actor brought the crowd to the (f)unction. Fox, who’s become known for his high-energy performances, delivered a globetrotting set filled with genres including Brazil’s Baile funk, Chicago house, Baltimore club, Nola bounce, soul, gospel Detroit techno and of course Atlanta rap, which is where he’s from. “Dance music is Black music,” Fox told the crowd in between his gyrating and turning up. “Y’all gonna learn something today.” (He also had the crowd repeat back “Free Palestine” and “F— ICE.”)

But what’s a cookout without good company? Fox also brought along a crew of talented dancers, which included a church hat wearing grandmother (who unexpectedly broke out into a backflip) and popular ballroom dancer Pack Rat. As Fox masterfully weaved between tracks like Khia’s “Steer,” KW Griff’s “Bring in the Katz” and Frankie Beverly and Maze’s “Before I Let Go,” the dancers vogued, shuffled and line danced. Even his “Abbott Elementary” castmate Janelle James (a.k.a Principal Coleman) grooved alongside Fox during his set.

He closed out with a Black church anthem, Kurt Carr’s “We Lift Our Hands in the Sanctuary.” Each time the track seemed like it was about to end, he comically brought it back a few more times with the lyrics “Yes! Yes, Lord, for the rest of our days.” (K.B.)

Ying and yang rappers, Larry June and 2Chainz, show us the finer things in life

On paper, Larry June — the laid-back Bay Area rapper known for his straightforward rhymes about organic living and financial literacy — and 2Chainz — Atlanta’s trap elder known for witty tracks like “Birthday Song” — may seem like an unlikely match. But as the pair performed their collaborative album “Life is Beautiful,” they were in perfect stride. The large crowd was a testament to how rare the moment was as it was one of the few times that the pair has performed the opulent lifestyle rap album since it dropped in February.

Much like the vibe of “Life is Beautiful,” which feels like a luxurious vacation backed with jazz-infused serene beats by the Alchemist, swaying ocean waves and yachts served as the backdrop while they delivered tracks like “Colossal,” “Generation,” “I Been” and “Bad Choices.” (Unfortunately, the Alchemist is on tour with DJ Premier, and was not in attendance.)

The backgrounds changed to imagery that matched the rappers’ hometowns as they dove into their personal discography. In a casual windbreaking sweatsuit, Larry June performed smooth tracks like “Smoothies in 1991” and “Watering My Plants,” while 2Chainz, who was rocking a leather two-piece set, got the crowd hyped with songs like “I’m Different” and “Watch Out.”

Suitably, the duo closed out with tranquil, flute-based “Life is Beautiful,” reminding the audience to embrace the beauty of the grind and the small wins in life, and simply enjoy their time on this Earth. (K.B.)

I first learned about Japan’s rent-a-family industry from a 2018 article in The New Yorker, then from Conan O’Brien’s late-night show on TBS that same year, and finally from Werner Herzog’s ponderous and unclassifiable docu-drama on the subject, Family Romance, LLC (2020). It’s a curious practice designed to counteract the stigmas around mental health in Japanese society, which have fueled a nationwide epidemic of loneliness and unresolved psychological hang-ups. The service allows users to hire an actor to portray a family member or friend to address an emotional need. For instance, a widower might hire an actress to play his late wife to tell her goodbye, or a woman who cannot have children might employ child actors to play her kids, giving her the experience of motherhood. The practice raises all sorts of questions about its ethical implications and emotional consequences, especially when deception is involved. That’s the hook of Rental Family, a drama starring Brendan Fraser, fresh off his Oscar win for The Whale (2023). It’s a movie whose schmaltz serves both the material’s sentimentality and cleverly comments on how pretense can produce a genuine response. 

This is the second feature-length film by Hikari, following her debut for Netflix, 37 Seconds (2019), which, alas, I have not seen. Co-written by Hikari and Stephen Blahut, the feel-good story follows Phillip (Fraser), an American actor who has worked and lived in Japan for seven years. Most famous for a well-known toothpaste commercial, he struggles to land more substantive roles. His latest gig entails attending a funeral as a “sad American,” which turns out to be a faux service for a man who wanted some perspective on life, staged by a company called Rental Family. The founder, Shinji (Takehiro Hira), offers Phillip more work because his company needs a “token white guy.” Phillip reluctantly agrees, understandably feeling strange about the whole thing. “You can’t just replace someone in your life,” he argues. The counterpoint is that transactional relationships and role-playing can produce real catharsis. 

After all, what are movies but staged stories that provide an actual emotional response, despite our awareness that they’re fictional? Hikari’s film raises valid questions about the ethics of using such a service. It compares the industry to sex work in a brief but tender subplot, and links the service to the emotional impact of mimetic art—both illusions that are designed to produce a real outcome. Hikari grapples with these ideas in a mawkish package, questioning the use of actors in situations of emotional fraud while recognizing that, when used ethically, even fictional family members can provide the company’s clients with the support and play-acting therapy they need. Though it may seem strange to North American eyes, it’s normal in Japan to suppress emotions to preserve the delicate yet all-important social decorum and harmony (having grown up in the land of Minnesota Nice, this was all too familiar to me), and the Rental Family service seems uniquely suited to this cultural demand. 

However, Rental Family becomes complicated when Phillip’s assignments require deception. His first major gig involves marrying a woman in a false ceremony. The woman, a lesbian who plans to move away with her wife, doesn’t want to come out to her parents. So she hires Rental Family to arrange a sham wedding in which she will marry Phillip for her parents’ benefit, then move away with her wife, leaving her parents happy and none the wiser. Maybe that’s a selfless choice for her parents’ benefit; maybe it’s a selfish choice, motivated by the fear of disappointment and confrontation. My first thought was this: What happens if the woman’s parents see Phillip in Japan after their daughter moves away? What if they recognize him from the popular toothpaste commercial? The screenwriters never have the characters ask these obvious questions upfront when Shinji hires Phillip, but quite predictably, they emerge as the story unfolds. 

Whereas Herzog’s film explored this industry as a form of therapy, where the client knowingly hires an actor to fill an emotional gap in their lives, the clients in Rental Family engage in a kind of fraud and emotional manipulation. Sure, Phillip works with at least one client who just wants a friend with whom he can play video games and visit erotica shows. But most of his services involve some level of deceit. The main story centers on a single mother, Hitoni (Shino Shinozaki), who hires Phillip to play her estranged husband and the father of her 11-year-old daughter, Mia (Shannon Mahina Gorman), to help the girl get into an exclusive school. However, Mia does not know that Phillip is not her father, and the subterfuge requires that they form a father-daughter bond that becomes authentic—tragically so, given that Hitoni cannot hire Phillip forever. “I’m messing with people’s lives,” worries Phillip, who soon becomes so attached to Mia that he turns down better acting work in Korea to avoid abandoning the child who sees him as a father. Another gig finds Phillip enlisted by an aging actor’s daughter to play a journalist so that the once-famous star will feel the spotlight again. The actor believes Phillip will write a new celebration of his work in a film magazine. What happens if the actor discovers the article will never come out? In both cases, Phillip’s role could lead to a later sense of betrayal worse than the problem he was initially hired to resolve.  

Rental Family plays like a soap opera at times. Hikari directs with a heavy hand, replete with glossy digital photography by d.p. Takurô Ishizaka and overwrought music by Jónsi and Alex Somers that punctuates every emotion with a cloying profundity. But the saccharine tone may echo the notes of make-believe at work in the story and industry, where an act proves just as effective as the real thing. Frasier’s performance just as broad. From his breakout role in Encino Man (1992) to The Mummy franchise, Fraser has never been a subtle actor outside of a few roles (see Gods and Monsters, 1998). His living cartoon quality means he works well in Looney Tunes: Back in Action (2003), but his presence in dramas varies. Here, Fraser’s kind, sensitive, yet wounded face exudes every emotion; his gestures are grand and caricature-like next to his more restrained costars. And since much of the story is told through Phillip as an emotional focal point, there’s an unintended sense of othering at work, placing many Japanese characters and aspects of Japan’s culture in a cloud of mystery. This is a shame, as I found the restrained subplots involving Phillip’s coworkers—his boss Shinji and fellow actor Aiko (Mari Yamamoto)—to be the film’s most nuanced and compelling scenes. 

Even though much of Rental Family feels like a banal made-for-TV movie or pilot for a weekly dramedy, even the cheesiest programming can produce genuine feelings. Why else does the Hallmark Channel remain so popular? The film sets out to tug the viewer’s heartstrings, and I could feel the tugging from my seat. Sometimes, my gut reaction was to resist the pull. Other times, I couldn’t help but be moved. Hikari never delves too deeply into her characters’ internal lives, preferring shots of them pondering the cityscape or walking in deep contemplation. It can feel superficial. But that’s fitting, since her film is about how surfaces and performance can have legitimate emotional results. This is a thoughtful film that gave me pause and made me question the validity of staged emotions, performance, and simulation. I’m still having an inner debate about the degree to which these themes about the power of pretense influenced Hikari’s sometimes cornball aesthetic. But the feelings it produced in me were genuine, and I suppose that’s what matters most.