Kurt Vonnegut wrote a story about a man who pretended to be a turncoat for the Nazis, who broadcast propaganda for them during the war—think “Lord Haw Haw”, “Tokyo Rose”, Jane Fonda. Except, he was really a spy for the allies. But he does such a good job of broadcasting propaganda that during the war, his German master tells him, “I suspect you are a spy. But it doesn’t matter. Whatever use you have been to our enemies, you have been uncountably more to us.”
The story is set in a prison cell and told by flashbacks; the protagonist is about to be executed for war crimes by the victors. At the last moment, he is given a reprieve: Someone in government vouches for his story, he was really a spy for the good guys.
The man hangs himself that night in the cell, because he knows the truth: He actually did help the bad guys; he pretended too well to be one of them.
In the beginning of the book, Vonnegut writes: “This is the only book I’ve written where I know the moral, so I’m telling it to you here: ‘Be careful who you pretend to be, that is who you are.’”
Pretending. That is theme of the new movie, “Renta Familyl”, which my son and I watched last night. A struggling actor played by Brendan Fraser goes to Japan to pursue a gig, and life doesn’t go his way. He ends up taking gig acting jobs. That brings him to “Rental Family”, a uniquely Japanese outfit that sends actors to serve in roles for people—wedding participants, funeral attendees, friends, lovers, dads. Hard to understand, but it is a real Japanese thing and makes sense in a country fast de-populating itself because they have lost the taste for, well, screwing and making babies.
The gigs he takes can be divided into three groups: the well-intentioned, the vile, and the morally gray. He acts as a friend to a fellow who needs one. The man knows he is renting a friend, but he doesn’t care. The rental family actor is kind of like a sex worker, providing emotional comfort, not physical—an analogy made explicit in a scene with, well, a sex worker, with whom he has a liaison.
Then there’s the vile: the company’s best business is for an actress pretending to be a cavil weakling’s mistress and make an abject, fulsome apology to the pathetic man’s wife, who more often than not takes a slug at the actress.
It is in the morally gray gigs that the movie becomes fascinating and holds a mirror to our lives. He pretends to be a father to a winsome 11-year old girl (who steals every scene.) Cruel? Maybe. Is the girl’s joy any less real because he has been hired for the role? When is a lie okay? Would you tell your mom she is dying on her deathbed? When is a lie a compassionate act? Tough questions.
In the other morally gray gig, he is hired by an aging actor’s daughter to pretend to be a journalist, to boost the man’s ego. A job turns into a friendship, and he risks both his livelihood and his life in Japan to help him. Wrong? To whom, exactly? The man dies with a friend. Was the actor any less of a friend because he was paid?
These are the questions the movie asks, and it’s the best kind of movie, the kind that lets you answer the questions itself. It doesn’t offer any facile solutions, only questions.
I loved it. Four stars.
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