Always Look Ahead And Above Yourself: Jiro Dreams Of Sushi (2011)

As many a documentary filmmaker seem to agree, Albert Maysles specifically, the purpose of the non-fiction filmmaking style is to quote reality to some degree.  A larger question arises though when we are to consider a individual or a reality so unusual or exceptional that they transcend our own understandings of the real or the factual.  This certainly proved true with the penultimate documentary Grey Gardens, directed by Albert and his brother David, however, it also proves to be grounds for many other documentaries, although in most instances filmmakers manage to find exceptional subjects, only to completely drop the ball on creating their world, or as suggested earlier, visually quoting their reality.  This is certainly the case with I Like Killing Flies, a work with a incomprehensible figure that flails to cinematically reflect on the vibrance of the subject.  In contrast, exists what has come to be the standout documentary of last year, 2011's Jiro Dreams of Such, which focuses on world famous sushi chef Jiro Ono, who in his eighties still attends work regularly and delivers a product to his diverse customer base that he acknowledges changes and, hopefully, evolves everyday.  The traditional Japanese food offered by Jiro is not flashy or fusion heavy, but, instead, simple traditional sushi perfect.  Filmmaker David Gelb who both directed and shot this documentary does the idea of quoting reality justice within his visual study of the iconic sushi chef, taking vibrant but subtle angles and deep focus lenses to capture the slow artistry at work in the art of making the cuisine.  Often the film simply rests the camera on the piece of sushi as it occupies a minimalist space on a dish, or will use a series of overlaps and cuts to show time evolution and the notion of memory simultaneously.  The documentary exists both as a provocation on the state of fish-based food industries in Japan as well as a endearing reflection on the life of an accomplished and hard-working individual.  The film is exceptionally well-executed and deserved of the near universal praise it has managed to accrue.

Jiro Dreams of Sushi, as noted previously centers on aging sushi master Jiro Ono, a prominent figure not only in Tokyo where he resides, but on the global scale as well being the oldest chef, and one of the few sushi chefs to receive the prestigious three star rating from the Michelin Institute in France, an accolade one food critic quips in the documentary makes it worth going to said country simply to eat at that restaraunt.  At the time of this film, Jiro is eighty-five and shows no signs to considering retirement, going so far as to awake early in the morning and leave work quite late at night, a routine he has kept up for well over sixty years.  In fact, aside from obeying national holidays and no longer traveling to the fish market, Jiro sustains the same methodologies and approaches from his earliest days in the trade.  While many of his contemporaries have either passed or retired, Jiro keeps at his job, while his eldest son, now well into his fifties works under him as assistant chef, per Japanese tradition.  Incidentally, his younger son, knowing that he will not be afforded the opportunity to take over the restaurant, leading to the opening of his own restaurant, which is a literal mirroring of his father's place considering that he is right handed.  Things seem nearly unstoppable for Jiro and most of the documentary instead chooses to focus on the mad methods incorporated by the chef to assure a quality products, ones he claims are constantly evolving and never perfected.  Jiro proves to be the most humble of individuals and clearly possesses a hidden charm that manages to rub off on all those he meets, especially his former employees and the fish market workers with whom he previously worked.  If anything is left uncertain in the future of the narrative post filming it is the state of sushi as an art form after the eventual loss of Jiro, as well as the problems with overfish.  Although it also considers what troubles Jiro's sons will face living up to their father's illustrious name, yet as the closing moments seem to suggest, this is far from impossible and may already have occurred.

Why then does a seemingly straightforward documentary about a elderly man putting raw fish onto rice seem to gain such mass appeal.  I would suggest that its seemingly universal love is a direct relation to the universal motifs and themes promoted within the film.  Jiro is probably one of the most likable individuals one could ever hope to encounter in live, yet he suffers from some of the same hardships anyone could imagine, most notably issues with addiction to cigarrettes and forming a lasting bond with his children, even his unique distancing from his parents manages to evolve in to a degree of universality.  However, larger themes than these emerge within Jiro Dreams of Sushi, the most obvious being rhetoric surrounding passion and livelihood, one would find difficulty arguing against Jiro's old age being intrinsically tied to the zeal and love he pours out into his work.  The philosophically inclined sushi chef goes so far as to say that the moment a person curses their employment proves to be the exact moment in which they cannot produce a decent product.  Of course, Jiro also struggles with a variety of issues, whether it be technological changes, adapting to a market inundated with quick consumption sushi or changing demands in customer service, however, the zen like patience of Jiro always adapts, as he does when serving each customer, whether it be adjusting portions to unique paces or serving the food on the left hand side to help a customer who favors that hand.  Jiro Dreams of Sushi seems to answer the ever present question of why humanity exists and how one should engage life, if we are to take Jiro's actions to heart, it seems to be to find something we love and continually strive to perfect that, even if said perfection comes in embracing its simplicity.

Key Scene:  There is a moment when Jiro's work is compared to a piece of music that would be on the nose in any other work, however, given the artistic magnitude of this surprisingly minimalist film it fits in all to perfectly.

This is an exceptional film and one of the most stellar documentaries of the past year, if not the past decade.  It is a beautiful work currently available on Netflix Watch Instantly, there is no justification for missing its perfection.

Experiments In Film: Karel Appel, Composer (1961)

From the opening scream in this rather sound oriented experimental documentary film, one is jarred by the realization that they are given a film whose sound, is unusually dominant within the space of the frames.  Despite having a considerably striking set of visuals, this work by Ed Van der Elsken is surprisingly oriented towards what can be done with sound, as opposed to what is shown on the image, as loud screams, grating sirens and a slew of other industrial sounds drown out the voices of everyone within the film, including Karel Appel, the painter turned sound engineer who is the featured subject of this unusual work.  Of course it is no surprise that Appel's paintings also fill the screen, in both moving images of him at work on a particularly abstract piece, as well as still frames of him mid stroke on a canvas, in what is perhaps some of the greatest chiaroscuro I have witnessed in an experimental black and white film, aside of course from Chris Marker's La Jetee.  While I could find dozens of individuals hard pressed to call this short work a documentary, it essentially takes the subject matter of the film a painter turned composer and considers his transition, using the filmic space as a means to reemphasize these ideals.  The film is frantically composed and seems to capture the madness we are to assume correlates to Appel, particularly scenes in which the reels of soundtrack stack up around him, at points consuming himself and the floor he works on, in cinematic terms, this brief film captures the identity of a mad artist, so succinctly and accurately that its obvious obscurity is a surprise to myself, especially since it seems so brilliantly post-modern as to suggest my love for it.  Such a jarring piece of experiment film has never looked so beautiful.

I have not had the opportunity to see some of Godard's documentaries, particularly the ones concerning the labor unions in Britain, as well as the history of cinema, but from what I have read it appears as though he is equal parts concerned with the role sound plays into cultural output, as to that of its visual appeal.  An incredibly deconstructionist thought in its emergence, one cannot help but attach similar notions to Van der Elsken, who clearly wants to consider the tumultuous relationship between sound and image and how merging the two can lead to madness.  However, the film also reminds those who watch it that an initially confrontation combination of two separate artistic endeavors can often coalesce into something perfected.  One only needs to pause the film to realize that the image detached from the sound remains stellar, or close their eyes to hear a glimpse of industrial rock coming into existence to realize that if a viewer/listener combines their senses they will be provided with something truly profound.  Of course the separate moments are nice on their own, one only needs to check into some of Appel's artwork to realize this, experiment film, however, always allows for these boundaries to be tested.

To find out more about filmmaker Ed Van der Elsken or to view Karel Appel, Composer click on either of the images below:

Rolling Paint Cans And Questions Of Human Nature: Close-Up (1990)

As I noted in my original post for this blog, I find cinema to reflect society in uncanny ways almost to the point that it is a clear refabrication of our own reality.  While many films do not do this in a semiotic sense, given their fantastical elements or historical distancing, some films manage to merge this line so perfectly that the boundaries of factual reality and fictive narrative become blurry, and this is certainly the case for Abbas Kiarostami’s cinematic tour de force Close-Up.  A hybrid between a documented account of a poor Iranian attempting to pass as a famous director and an imagined revisiting with the imposter some years later leads to something heartbreakingly real about the nature of forgiveness, guilt and self-identity in a politically disparate country that cares little for the impoverished and misdirected.  Despite being released in 1990, Close-Up has a timeless nature about it that makes it instantly accessible to even the most burgeoning of moviegoer, a notion that is only intensified by the stagnant, yet masterfully composed cinematography, which is delivered most eloquently in the quite lengthy shot of an aerosol can rolling down a hill.  It is easy to call the film thought provoking, but it is something much greater than that and is incredibly contemplative and philosophically engaging.

Close-up, as noted in the introduction, is about a case of identity fraud which occurred involving a man of rather low class impersonating the great Iranian director Mohsen Makhmalbaf.  The incident begins when the Hossain Sabzian lying to a woman about his identity while riding on a public bus.  Her suspicions are quickly dismissed as the elderly woman notices Hossain reading a copy of Mokhmalbaf’s screenplay for The Cyclist.  Hossain/Mohsen furthers his credibility by claiming that he rides on public transportation as a means to find material for his upcoming films.  Enthralled by the interest of such a respectable director, the old woman invites Hossain/Mohsen to return to her house and meet her family.  Over a length of time, Hossain/Mohsen continually visits the family and claims to be interested in using their home in his next film and at one point convinces the family to give him a large sum of money for his next project.  It is not until one of the young male members of the family discovers a article about Makhmalbaf receiving an award recently, that the man attempting to pass as the famous director is not, in fact, who he says to be, particularly considering that he is much older than the director looks in the picture.  The film intercuts these encounters with courtroom footage involving the family criticizing Hossain for his behaviors, although through long confessionals it becomes quite clear that Hossain is not in a great state mentally, considering after a large amount of evidence against him, he still claims to be the director.  The film closes with an encounter between a journalist friend of the suspicious family member and his imposter, in a gutwrenchingly real scene of fandom and obsession, which involves taking photos of the Hossain for an article outing his lies.  At this point, it seems like a great melding of fictive ideas and factual statements, but what makes Kiarostami’s film that much more brilliant is that the cast members throughout the film are indeed played by their real-life counterparts, merging the factual and fictional into a new level of uncertainty. 

It is this choice by Kiarostami to use the actual persons of the historic event that makes it such a uniquely honest film.  If it were intended to be a fictional rethinking or a political diatribe the director could have easily hired actors to ham up or file down the performances to fit his agenda.  Set up in such a way, as is the case with Close-Up, it instead becomes an extension of documentary filmmaking that while forced, nonetheless, manages to mirror reality quite magnificently.  Furthermore, the questions of human identity that are interspersed throughout the film become that much more meaningful, when we as viewers find ourselves relating to the characters on a very real level, considering…well, the realness of each individual.  It also questions what role an artist plays in documenting an event, while the scene involving the rolling aerosol can may seem like a artistic insertion of modernist zeal, it allows viewers and even the journalist who kicks the can to question what mark they are making in such an event, and how clear such markings have on the outcome as a whole.  The addition of such a seemingly mundane scene, arguably proves to become one of the most important scenes in the film.  The most important part of the film, however, is its dealings with human nature and the ability to forgive.  The simple fact that Kiarostami was able to gather all the individuals again for such a reunion is powerful enough, but to get them to verbalize their desires for forgiveness and understanding on film is a statement to the possibility of society on a global scale.  It is clear why this film was such a global success; it is definitively one of the most positive outlooks into our future ever made

I could tell you that buying this film is necessary simply because it is in The Criterion Collection, however, it is far greater than that and is probably one of the films that is necessary to own, if you were limited to only a small selection of films.  It is by far one of the best films I have watched this year, and ever for that matter. 

Experiments in Film: Fake Fruit Factory (1986)

As promised, I am making it a goal of mine to discuss more experimental films this year.  The first one I will discuss is the experimental short documentary Fake Fruit Factory by Chick Strand.  I discovered this particular piece after it being mentioned as one of the National Film Registry's 2011 list of 25 culturally significant films.  Before actually viewing the film I was surprised by its inclusion given that it is only a twenty minute documentary about a group of Mexican women making fake fruit.  Upon beginning my viewing of the film though I realized it was something far grander and more realized than simply documenting an unusual type of employment.  What Chick Strand creates in her brief documentary is an ethereal study of human existence as seen through the lives of a few under-appreciated and blatantly exploited women.  Unlike other fly on the wall documentaries, Strand offers you no explanation as to what you are watching besides an occasional title card of explanation, you are left to glean from the film what is shown and what is said by the works, most of which is referencing the sexual exploits of the women. This approach makes considerable sense given Strand's close ties to the ethnography program that existed at UCLA in the 1970's.  What Fake Fruit Factory becomes through Strand's vision is a concise narrative essay on a few women who are being exploited by an often faceless white man, who only desires their craftiness and, at times, exotic bodies.  We as viewers fear the worst when we realize that their is little these women can do to escape, until we are shown the women enjoying a picnic and swimming at an unknown park.  This brief moment reminds viewers that life is not about the products we create or those things we can quantify, but instead the always fleeting moments of quality which toss and turn like agitated waters.  Chick Strand offers something different and proves how integral experimentation in film has become to the grander evolution of cinema.

For more information on Chick Strand and to watch an online version of the film click either of the stills above.

Top Ten Thursdays: The Criterion Collection

It has been nearly a month since my last one of these, and I figured nothing better than doing it on my ever favorite DVD supplier Criterion.  It is a dream of mine to one day provide my list on their website, but until then I will just have to do it here on my blog.  I will be providing the spine number for these films, as opposed to the usual year of release.

10.) The Seventh Seal (11)

This is one of the first films I purchased from the collection, and perhaps one of the ones with the most lasting impression.  I will forever have the dance of death burned into my mind.

9.) Paul Robeson: A Portrait of the Artist (369)

I am choosing this particular box set more for its historical relevance.  Not only does this set of films include of of Robeson's finest works, it also includes a film by Oscar Micheaux the often overlooked and highly underappreciated African-American silent filmmaker.

8.) The Last Temptation of Christ (70)

"It is accomplished"










7.) The Night of The Hunter (541)

"Leaning..."











 
6.) House (539)

This movie will change everything you understand about cinema, perhaps for better, but probably just for worse.

5. By Brakhage: An Anthology Volume 1 and 2 (184 and 517)

Stan Brakhage is one of the most important figures in the history of film, and only the Criterion Collection could do is films justice.

4.) Hoop Dreams (289)

Probably one of the most critically acclaimed documentaries in the collection, Hoop Dreams will break your heart.

3.) Hardboiled (9)

Long out of print, this John Woo film is one of the most sought after in the collection and it is deservedly so.

2.) Kicking and Screaming (349)

"We eat cantaloupe..."

1.) Do The Right Thing (97)

As I have noted before this is my favorite film and it should be no surprise it is also my favorite in the collection.  The supplements for this release are outstanding.








Honorable Mention

Alphaville (25)
The Harder They Come (83)
 Le Samourai (306)
La Jetee (387)
The Milky Way (402)
Chungking Express (453)
Last Year at Marienbad (478)

The Problem Is, People Believe That They Are Good: I Like Killing Flies (2004)

This documentary is an example of a filmmaker stumbling upon the perfect subject.  The most famous example of this being Grey Gardens.  However, what makes the Maysles documentary superior is that despite having two subjects that were illogical and arguably unfilmable they managed to create a masterpiece.  I Like Killing Flies could have also been a masterpiece were it not for its terrible production value.  With this criticism aside, Matt Mahurin's documentary sheds light onto an unconventional philosopher whose ideas about the state of America are has unconventionally good as his repertoire of menu items.

I Like Killing Flies focuses on Greenwich village restaurant owner Kenny Shopshin who after years of business in the community is facing eviction and relocation as a result of upper class invasion of the ultra hip neighborhood.  Kenny, however, is not your classic business owner; he is a foul-mouthed, overweight elderly guy who is more concerned with keeping up his bad boy image than assuring good customer service.  Of course, Kenny has a philosophy behind every action justifying both his rude behavior and his particular fascination with the annihilation of flies.  If this were the plot of I Like Killing Flies it would be more appropriate for Comedy Central than as a Sundance competitor, however, the documentary is far more complicated than this.  It focuses heavily on the problems of transferring tradition...even if it is only a few blocks away.  Kenny along with the rest of his family are a staple in the area and locals expected to have it as a go to for their entire lives.  Faced with the financial necessity of moving Kenny explains his own anxieties with the situation and that his little additions to his hole-in-the-wall restaurant will become futile.  His relocation is an existential crisis that he seems to take very seriously.  Fortunately, after a negotiation on price the Shopshin's relocate their business and are able to keep some of the tradition alive in new and bigger restaurant.  Sadly, Kenny's wife dies in the films closing moments, leaving him rather somber and dismissive of the impending issues of his new location.  In one of the best closing monologues I have ever seen Kenny explains his issue with people assuming themselves to be good people.  He explains that by assuming you are a piece of shit, you can only be surprised when you do good, as opposed to the opposite situation which only leads to being let down.  Kenny, despite claiming to be a piece of shit, is one of the most good-natured and fascinating character studies to date...now if only the director could manage to film with a bit more inspiration perhaps this would be a much more popular documentary.

I am going to forgo criticism hear and instead advocate for the support of local business.  The obvious issue for Kenny is his inability to compete with the big business invasion of Greenwich Village.  He has loyal customers, and despite a rather rigorous set of admittance rules to his restaurant, he is unable to make ends meet.  I see this same issue with the local business of downtown Augusta.  There was a time when people would flock to eat at their restaurants, but with the emergence of "hip" chain places, this is tragically changing.  I would suggest that if you choose to eat out then devote your meals to local places...most of the time the food and service is insurmountably better and you will be contributing to your community.  What more could you ask for from a dining experience?

This is a nice little surprise on Netflix.  If you can get over the terrible filmmaking it is a deeply movie piece about the tragedies of the ever expanding capitalist woes of city life.  For more info on Shopshin's visit their website.

They Can't Take Our Town: Marwencol (2010)

When a documentary filmmaker decides to do a character study it often proves to be an awful failure or a huge success. Fortunately for Jeff Malmberg, his study of mentally paralyzed Mark Hogencamp and his handmade fantasy world of Marwencol proves not only successful, but also transcendental at times.  It manages to display both the abyss of humanity and its moments of triumph while remaining accessible, entertaining and thought provoking throughout.  Furthermore, unlike a variety of documentaries of this nature, it keeps up an artistic value that allows for breathtaking cinematography, heartbreaking disconnect and a sobering acceptance of the tragedy that exists right in front of the human eye.

Marwencol's narrative is somewhat complicated, not unlike the stories created by Mark to explain his dioramas.  We are told from the onset that Mark's amnesia is directly tied to a beating he received after leaving a bar a few years earlier.  It is implied that Mark provoked said beating in a drunken stupor, but fails to recall precisely what he said or did.  As a form of therapy, Mark now builds and adds to a fictional model town he refers to as Marwencol, which is a combination of his name and two other real females he knows.  His town, is not a fictional escape per se, but instead a simulacrum of his own life, replacing the muggers with SS officers, and his ideal female with a time-traveling witch.  It is quickly apparent, as his attorney notes, that Mark uses the world to rationalize and accept the violent acts he previously received.  More so, it is made slowly apparent that Mark also cross-dresses, displaying a particular fascination with women's shoes.  As a replaying of the police interviews shows, Mark was attacked not because of a drunken argument, but because he admitted in public to cross-dressing.  He was a victim of a hate crime that left him severely maimed.  Thus Marwencol serves as Mark's world of comfort, but also as a form of artistic expression that is so fascinating and sincere that it lands him a show in Greenwich Village, New York. 

His trip to the city, though anxiety ridden, allows mark to come face to face with his past and affords him a chance to cross dress without criticism a moment he shows great pride in on screen.  In a touching set of closing shots, Mark creates a Marwencol within Marwencol, which allows viewers to assume that despite his loss of memory, Mark has come to terms with his life and accepts his act of therapy as an integral portion of his daily life.

The film is deeply philosophical and approaches issues of memory loss in a honest and direct manner.  It reminds those watching that memory loss is often tragic, yet in many cases, the loss of everything also allows a person to start over and right wrongs of the past.  Furthermore, it questions how much of a divide truly exists between the world of fantasy and reality.  As Mark's friends and co-workers show it is easy to sustain normalcy between both if everyone involved is willing to play along.  Finally, and perhaps most importantly, it touches upon the question of what legitimizes artistic expression.  As a friend of Mark's notes, his work is not ironic, like others who use dolls for art; it is very intimate and true to his feelings.  The photographs taken by Mark show this, as his replicas are often extremely detailed from incorporating his own personal photographs or adding makeup and downcast faces to display emotion.  It is art for the sake of release, not for the sake of commentary.  Mark and those around him understand that for him it is much more than making a name for himself, it is a means of emotional survival.

I am not extremely versed in documentaries, but this is one of the best I have seen to date.  I would encourage looking into not only the film, but the work of Mark Hogencamp as well, it is all available at this link.