Documentaries. If you watch them as often as we do, you've probably been burnt by the fake hype and masturbatory/flea circus productions that tend to infest the genre and may well be averse to the prospect of yet another hand-held omphaloskeptical exposition. I take an extremely dim view of anything that brings the idiom into disrepute and subject them all to one criteria- is it informative and absorbing beyond the constraints of its subject matter? Whether you are specifically interested in the topic to hand or not, Jiro Dreams of Sushi surpasses this requirement.
Most of all, it rejoices in a worthy protagonist. At eighty-five, Jiro concerns himself with something far more abstract than the glistening morsels fashioned so lovingly in his renowned kitchen, namely excellence, that most elusive of beasts. “Once you decide on your occupation, you must immerse yourself in your work. Fall in love with your work. Never complain about your job. You must dedicate your life to mastering your skill. That's the secret of success. And is the key to being regarded honourably.” he assures us. With seven decades in the game, three Michelin stars, an unimpeachable reputation and two adult children committed to his legacy, you could be forgiven for thinking that Jiro might have actually overtaken the standard to which he aspires. But his ambivalence is obvious; slices of sea creatures and gobbets of grain both express his devotion to deliciousness and stand eternally between him and objective perfection.
Most of all, it rejoices in a worthy protagonist. At eighty-five, Jiro concerns himself with something far more abstract than the glistening morsels fashioned so lovingly in his renowned kitchen, namely excellence, that most elusive of beasts. “Once you decide on your occupation, you must immerse yourself in your work. Fall in love with your work. Never complain about your job. You must dedicate your life to mastering your skill. That's the secret of success. And is the key to being regarded honourably.” he assures us. With seven decades in the game, three Michelin stars, an unimpeachable reputation and two adult children committed to his legacy, you could be forgiven for thinking that Jiro might have actually overtaken the standard to which he aspires. But his ambivalence is obvious; slices of sea creatures and gobbets of grain both express his devotion to deliciousness and stand eternally between him and objective perfection.
Jiro Dreams of Sushi employs a simple blend of observation and direct inquiry. The perverse stoicism of Japanese masculinity, the hypnotic beauty of sushi preparation, the wood, the knives, the glorious lacquerwork fish, the octopus softening in its own protesting slime; all are grist to the visual mill. And in this largesse lies a deeper purpose; illuminating the practise of excellence for its own sake. Within the context of traditional Japanese society excellence is enviably quantifiable. To be pronounced shokunin- an artisan, a guardian and exemplar- and more personally, to regard yourself as performing at the peak of your ability, is the goal to which Jiro, his sons and apprentices aspire.
To the contemporary observer, excellence is an anachronistic concept almost bereft of authenticity, and against this expectation Jiro's way seems at first like little more than submission to a conservative doctrine. But the tension between orthodoxy and the personal militancy of virtuosity is the true heart of the matter and the thing I've thought about for weeks afterwards. Jiro's badarse skill set and the lifelong grind of acquisition are both plainly illuminated, challenging the idea that excellence is too costly to achieve as well as being too provocative to value.
To the contemporary observer, excellence is an anachronistic concept almost bereft of authenticity, and against this expectation Jiro's way seems at first like little more than submission to a conservative doctrine. But the tension between orthodoxy and the personal militancy of virtuosity is the true heart of the matter and the thing I've thought about for weeks afterwards. Jiro's badarse skill set and the lifelong grind of acquisition are both plainly illuminated, challenging the idea that excellence is too costly to achieve as well as being too provocative to value.
Tokyo is conveyed as I recall it personally; a melange of the baffling and the prosaic, a grittily industrial and perfunctory matrix studded with oblique slashes of beauty and strangeness. Jiro's atelier quietly navigates this increasingly complex ecosystem, both gently predatory in their pursuit of the produce on which they depend and utterly subject to the vagaries of their supply. This increasingly fraught aspect of sushi's destiny as both cuisine and artform is something I would have liked to hear these veteran exponents explore in a lot more depth; the moments devoted to the worsening crisis of supply and the environmental catastrophes behind it are frustratingly brief, given the fundamental consideration paid by shokunin to their materials.
I could also complain of a painfully tasteful score that sometimes abolishes the sounds of the kitchen itself when the small wet patter of the morsels folded in the master's hands is something we almost leant forward in order to appreciate. Curious also is the seemingly obligatory emphasis on interpersonal dramatics that may or may not exist, especially when Jiro's sons seem pretty down with filial duty and primogeniture, quietly resisting the attempts to frame them as downtrodden or malcontent. And can I just say that I hated the promotional image, suspecting it referred to the unfortunate vein of poke-it-with-a-stick tourism that runs through so many similar explorations, despite their positive intent? It's a weird lapse that almost dissuaded me from viewing this otherwise rather polished and engrossing effort.
JIRO DREAMS OF SUSHI is available on iTunes.
JIRO DREAMS OF SUSHI is available on iTunes.
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