And, in study… it’s really fucking boring.
That is the most striking failure with Jiro Dreams of Sushi, a documentary about 85-year old, lifetime sushi master Jiro Ono, who’s $300 a plate Sukiyabashi Jiro in Tokyo earned a coveted 3 stars courtesy the Michelin guide. No other sushi restaurant has earned this recognition, and the film makes sure this fact is not lost.
Maybe it’s mentioned so often because there is little else of note. Sushi, the traditional Japanese meal of raw or cooked fish on vinegar-splashed rice is a simple dish. The chef has to ready the rice, the seaweed, a compliment of vegetables, a few sauces, and prepares the seafood. By comparison, a French chef must know a slew of sauces, how to butcher and prepare a number of proteins (from beef to rabbit to chicken to duck to any exotic animal you can name that existed in France at one point or another) and how to marry them with spices and cheeses and wine. Where a Cajun seafood dish may contain a dozen or more spices, sushi is prepared with ginger, wasabi, and sometimes sesame seeds.
Sushi may be tasty, but as a subject for a 90-minute expose, it’s fucking boring.
No amount of slow-motion photography following Jiro’s ancient hands delicately forming the perfect slab of sushi rice can rescue this documentary from a vacuum of story. The whole of traditional sushi preparation can be explained in one minute. Include seaweed wrapped rolls, two minutes. Three if you want to get fancy with inside-out rolls.
In Japanese culture, if you are dedicated to your art, you never embarrass your mentor; that would be career suicide. Considering Jiro’s standing, there is little surprise at the uneventful youth. The only stories develop within the successful family itself, with the filmmakers vainly trying to stretch the thin drama far enough to wrap an otherwise pointless film with a shred of story.
There are two sons. Takashi was encouraged by his father to start his own restaurant, a mirror image of Sukiyabashi Jiro. The other, Yoshikazu, remained by his father’s side for more than twenty-five years years, learning as an apprentice first, and eventually taking over the day-to-day operations. While he helped grow his father’s humble restaurant into the Tokyo equivalent of New York City’s Rao’s (Jiro seemed to enjoy hearing the phone conversations explaining that dinner reservations must be made months in advance), Takashi grew his own brand that tip-toed the fine line between riding his father’s coattails and blazing his own trail.
Although an interesting look into the family business, it is not enough to sustain a feature film. Jiro and his sons explain over and over how only the best fish are used in their restaurants, with the right balance of muscle and fat, with good texture and flavor. The filmmakers never learned that lesson, instead doling out bony, watery fish soup.
The one pause in the mundane expose was a look inside the famed Tsukiji fish market. The rice may be exceptional, the wasabi fresh and delicate in spite of its punch, but mere normal fish have no place on a Jiro masterpiece. Yoshikazu spends hours in the market, negotiating for only the choicest of fish, squid, octopus, and exotic sea life that tastes good with ginger and soy sauce. One look at the prices he pays at auction and the three-hundred dollar a plate price-tag at Sukiyabashi Jiro seems suddenly justified.
My favorite films usually have a good “gotcha” hook with an astounding reveal at the end, so I usually steer clear of mentioning any potential spoiler material. But in the case of this vanity roadtrip, I have no such reservations.
The big secret shared at the end is that the Michelin stars were awarded to Yoshikazu, not to Jiro. The father’s dedication and one-mindedness may serve as a great reminder of a bygone era of both lifestyle and occupations, but the revelation of his son’s irrevocable success speaks volumes to Jiro’s parenting and occupational training.
Even though a few select “foodies” may get sexually aroused at the photography, and some reviewers rave about the film, its still fucking boring. I can’t help but wonder if the rave reviews on certain sites reflects how badly some critics want to eat Jiro’s fish.
Rating: 3 out of 10 starfish
Medication: 10 mg oxycodone, 100 mg pregabalin
Pain level: 2-3
FOR YOUR OWN TASTE OF JIRO DREAMS OF SUSHI, CLICK HERE TO WATCH ON NETFLIX
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