So, I love sushi. Because of this, I’m willing to grant that not everyone would give a rat’s behind about a documentary on a famous sushi chef. Much of the film’s appeal, for me, is how beautifully it captures the subtlety and splendor of a single piece of sushi, and the skill and care required to make such a thing truly excellent. At the same time, many of these themes can easily be applied more generally; sushi may be the example, but the pressures on a son to follow in his father’s footsteps while wishing to escape his father’s shadow, adapting to changing markets and a receding economy, these are universal concepts that most anyone could relate to.
Again, it may just be that the sushi looked amazing, but this was possibly the best looking documentary I saw all year. Quentin Tarantino likes to talk about how he presents food in his movies, that Inglourious Basterds should make the viewer crave strudel, that Jackie Brown should make them want to drink one of those screwdrivers. He says he feels like he’s done his job when, to paraphrase, he’s presented this stuff sensually enough to make you want to be in that space, and consume these pastries, beverages, or whatever. Jiro Dreams of Sushi certainly wanted me to visit the dude’s restaurant in Japan. But I think it does so in a way more akin to Tarantino’s work than to an infomercial.
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