Jiro Dreams of Sushi

In the UK, if you’re a half decent chef the pattern to follow is: get a bit good at cooking, open your own restaurant, get your own TV show, open your own range of Sainsbury’s couscous, get caught shop lifting. It’s all become a bit boring and predictable now, with famous chefs becoming bigger television personalities and businessmen rather than ding what their supposed skill is: making bloody good beans on toast.

This is not the case with Ono Jiro, a sushi chef working out of a small bar in Ginza, Tokyo. As with many restaurants in Tokyo, that sit in the basements of building complexes or Metro stations, Jiro’s restaurant, Sukiyabashi Jiro, looks small and underwhelming from the outside. But with three Michelin stars to its name and worldwide fame among the world’s top chefs, this is an exclusive restaurant where only the most fat and/or annoying can dine.

David Gelb’s documentary is one without narrative or particular linear structure. The focus is more on interviews with the man himself and his wider team about their relationship and the fine details that go into the set up. After 75 years in the sushi game, the mentality comes across as keep it simple and stay on top of each and every fine detail. So far, only one other restaurant has been opened: by his younger son in another Tokyo district.

Staying in control is Jiro’s main aim, wanting to still be able to determine what happens in his restaurant each day, rather than relying on others to take charge. Indeed, the most interesting part of the documentary is his relationship with his elder son, Yoshikazu, who by tradition will take over the restaurant when his father is no longer able.

With his father 85 at the time of the filming, Yoshikazu is starting to take greater responsibility for the restaurant under the watchful eye of his father; an eye that makes both chefs and diners nervous.

With his age and masterful nature, Jiro is able to spout various words of wisdom, showing a man that, as Craig Charles will slightly offensively put, is a a ‘happy, slappy, Jappy chappy.’ Complete with various money-shots of freshly prepared sushi throughout, the film, much like the eating experience at Sukiyabashi Jiro is made out to be, is a short but enlightening one. 

The Quartet

This probably isn’t a film that I would typically go and see – it’s not really aimed at me. I, therefore, decided to watch it in Brixton to add some credibility. Essentially, a cast of British ageing British stars have been brought together to be told what to do by an ageing American star in Dustin Hoffman. Cue hilariousness with jokes about being old.

That’s probably a bit harsh, with this more a piece about fear of losing gifts when growing old, a bit like being part of QPR’s squad. Identified at the end for their talents, much of the wider cast are stars of the stage from yesteryear showcasing their talents in a retirement home for elderly musicians.

The titular quartet are star opera singers famed for their foursome that have grown apart by failed marriage and senility. With the fourth member finally being old enough to make residence, the four are reunited and everyone suggests that they should perform at the ‘big show’ which obviously isn’t anywhere near as big as what they would have done in the past. Overcoming their past differences and fears, the four take the stage to have the film end before we realise that Billy Connolly isn’t actually a master opera performer after all.

The addition of Billy Connolly is a wise one, however, as the film is just a bit too twee without him. The film is not particularly long, but seems to drag on a bit, possibly due to the lack of any real event and not too much depth into each of the characters. Connolly provides the comic relief which is welcome, but other than that it’s just a bit too nice. Even the resident doctor, played a bit too emotionally by Sheridan Smith, is nice, with not an abusive word nor demeaning act forced upon the olds. Where’s the fun, or reality, in that?