Tokyo-Ga

Wim Wenders, 1985 

I have just watched german filmmaker Wim Wenders’ documentary Tokyo-Ga and I am angry. I found the film self indulgent, disrespectful and even offensive. From what I understood, it was a documentary celebrating Wenders’ love for famed Japanese director Yasujiro Ozu, in which Wenders travels to Tokyo in search of the city he came to know and love through exposure to Ozu’s films, which he describes as “a sacred treasure of the cinema”. This quickly gives way to a meandering culture shock video diary of a foreigner in a big city.

Wenders manages to open his film reasonably well. He eloquently describes not only his feelings toward Ozu’s films, but succinctly sums up their message, influence and importance, setting up a filmic contention that promises what could be a very interesting documentary based around a filmmaker’s personal journey. However, his inclusion of an overly long clip from Ozu’s Tokyo Story, complete with puzzling French subtitles, seems an odd one. Wenders explains his hope to discover Ozu’s Tokyo, or at least what is left of it, even in images or feelings.

Unfortunately, the vast majority of images Wenders offers fall into the category of a “Look how weird and backwards Tokyo is!” travelogue, with Wenders largely abandoning his Ozu documentary in favour of hanging out ALL DAY at Tokyo’s golf driving ranges, and ALL NIGHT  at pachinko parlours obsessively documenting the people and their activities within them. Wenders must have told his Tokyo location manager to tell whoever walked into the frame not to talk to him or interact with the camera in any way, resulting in Wenders successfully distancing himself from every citizen in Tokyo, and “Othering” them at the same time as they are condescendingly depicted as socially disconnected drones wasting their lives in the shallow modern life in the metropolis of Tokyo. Wenders seems to make it clear that he is much more interested in the technology and machinery of Tokyo than its citizens. One particularly awful scene includes Wenders’ delivering via voice over a tirade against the nature of television and its false depiction of the world in his hotel. It is completely unnecessary and is very off putting, serving only to familiarise us with what will become Wenders' constant and intrusive voice over throughout the film. 

This voice over is perhaps the films biggest downfall, Wenders has no qualms with vocalising every one of his inane thoughts and philosophies, none of which are even remotely interesting, which is made sure of through his forced, deadpan delivery. The only time Wenders has anything interesting to say is when he is talking about Ozu, which, it becomes quickly clear, he didn’t really plan on doing much of at all, which is a shame, as this is the one topic he was able to convince me he knew about, as his respect and admiration for the director was so apparent. I can only imagine how vastly the film would be improved if the narration voice over was removed completely.

When Wenders manages to pull himself away from his Tokyo oddities tour (a trip to where the fake plastic food for display in restaurants is made recieved considerable screen time, with Wenders again somehow able to drain it of most of its possible appeal) he interviews two important Ozu collaborators, actor Chishu Ryu and cameraman Yuharu Atsuta. These interviews are far and away the most interesting scenes of the film. I found myself wishing that the film only went for half an hour and consisted solely of these scenes. Yet Wenders handles them with unbridled clumsiness. The main problem is that instead of the interviewees’ answers being subtitled; we are left to rely on Wenders’ emotionless voice over paraphrasing what they have said. This downright rude treatment of his subjects becomes strikingly apparent in the interview with Ozu’s good friend and longtime cameraman Yuharu Atsuta. After a very interesting segment in which he explains Ozu’s camera techniques, a humble Atsuta reminisces about his career in film, explaining how after his mentor Ozu’s death, he never really worked to the best of his ability ever again. This scene carries a huge emotional weight, with Atsuta, overwhelmed, breaking into tears upon recalling such fond memories. But of course, Wenders’ disgusting voice over succeeds in belittling the most interesting and powerful scene in his silly “Documentary”. (Fortunately these highlights are available for viewing on youtube as stand alone scenes.)

If that wasn’t enough, Wenders’ old pal Werner Herzog turns up to add his two cents in, delivering a rant on some subject or another at the top of Tokyo Tower. This scene is not translated, and Wenders is quick to sum Herzog’s German language monologue up as something about “Pure images”. French filmmaker Chris Marker also makes a three second cameo, with Wenders mentioning his then recent film Sans Soleil, much of which was also filmed in Tokyo and is by far a much more interesting, beautiful, heartfelt and respectful documentary tackling the same city. These superficial inclusions of backslapping among directors should have been left out, as they only serve to highlight Wenders’ self indulgence and lack of filmic direction, and disconnection with his subject..

If anything, Wenders’ documentary sheds light on the illusion of cinema. Wenders went to Japan in search of the Tokyo he came to know through the films of Ozu, not surprisingly, he didn’t find it. I am of the opinion that he just didn’t look hard enough. Indeed, there are instances where redemption does seem possible for the film, including a scene in which Chishu Ryu accompanies Wenders to Ozu’s grave, yet Wenders prefers to dwell in nostalgia, clinging to his unnatainable cinematic illusion and focus on the neon metropolis, the footage of which, serving as a veritable time capsule for the look and colours of the 1980s are often quite amazing, perhaps the films strongest asset, if one can overlook the negative attitude they seem to be conveyed with. 

Wenders comments, “In spite of everything, I was impressed by Tokyo.” This can hardly be believed, as he has portrayed the city as a vapid and faceless, distorting it into something unsettling, particularly for those familiar with Japan and its culture. Wenders further achieves this through a bizarre choice of soundtrack, an incongruous mix of avant garde 80s Jazz, which, when juxtaposed with the films visuals, many of which are quite beautiful, is very jarring. The final twenty minutes or so are the strongest in the film, for the sole reason that it is actually about Ozu. The music is finally appropriate, and archival photographs and testimonies from collaborators give us a glimpse into what this film could have been, but instead Wenders has created a self indulgent diary of a film where his hero is pushed aside to make room for himself.

Upon realising Ozu’s Tokyo is nothing more than a memory, preserved forever on celluloid alone, Wenders creates his own. Thus is Tokyo-Ga. I have been to Tokyo four times to date, and while I also may not have found Ozu’s brink-of-modernism postwar Tokyo, I certainly didn’t encounter anything as bleak or lifeless as Wenders’ Tokyo.