Food Films (pt. II)

Big Night

Jiro Dreams of Sushi

Greetings and good day to you, dear readers, my name is Lili and I’ll be serving up some films for you this evening. After last week’s stoner films, I have the munchies and could really go for some out-of-the-to-go-box food films to satisfy my appetite. When it comes to consuming food cinema, I think it is best to do so while slightly hungry—not when you’re starving and not when you’re full, as this might disturb your content digestion. Food films are a delicacy that should be viewed with an open mind and an open palate, not when you’re having weird thoughts about food (my eating disorder girlies get it) and not when you’re feeling cynical or moody. There is an inherent positivity to most food media—even in highly-stressful environments like the kitchen in The Bear—because food is a universal language that almost anyone can speak. Food is a portal to understanding different cultures, it is a bridge between different kinds of people, regardless of your proficiency in the kitchen or your specific tastes. Last year’s food films were a buffet of random flavors—most of them delicious, but not so much The Menu. I wanted another diverse sampler of food cinema, so the menu I’ve crafted for tonight offers tastes of different cuisines from different countries and cooking disciplines, but it was all pretty delicious (if I do say so myself.) Up first is a favorite among foodies, cinephiles, and fans of Stanley Tucci—Big Night. This 1996 film is the directorial debut of Stanley Tucci, and he hasn’t directed much else since—beyond his iconic Instagram cooking/bartending videos. Stanley Tucci is one of our most prolific food film actors, having starred in Julie & Julia and his own show Searching for Italy, even in films like Easy A, which is not a food film, he still finds a way to be in the kitchen in nearly every scene he’s in. Big Night, written by Tucci and Joseph Troppiano, follows Primo (Tony Shalhoub) and Secondo (Tucci)—two Italian immigrant brothers who have come from Calabria to the Jersey Shore in the 1950s to run an Italian restaurant with proper Italian food. Primo is a profoundly talented and intensely traditional chef who despises the forced-Americanization of their culture, though Secondo begins to understand that many customers are looking for ease, not tradition. Iconic complaining character actress Caroline Aaron proves this to be true, when she realizes that the risotto she ordered is not, in fact, a pasta dish. She is one of very few customers at Primo and Secondo’s less-than-successful restaurant, Paradise, but still Primo doesn’t think that they need to stoop to the low standards of American diners. Secondo suggests that they take the risotto off the menu, to which Primo retorts, “Why don’t we just serve hotdogs then?” Paradise is not bringing in the money that these two need to survive in the States, so after being denied for a loan at the bank, Secondo enlists the help of a neighboring/rival Italian restauranteur, Pascal (Ian Holm), who’s mediocre business is booming. Pascal hatches a plan to persuade his good friend, Italian-American jazz singer Louis Primo, to dine at Paradise, which will create enough buzz to hopefully bring in more customers. Primo is disturbed by anything relating to mediocre, Americanized Italian dining, but him and Secondo prepare their restaurant for the titular “big night” regardless. Secondo’s girlfriend, Phyllis (Minnie Driver), is kind enough to lend a hand chopping ingredients, even though Secondo suspiciously will not make love to her. Primo is too nervous to ask his crush, Ann the flower saleswoman (Allison Janey) to their big night, but Primo the perfect wingman invites her for him. Secondo finds other people to invite to this special evening, like a random car salesman named Bob (played by Campbell Scott, who also co-directed this film) along with Pascal and his wife Gabriella (Isabella Rossellini.) There is a decent turnout to this big evening, and Primo and Secondo use all of their time preparing dish after dish after gratuitous, glorious dish for their party and guest of honor. The scenes of Primo, Secondo, their one employee Cristiano (Marc Anthony) and Phyllis in the kitchen were mesmerizing, as the camera floated above their heads and observed every detail of every dish—in a seamless way that Tasty videos try to achieve. I couldn’t help staring at the vibrantly-colored beets and carrots and roasted everything—from vegetables to chicken to pork—I could practically feel the heat emanating from each dish. The meticulous precision of rolling individual pieces of pasta, the slicing and dicing of vegetables and meats and spices and sauces were all something to see, and I desperately need to eat a lot of Italian food after witnessing all of this. Big Night also stars Liev Schreiber in a minor role as a doorman at Pascal’s—which is the second time he’s played a minor role as a doorman in a film featured on this blog, and also made for a mini Daytrippers reunion. There is an odd but funny sense of humor in Big Night, one that just barely scratches the surface of the difficult and confusing immigrant’s experience in mid-century America (and present-day America.) There is also far more drama that takes place outside of the kitchen in this film, which built the tension well but didn’t necessarily resolve. All of the characters in Big Night were compelling and unique and believable enough for me to be invested in the drama, but I do wish they’d been afforded the same care and attention that the food was paid. I did enjoy Big Night, but I would’ve enjoyed it even more if there’d be a solid resolution for all of these characters and all of their nuanced issues. It’s not a bad film by any means, it’s more like a good meal that warrants some kind of dessert afterwards, but there was no dessert to be found. So, instead, I just moved onto the next course of the evening: Jiro Dreams of Sushi. David Gelb’s 2011 documentary Jiro Dreams of Sushi was an instant-hit when it was released, with critics like Roger Ebert expressing their profound fascination in the film’s subject: legendary sushi chef Jiro Ono. Gelb had initially planned to film a documentary titled “Planet Sushi”, inspired by the cinematography of BBC’s Planet Earth, that showcased many different kinds of sushi and chefs and this art form, in general. But upon eating at Jiro’s restaurant Sukiyabashi, a tiny, ten-seat sushi-only restaurant located in a Tokyo subway station, Gelb knew that his focus had to be Jiro—his icon status, his technique, and the fact that many say that his sushi is the best in the world. Jiro is the only sushi chef to have been awarded three Michelin stars—which were recently taken away due to the increased exclusivity of this world-renowned restaurant. Sukiyabashi was already a pretty exclusive establishment, with no walk-ins allowed and reservations being made months in advance, but it has maintained this iconic status for so long that it is not even open to the public anymore. Jiro Dreams of Sushi introduces us to then-85 year old sushi legend Jiro Ono and his two sons: his youngest, Takashi, who owns his own, very similar restaurant, and his oldest, Yoshikazu who has been working alongside his father his whole life and hopes to take over Sukiyabashi. The only issue is that Jiro is a bit of a Logan Roy when it comes to his succession plan—he has been living the same routine, day-in and day-out for decades, taking the same train and barely missing work for holidays or funerals, and has no plans to retire. Only now, at the age of 98, has Jiro finally relinquished and let Yoshikazu run things, but Jiro still allegedly keeps a watchful eye. The documentary follows this sushi dynasty and the extreme, unrelenting discipline that is required of these chefs—interviewing food critics and customers and apprentices of Jiros (who must complete 10 years of training under Jiro’s tutelage to be considered an adequate chef.) We are granted access to this immensely exclusive restaurant and the incredibly tedious, monotonous work that goes into buying the ingredients, assembling each dish, and serving quality sushi. The audience is given a front row seat to the hectic fish markets, where buyers bid on live and dead fish like its a high-end auction. We meet a self-proclaimed “anti-establishment” tuna dealer who sells to Jiro, and labors through the decreasing-in-quality tuna supply. We are shown the intricate process of preparing fish and shrimp and eel and octopi and sea creatures that I never knew could be consumed like anemones. Jiro Dreams of Sushi details the fascinating life of Jiro and his sons, and the insane pressure they are all under to compete with the high bar that they set. Chefs, in pop culture at least, are very hard on themselves, and Jiro is the epitome of a tortured artist. Jiro states, not half-heartedly but confidently, that “After decades of work, I still haven’t achieved perfection”, which is somehow both soul-crushing and inspiring at the same time. Jiro never rests, never takes the easy way, he is constantly working to improve the quality of his product, and the experience of his patrons. As one food critic, Yamamoto, explains while dining at Sukiyabashi with a group “He is watching us more than we are watching him” because he adjusts and adapts his actions, his speed, his entire menu based on how the customers are responding. The devil is in the details, and for an OCD anxious foodie like myself, Jiro Dreams of Sushi was so satisfying to watch, because it showed how these details pay off. Every grain of rice, every slice of tuna is prepared with specific, patient care. Jiro is left-handed (same, girl) so his entire restaurant was built a certain way to make cooking and serving easier for him. His son Takashi’s restaurant is the mirror image of Sukiyabashi, built with a right-handed chef like Takashi in mind. All of this was endlessly fascinating to me, as someone who loves sushi, and as someone who knows nothing about it. Watching this only made me want to go to Japan even more, and it made me appreciate the art of sushi-construction even more. Every roll and every dish looked immaculate and delicious, as the camera showcased roll after roll after roll set to classical music. Only once do we see Jiro not in the kitchen, and this is when he takes a rare day off to go back to his hometown village to see some old friends—a vignette that is sweeter and cuter than I could detail to you here. While Jiro is obviously a stern leader and painstaking perfectionist, there is a delightful charm to him. He doesn’t smile often, but when he does, he beams so brightly that it lights up the entire Tokyo skyline. Overall, Jiro Dreams of Sushi was a perfectly entertaining and fascinating documentary, one that answers questions we might all have like, “the history of sushi is so long, but when was the California roll invented?” as well as questions you might not have previously thought to have asked (I love when documentaries do that.) It was interesting that nearly every person in this film—from Jiro to his sons to his apprentices to the men at the fish market—all had the same dedicated, intensely-serious work ethic, because for this American viewer, it is hard to imagine finding a job one loves SO much that they’re willing to suffer for it for their whole life. But that’s the beauty of a highly-specific doc like this one: it shows you avenues of passion and skill that you might’ve never considered, it shows you optimism and hope and determination that you may have never experienced. I will say, though, neither of these films offered the visual feast that I’d expected, but they were still pretty delectable. Well, after all this food talk I’m pretty full, but I appreciate you stopping by for a bite, dear reader. Don’t worry, I’ll do the dishes, just promise me y’all will come back now, ya hear?