30 Years After 'Tokyo-Ga', He Reaches the Highest Hall in Tokyo

Wim Wenders, a renowned German director, stands as one of the leading figures of the New German Cinema movement during the 1970s. Throughout his career, he has helmed numerous narrative films prominently featuring road trips as a central thematic element. His visual language often includes various moving public transportation vehicles, constructing a journey between the inner (spiritual) and outer (material) worlds. Drifting, alienation, and wandering are common interpretations of his film's characteristics by audiences.

In 1983, "Paris, Texas" earned Wenders the coveted Palme d'Or at the 37th Cannes Film Festival. In 1987, his return to his homeland resulted in "Der Himmel über Berlin," which became his masterpiece. This year, his Japanese film "Perfect Days" was selected for the main competition at the 76th Cannes Film Festival, and the lead actor, Yakusho Kōji, won the Best Actor award, making him the second Japanese actor to achieve this honor at Cannes, alongside Yuya Yagira. Was this Wenders' first time portraying Japanese life? In reality, it was not.

In the booming 1980s, his gaze extended beyond the familiar cities of Europe and the United States. In 1985, Wim Wenders created a little-known documentary called "Tokyo-Ga." As the name suggests, it was filmed in the renowned Asian city of Tokyo. The intention of his visit was evident, as his voiceover at the beginning of the film expressed:

"If there were something like a sacred treasure of the cinema, then for me that would have to be the work of the Japanese director, Yasujirō Ozu."

As a Japanese director who holds a significant position in world cinema history, Yasujirō Ozu's Japanese film aesthetics have inspired and influenced countless filmmakers of the future. But how did he establish a connection with Wim Wenders, who lived and worked in different eras and spoke a different language? The answer is clear: it is the gravitational force of “film.”

Cultural Impact

Examining the life trajectories and cinematic inclinations of these two individuals reveals many similarities. Wim Wenders was born in post-World War II Düsseldorf, where his childhood was filled with the impact of American culture on Germany. The desire to make films ignited within him from the remains of the dilapidated streets. "Hammett" was his first attempt at making a film following the Hollywood model, but the results were less than satisfying. He couldn't adapt to the fixed system of Hollywood, where the creativity of a director was restricted, and it was the involvement of capital in the industry chain that frustrated him the most. He began to realize that what he needed to do was to liberate German film art from commercialized colonization and encountering the films of Ozu provided him with a clearer direction.

Yasujirō Ozu's films always revolve around the timeless theme of "Japanese family." During his 40-year career as a director, he also experienced a period of intense collision between Western and Japanese cultures. However, Ozu simply recorded the decline of Japanese traditional culture and the collapse of national identity with a calm sentiment, slowly embedding these changes into the structure of each of his family films. In an interview, Wim Wenders explained why he considers Ozu as the "Only Master": "Ozu's importance to me... I think it's because I saw that his films were completely developed from American films, but he managed to transform it into a completely personalized perspective."

In 1983, Wim Wenders was invited to the Tokyo Film Festival, which became a precious opportunity for him to create this documentary film. At the same time, this work, which he called a "Diary Film," vividly showcases the director's strong personal intention, as he boldly uses Ozu's "Tokyo Story" as both the opening and closing of his own film. Here, the audience can see a director paying the greatest tribute to another director, willing to nest his own film within the other's.

However, Wim Wenders' tribute goes far beyond that.

An Unknown Dream

The first scene that appeared after reaching Tokyo was a passing Shinkansen train. Unlike his usual photography style that showcased a mesmerizing flow, the camera chose to imitate Ozu's well-known shooting technique - a fixed low-angle shot. The scene was silent and slow, just like the countless frames that appeared in Ozu's films. This was the Tokyo that Wenders wanted to see, and it was the purpose of his trip. In 1983, 20 years after Ozu's death, he wished to discover whether this city still held any remnants of his presence.

However, this disappointment came quickly. Wenders had to admit that in a period when the whole world was going through dramatic changes, it was difficult to find any connection between Tokyo and Ozu. During the Shinjuku nights, Wenders' camera captured the humid alleyways, which often served as visual symbols in Ozu's films. He set up the camera at the chosen angles as usual and filmed it twice.

The first time, he followed his initial idea, and the second time, he used Ozu's commonly used 50mm lens. The narrow and close-up shots were familiar to Wenders. At that moment, his voiceover slowly flowed out, saying, "Another image appeared, an image that no longer belongs to me." Ozu's Tokyo was not Wenders' Tokyo. Freed from fixating on imitation, Wenders redirected his focus toward exploring the essence of Ozu's films. As he roamed the streets with his camera in hand, what did he manage to capture?

After watching the entire film, a clear answer was given: he filmed the cityscape and cultural landscape of Tokyo, completing a Western exploration and observation of the East. This was also related to a goal he had once revealed as a filmmaker: "I saw that, in a way, I was right: that refusing to explain things was right and that you could explain them well enough by just showing them."

This "just showing them" approach has become the main theme of this film, with no logical connection between scenes and no further elaboration on the long pauses. It veers away from the essence of images and breaks away from narrative storytelling, yet to a certain extent, it aligns with the director's vision.

The noisy sounds of construction coming from the building, the crowd dining under the cherry blossom tree, the cawing of crows, and the overflowing trash, all seem like a dream to Wenders. This is the part of an Eastern country unknown to Westerners, and Wenders is currently experiencing the sense of alienation and wandering heart that defines his films. He used an interesting metaphor: "The images I capture now seem fictional. It's like finding a note you wrote about a dream upon waking up in the morning, reading it with astonishment because you have no recollection, as if it was someone else's dream." Upon entering a Pachinko parlour, he eventually discovers a sense of connection in this unfamiliar land.

In this scene, people of all ages are crowded in front of several rows of machines. No one is speaking, and there is no voiceover. The only thing that can be heard is the deafening sound of the pinball machine. They are all focused on the machines in front of them, watching the silver balls fall one by one. It is difficult to tell from their blank expressions whether they are fully concentrated or absent-minded. In this unscripted "deliberate" performance, Wenders finds the familiar emotion from his images-the individual loneliness amidst the crowd. The Japanese try to forget the unpleasant reality by getting lost in this gaming experience, and these scattered pains also have a common source: nightmare after defeat in the war.

This theme is also an unavoidable motif for the German director. In Wenders' later work, "Der Himmel über Berlin," there is a clear implication. He chooses Berlin, a city full of a heavy sense of history, as the protagonist. In the film, an old man persistently searches for the former Potsdamer Platz, standing in front of the empty space where it used to be. The place has been bombed into a desolate ruin. The unspoken trauma and shared empathy among the post-war populace inadvertently construct a bridge, which Wenders crosses to take a seat in front of the pinball machine. Opting to partake in a collective amnesia alongside the surrounding Japanese individuals, he finds a moment where Tokyo, at last, loses its elusive nature for him.

Searching for Ozu

On the night after leaving the Pachinko store, there were two long shots of televisions in the scene. One was constantly switching channels on a moving taxi, and the other appeared in a hotel room, filled with noisy and dazzling commercial advertisements. Inside the hotel room, Wenders entertained a somewhat absurd notion: considering Japan as the leading manufacturer of televisions globally, the country uses these televisions to broadcast images of the United States to the entire world, effectively making these images the "centre of the world."

Upon Wenders' return to Europe, he observed that not only Asian countries but also cities like Paris and Rome, renowned for their rich cultural heritage, were inevitably influenced by American television culture. Television has always been seen as a competitor and terminator of movies since its inception, and Wenders' dissatisfaction with this has always been straightforward and radical. He once said, "I think television is becoming unbearable - naked fascism." He had reason to believe that it was the expansion and development of television that made it impossible for him to find the tranquillity and peace in Ozu's shots in present-day Tokyo.

Where should Wenders go to search for the essence of Ozu's films? Will it really exist in Tokyo, 20 years after Ozu's death? Both the director and the audience have the same question, until Wenders passed by a restaurant and was attracted by the glass display case outside, which was filled with a variety of food models, exquisitely realistic and made of wax. With a strong interest, he spent half a day visiting the production factory.

In the absence of an answer to the previous question, another question follows: If capturing and searching for Ozu is related to the streets of Tokyo, then what is the significance of this filming of wax food production and processing?

Let's first hear what Wenders says in his voiceover: "It all starts with real food, pouring gelatinous substances on top, and then cooling it. The completed moulded products are filled with wax, subsequently trimmed, coloured, and further refined. Each craftsman diligently works on their own table, alongside the original sketch design, meticulously polishing their respective pieces. The whole process is more like an artistic creation rather than assembly line production. Wenders was the one who discovered this, and even joyfully realized the similarities with Ozu's film production.

"That's what unique about Ozu's films, especially in his later works, where there are such real moments...the film actually continues to deal with life itself, with the characters, objects, cities, and countryside in the film all representing themselves. This realistic portrayal can no longer be found in the films."

Ozu's films make people feel real, like moments that could happen in everyone's daily life. However, one thing must be clear: the images in his films are still fictional, they are edited and have unreal characters and storylines. The wax dishes are the same, their raw materials are real food, but after being coated with gelatinous substances and wax, they become inedible fake food. Therefore, the common point between the two is that they look real but are still fake, yet they are infinitely close to life and reality, and they showcase truth.

This documentary on the production of wax food encapsulates Wim Wenders' understanding of Ozu's films. Along with that, there is a sense of regret for losing this "film paradise." This sentiment is also echoed by German New Wave director Werner Herzog. In the film, Wenders meets him on the Tokyo Tower, where he also laments the inability to find pure and transparent images. This pure ideal image does not represent singularity but rather a unity that aligns with the nation and culture. During that period in Tokyo, Wenders lamented his inability to discover the pure essence closely linked to Japanese culture within Ozu's films. This sentiment also reflects the approach of the German New Wave towards German New Cinema.

Wenders' visual memory of Tokyo is mainly composed of the frozen images in Ozu's films. When he sets foot in the country with a camera, the disparity between reality and illusion makes him question: Does the "Tokyo" image in Ozu's films truly exist? Where is the boundary between reality and fiction in these images?

Even though the film includes four interviews (two directors and two professionals who have worked with Ozu) to enhance its authority as a documentary, some still believe that "Tokyo-Ga" is not a true representation of the images, but rather a record consciously selected and edited by the director. To a certain extent, this perspective holds some truth. Behind the numerous instances of "just showing them" in Wenders' depiction of Tokyo, there does exist significance. It resembles more of a hybrid creation that amalgamates various ideas: a blend of sorts.

Wenders' homage to director Yasujirō Ozu is a consistent thread, while branching off to observe post-war Japanese society, question the television industry, and reflect on the film industry. Rather than being called a documentary about Tokyo, "Tokyo-Ga" should be better described as a film about Wenders' perception of the essence of cinema.