"Indie" cinema is a thriving, predictable business these days, but American independent cinema had to struggle to exposure throughout the latter half of the 20th century. That isn't to say that every new indie hit will have any staying power - in many ways the yearly cattle call of critical darlings marching towards their inevitable deaths on home video is the very definition of sic transit gloria ars. What many people may not realize is that this cycle has been turning since before the 90's, and the current glut of twee indie fluff has only arisen since the market became The House That Clerks Built. That one little comedy became the model for independent film in America, and the market that ballooned into Blockbusters in its wake is part of what made Sundance and Tribeca the capitalist flypaper they are today. The roots of the current model of indie cinema actually stretch back to the late 70's, a notable early success being John Sayles's wonderful debut Return of the Secaucus 7 in 1978. The big difference between the 90's and the 80's is the affordability of home video - believe it or not, VHS tapes used to cost up to $89.95 (in 1980's dollars!), and the handful of indie hits that made it to video had to be quite blessed in order to survive beyond their initial release. Living on Tokyo Time (1987) is a perfect example of the early stages of the indie success cycle, becoming a modest critical darling and getting a home video release in the late 80's before slipping into oblivion. I was a little shocked the first time I watched it after snagging a VHS copy at Goodwill, as my mother actually remembered its initial release. While harping on how forgotten the film is may send up red flags for some, Living on Tokyo Time is far from forgettable - just good-natured and supremely deadpan.
In Japan, we make many plans...
Our main character, the young, flaky and monotone Kyoko (Minako Ohashi), narrates to the viewer in talking head form, saying that she moved to America out of boredom with her office job. She gets a job as a cook in a Japanese restaurant in San Francisco, as one of her goals was to see the Golden Gate Bridge. Her white boss wears a kimono at work and asks Kyoko to help her tie the back, and you'd think she'd be more aware of foreign cultures considering her apartment is littered with Mexican decor and trinkets. Meanwhile, we see young, monotone Japanese-American would-be rocker Ken (Ken Nakagawa) eat cereal in his undies as his girlfriend walks out on him -
- and the comic tone of the film is officially set. One can sense that these two will meet, but their Meet Cute is more of a Meet Blah*: Kyoko's boss insists on setting her up with Ken, as she thinks that him getting married will get him to talk more. He agrees to get married next week before he even sees Kyoko, and after a narrated letter is sent by Kyoko to her parents ("I'll get to stay in America.") the two have moved in together. Their marriage is so unceremonious it not only happened off screen but they didn't even crack a smile at each other. After another cereal-eating scene, we get to see Kyoko's letter to her folks about how wonderful her new husband is:
Their friends have mixed reactions to the reveal of their marriage - Ken's friends give him congrats and their lunches ("Here, have my Snowball!") while a friend of Kyoko scoffs ("Just because he's in a rock band doesn't mean he's Paul McCartney!"). Kyoko and Ken have little reaction to these quips, and their marriage initially consists of scenes of Ken shaving, Kyoko walking down the street, and lots of mid-fi synthesizer beeping on the soundtrack. The main attribute of their relationship is the tension between Kyoko trying to fit in while maintaining a Japanese identity (and assuming that Ken wants a traditional Japanese wife) while Ken has little interest in his heritage, at times possibly resenting it. And when I say tension, I mean simmering humor, a quirky Casio soundtrack, amusing dialogue asides and a camera stapled to the floor 90% of the time.
What Living on Tokyo Time may lack in tracking shots it more than makes up for in background detail. The static camera allows for odd compositions to sink in, like the owner of the restaurant making a phone call in front of a Mexican cowboy boot wall decoration and Ken walking in front of a graffito that says "NUKES = MUTANTS + PUKE". Many of the small moments are made funny by just how deadpan the direction and tone are, such as when a restaurant scene cuts to a little kid wearing an Astro Boy mask while eating. The funniest moment is when the leader of Ken's band shows his blase bandmates the finer techniques of jumping while playing a power chord, and it wouldn't be funny at all if the other guys did anything else but stand still. In this way, Living on Tokyo Time's biggest influence may be Jim Jarmusch, whose No Wave classic Stranger than Paradise was one of the most successful and enduring independent films of the 80's. The humor of that film grew out of mundanity and quirky human interaction, and Living on Tokyo Time swims in that brand of awkward amusement.
Much in that Jarmuschian spirit (or Kaurismakian, whichever you prefer), the fly-on-the-wall depiction of Ken and Kyoko's marriage is so low key you'd think it would be boring, but it somehow skates above the line of tedium to make a strangely satisfying watch. Ken and Kyoko are so, so low key that any other treatment of their lives would have rendered them deeply tedious, but their gently opposing disconnections manage to work together and they make a cute couple. There's a kind of hope in their blank union, as if anybody can find love despite their relative flaws. Their marriage is also a light commentary on the Japanese-American experience, focusing on cultural disconnection and the malaise of living on the fringes of society. The writer-director, Steven Okazaki, has mostly done documentary work on socio-political issues, such as Unfinished Business (on WWII Japanese-American internment) and White Light/Black Rain: The Destruction of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. He keeps politics to the far back in this film, as a series of scenes of Ken watching a geisha dance on his TV (complete with interlacing and a clashing frame rate for added disconnection) is about as overt things get. What does come to the forefront is that he loves his characters no matter how they feel about their heritage, and that love and happiness are ultimately more important, especially in the concrete wasteland that is urban America. It's a practical and forward-thinking outlook, and while Ken and Kyoko may have differences and hurdles I'll never stop rooting for them.
Living on Tokyo Time is a surprisingly funny and heartwarming movie considering it's about as dead as a pan can get, so while I recommend it don't expect any busted guts. These kinds of comedies have a hard time getting the much-coveted "Audience Favorite" awards at festivals, as American audiences are used to their comedies operating at one-liner warp speed. It doesn't help that the video company that released it, Charter Entertainment, didn't live long enough to see much of the 90's, and the movie has never seen a DVD release. It may never see the light of a laser, but the old VHS copies are quite cheap on Amazon (with two copies as low as $0.05). Jarmusch fans know who they are, and they might get the biggest kick out of it, but if you need more convincing I'll let you know that the movie ends with a quote by Captain Beefheart: "You can't escape gravity." For weirdos like me, it's hard to think of a bigger draw than that.
~PNK
*Apologies to Roger Ebert, of course.
What Living on Tokyo Time may lack in tracking shots it more than makes up for in background detail. The static camera allows for odd compositions to sink in, like the owner of the restaurant making a phone call in front of a Mexican cowboy boot wall decoration and Ken walking in front of a graffito that says "NUKES = MUTANTS + PUKE". Many of the small moments are made funny by just how deadpan the direction and tone are, such as when a restaurant scene cuts to a little kid wearing an Astro Boy mask while eating. The funniest moment is when the leader of Ken's band shows his blase bandmates the finer techniques of jumping while playing a power chord, and it wouldn't be funny at all if the other guys did anything else but stand still. In this way, Living on Tokyo Time's biggest influence may be Jim Jarmusch, whose No Wave classic Stranger than Paradise was one of the most successful and enduring independent films of the 80's. The humor of that film grew out of mundanity and quirky human interaction, and Living on Tokyo Time swims in that brand of awkward amusement.
Much in that Jarmuschian spirit (or Kaurismakian, whichever you prefer), the fly-on-the-wall depiction of Ken and Kyoko's marriage is so low key you'd think it would be boring, but it somehow skates above the line of tedium to make a strangely satisfying watch. Ken and Kyoko are so, so low key that any other treatment of their lives would have rendered them deeply tedious, but their gently opposing disconnections manage to work together and they make a cute couple. There's a kind of hope in their blank union, as if anybody can find love despite their relative flaws. Their marriage is also a light commentary on the Japanese-American experience, focusing on cultural disconnection and the malaise of living on the fringes of society. The writer-director, Steven Okazaki, has mostly done documentary work on socio-political issues, such as Unfinished Business (on WWII Japanese-American internment) and White Light/Black Rain: The Destruction of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. He keeps politics to the far back in this film, as a series of scenes of Ken watching a geisha dance on his TV (complete with interlacing and a clashing frame rate for added disconnection) is about as overt things get. What does come to the forefront is that he loves his characters no matter how they feel about their heritage, and that love and happiness are ultimately more important, especially in the concrete wasteland that is urban America. It's a practical and forward-thinking outlook, and while Ken and Kyoko may have differences and hurdles I'll never stop rooting for them.
Living on Tokyo Time is a surprisingly funny and heartwarming movie considering it's about as dead as a pan can get, so while I recommend it don't expect any busted guts. These kinds of comedies have a hard time getting the much-coveted "Audience Favorite" awards at festivals, as American audiences are used to their comedies operating at one-liner warp speed. It doesn't help that the video company that released it, Charter Entertainment, didn't live long enough to see much of the 90's, and the movie has never seen a DVD release. It may never see the light of a laser, but the old VHS copies are quite cheap on Amazon (with two copies as low as $0.05). Jarmusch fans know who they are, and they might get the biggest kick out of it, but if you need more convincing I'll let you know that the movie ends with a quote by Captain Beefheart: "You can't escape gravity." For weirdos like me, it's hard to think of a bigger draw than that.
~PNK
*Apologies to Roger Ebert, of course.
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