Jason Sondhi
I don’t naturally gravitate to documentaries. My exposure and expertise in the medium has developed as a consequence of my years of curating Short of the Week and, perhaps because of that, my biases within the form tilt toward narrative. I adore documentaries that feel almost scripted, that engenders a “how did they capture that!?” feeling. I love character arcs that develop over time and conform to classical modes of drama. It’s why I delight in docu-fiction experiments and am drawn to a mode of documentary I call cinematic vérité which is observational, but captures lyricality within the every day in ways that are likely “directed” and undercut the vérité aspect of the term. All these things I love in a great documentary are present in Ema Ryan Yamazaki’s evocatively titled short, Instruments of a Beating Heart and it is why it is not only my favorite documentary of the year, but perhaps my favorite film, full stop.
The film follows a young Japanese student, Ayame, as her class is transitioning to 2nd grade. As part of the transition ceremony, the students are to perform a giant orchestral version of Beethoven’s Ode to Joy as a welcome to their junior classmates coming up behind them. The process is rigorous, with tryouts for individual positions and much school time dedicated to practice. The earnestness and dedication of the children, encouraged by their teachers, is a startling window into the Japanese mindset. Ayame is tested by the process, almost to the point of breaking, as her success or failure is not only viewed as a reflection of her musical talents but implicitly her character. Intense social pressure is applied warning Ayame to not let down her classmates, her school, or even her society.
Ayame is our main character and her experience comprises the emotional core of the film.
Instruments of a Beating Heart is an awards contender this year, having just picked up the IDA Award for best short last week, and many of its competitors tell big, important stories. The documentary form is strongly connected to a journalistic and activist tradition of course, so fellow films in the awards race tackle migrant deaths in the Mediterranean, the attack on transgender rights, the death penalty, and other thorny and heartbreaking topics. Therefore, on the surface, it’s hard to imagine a more frivolous story than a 2nd grader’s quest to master banging a cymbal in proper time. Yet, Yamazaki and the NyTimes, which has come aboard to release the film as part of its venerated Op/Docs program, lean into the film’s larger cultural themes. Perhaps reflecting its educated subscriber base, the YouTube upload of the film is titled “What Japan Teaches Its Kids”, emphasizing the pedagogical context that Ayame’s story resides within.
A quote from Yamazaki so perfectly encapsulates this aspect of the film that it is worth quoting at length. “Growing up in Japan as the child of a Japanese mother and a British father, I struggled with my identity. It was only years later when I was living abroad that I came to appreciate the values and work ethic instilled in me by my elementary school education; they are so normalized in Japan that their worth is underappreciated. These traits also contribute to why Japanese society works the way it does: Our trains run on time because we are taught to prioritize harmony and consideration for others; on the other hand, we live under a collective pressure to conform and not bring shame upon our community.”
It is understandable for the Times to emphasize this angle, as the US education system is continuously demagogued as being “in crisis”. Unusual for a country of our size and power, the system is frequently reformed in a top-down fashion, from George W. Bush and “No Child Left Behind” to Obama’s “Race to the Top”, and curriculum is often retrofitted at the local level in reaction to the pressures of politics and the culture war. I have a child that is Ayame’s age, and this sort of comparative analysis of the mythical “Japanese Way” is constantly present in my viewings of the film. Reading the comments on the Times’ article, the prevailing sentiment is a reactionary impulse to laud Japan and complain about what’s wrong with America.
“But where should the balance lie between discipline and freedom?”
Yet reading Yamazaki it is clear that her intent is more ambiguous. A key scene of the film sees Ayame dressed down in front of her entire class for her failure to have mastered her part. It’s emotional and terrifying, collapsing her confidence. That she can be built back up again is a lesson in trusting and cultivating a child’s resilience, but the film is a Rorschach test in that regard—I can imagine many parents rejecting this sort of trauma for their child, out of hand. As Yamazaki notes, “I believe the experience of overcoming obstacles, as Ayame does, is crucial to education. But where should the balance lie between discipline and freedom?” The dark side of Japanese society’s focus on conformity is well known, and I struggle to believe a culture such as mine, which lionizes individuality, would accept the tradeoffs on display here.
If I’m being honest though, the pleasure I received from Instruments of a Beating Heart was far more simplistic than these societal questions. The joy of the film is how effective it is at basically being a sports film. Ayame is adorable and immensely sympathetic as a lead, the class is the team—a collective aimed towards a singular goal. She hopes and dreams for a big part and after setbacks she lands it! She trains for the big event, and experiences challenges! She doubts herself, experiencing the “dark night of the soul” story beat. A sympathetic mentor inspires her to try again. This time, with everything on the line, she nails it! It’s so tight, and perfectly constructed, that you can’t write it any better. Shot as part of a larger feature project, The Making of a Japanese, Yamazaki, alongside the director of photography, Kazuki Kakurai, and a team of 3 additional credited cinematographers, are always in the right spot to capture startling intimate moments of emotion or resolve, and unlike almost any other type of film having children as the subjects is an advantage—their innocence and lack of guile means that their interiority is transparent at all times. It’s a wonderful piece that I immediately wanted to share and revisit upon first catching it at Doc NYC last month and am pleased to present for your appreciation today.