Japanese Reviews Reviews

Film Review: Mio’s Cookbook (2020) by Haruki Kadokawa

A Japanese period piece about food and friendship that is, against all odds, anything but flavourful

There's nothing I love more than a film about food. I love almost everything about them. The mouth-watering shots. The ever-present nostalgia. The way they so easily lend themselves to philosophical ideas. It's almost always a joy, even when the movie itself is mediocre. So, when I read the premise of final feature, “Mio's Cookbook”, I had high hopes. A food film/period drama by a legendary producer and highly respected veteran director? On paper, it's a perfect hybrid. Perhaps due to the fact that it was Kadokawa's first big directorial effort since 1990 (“Heaven and Hell”), but against all odds, though, this adaptation of the popular series of novels by Kaoru Takada failed to stir the same feelings in me that so many other food films I've seen, and after an overlong runtime of two hours, whimpers its way to an unimpactful stop.

“Mio's Cookbook” is screening at Toronto Japanese Film Festival

Mio and Noe are two young girls living in Osaka during feudal-era Japan, and best friends. When a flood devastates their region, the previously inseparable girls lose everything: their homes, their parents, and each other. An orphaned Mio is discovered and taken pity on by a Missus, and grows up to become a talented young chef making a name for herself in the Edo region. When word of her delectable dishes reaches Noe, who had been found and raised as a high-profile courtesan, she reaches out through a messenger, and the two reconnect through food.

There's nothing inherently terrible about “Mio's Cookbook”, it panders along its narrative path, ticking all the necessary boxes along the way. But it ultimately comes off as a bit plain and absent a lot of personality and ambition. The characters themselves are likable enough but lean too heavily on forced sentimentality, never offering enough emotional stock to the audience to really latch on to. While at first I wanted Mio and Noe to be reunited, when it finally happened it didn't move me in the way that I hoped. And frankly, it boils down to the two-dimensionality of the characters and their relationships with each other, including a contrived romantic interest for Mio that leads nowhere interesting, fast. None of this is the fault of our leads, and Nao, who do well with what they have been given.

Beyond the so-so narrative, “Mio's Cookbook” is most disappointing in the uninspired way it presents its food to the audience. The tiny glimpses that we are treated to do indeed look delicious, and are beautifully arranged. Unfortunately, we're only afforded a single, few second-long shot of each dish, barely giving us any time for our eyes to digest it. More so, there's hardly a sequence in the movie wherein you actually see the process of making the food. It's like watching a basketball game where they show the ball going through the hoop but cut out the play itself. It may seem like an inconsequential complaint to make, but imagine 's “” (1994), 's “”(2018) , or 's “” (2015) without those integral scenes showing these mouth-watering dishes coming together. These sequences almost always reflect on the philosophy of food, and are thus usually the most interesting parts of the movie (“”(1985)  – ironically, for my money, the greatest foodie film ever made – is the exception to this rule), and “Mio's Cookbook” suffers for its lack of creativity in that regard.

Not only does the movie overlook the most alluring aspect of food films, but also neglects the importance of production design, an essential component of a convincing period drama. The bright colours of the costumes and sets do bring a spritely vibrancy to the visuals, perhaps reminiscent of the explosion of colours associated with theatre of that era, but the world at times feels exactly like that as a result: A theatre set, flat and painted on, and never really feeling lived in.

What the film does have going for it is a sweet, Ghibli-Hisashi-inspired soundtrack by Aoi Teshima, a largely piano-led set of melodies that bring a soft and nostalgic element to the equally feather-light narrative. And still, Mio's Cookbook ends on an anti-climactic bum note, and never really amounts to its potential. I'm holding out hope for a stomach-rumblingly good period-food film, but this just ain't it.

About the author

Luke Georgiades

  • Agreed! The beauty of this movie is in it’s subtlety and slow-pace, which this reviewer obviously does not appreciate. It felt very sincere and a very genuine slice-of-life period drama.

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