Tampopo

Tampopo

Food has always been a weird subject for film to me. My relationship with it has been up and down the charts with my emotions and weight, but never from cinematic periods. There was one period in my late teens when I thought I was Rorsarch and had a habit of eating cold beans from the tin, but Upon reflection, I see there was more going on there.

Tampopo is not just about food; it’s a weird buffet of finger food funnies with a baseline centred around the titular character. Ultimately, it incorporates French, American, and Japanese cinema blended in a rich mix but sadly has some lengths that leave the taste more pretentious than portentous.

While the main course of Tampopo trying to keep her late husband’s ramen shack running and eager to train to become the best is funny, with a subtle fantasy underworld of Goror and Gun, too, truckers who could have been driving the pork chop express in terms of their blue-collar sensibilities taking her into the world of ramen club and outlier subcultures to make the best ramen ever. Along the way, the clients and favours accrued from the homeless to the bourgeois allow this pork ramen pygmalion story to run with humour and action, and one-fourth scene, in particular, could give John Carpenter a run for his money. As devoted as Tampopop is, the problem is that she ultimately rings hollow and seems to do nothing but subservience and obey; it is hard to follow for a single mum in dire straits.

Indeed, while we see a lot of sketches and anecdotes about class and taste, or lack of, all the women in the film seem to have nothing to contribute and are s quickly led to sexy lamp dressing that is quite prickly. In some cases, they are so infantilised it’s hard to see them as whole adult women, leaving a bitter taste. One scene, in particular, involves an entire etiquette class for girls ruined by visiting one man’s passion for his pasta. While funny, it does run too long, much like an egg yoke with the film tribute to John Paul Belmondo.

The film has charm and slapstick elements that show the best of Chaplin, Shimura and the higher level of sauce of Benny Hill, but it dwells on distraction. The dish feels a bit cold and stale by the outcome.

While a happy omnivore like myself, it’s worth noting for the vegans and vegetarians the final cut to the turtle and other animals may be pretty offputting in the matter-of-fact manner live animals are harmed. On the one hand, I have often felt we don’t see enough of where our food comes from, and frankly, too many meat eaters think there is a big pink sausage tree, and babe is living her best life. But for others, it may border the gratuitous.

It’s a fun afternoon watch, but it is overcooked, and if a chance to get a leaner fat-free version is on the table, I strongly suggest you go for that.