documentaries
In the fascinating new documentary “Mr. Jimmy,” Akio Sakurai’s intricate and obsessive performances showcase an unusual and ultimately moving talent
Thu, September 14, 2023, 6:00 p.m. BST
A Japanese salesman is obsessed with memorizing and recreating every flare and quick finger movement of virtuoso Led Zeppelin guitarist Jimmy Page. Eventually reaching his fifties, he leaves his job, his country and his family behind to pursue his passion in Los Angeles, where his beloved icon played a few unforgettable nights in the late ’60s.
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One might assume that a documentary about Akio Sakurai would be a portrait of rock ‘n’ roll cosplay at its cheesiest and craziest. Instead, Peter Michael Dowd’s film is a moving tribute to the purity and meticulousness of its subject’s quixotic quest.
Mr. Jimmy, which premiered at festivals in 2019 and is now playing in select theaters, has received a 100% Fresh Tomatometer rating on review site Rotten Tomatoes. The film took four years to reach theaters due to difficulty securing music rights. “With 30 Led Zeppelin songs, it just took a while, and then there are songs by John Lee Hooker, Howlin’ Wolf, Muddy Waters and Elvis Presley,” said Dowd, whose previous two documentaries also happen to be portraits of complex, misunderstood men were. After years of negotiations, he finally received approval to release his latest film in theaters. “There’s probably a reason why most commercial documentaries don’t have a soundtrack like this. But I thought it was worth the wait.”
Dowd, who lives in Los Angeles, learned about Sakurai on YouTube, where videos of the Japanese megafan’s reenactments of Jimmy Page concerts circulated. “I saw this clip and it just said: Rain Song, 1979 version. I clicked on it and said, ‘Wait a minute, there’s a Japanese guy who looks exactly like Jimmy Page, but more importantly, he’s wearing the blue.’ Button-down shirt, the white linen pants and the black loafers, just like Jimmy Page’s outfit. “August 4, 1979,” Dowd said. “And as I listened to him play, I realized that this guy is a virtuoso himself. He’s like a method actor.”
Sakurai fell in love with Page as a teenager and spent countless hours hiding in his bedroom, listening to Zeppelin recordings and replaying the melodies on his guitar. His decades-long and ever-intensifying project was an exercise in self-erasure and spirituality, not about experiencing what it was like to be a rock legend but about bringing certain moments back to life, even if the appetite for them was lacking Truthfulness is low. The film reveals the conflict between a world that wants fun and nostalgic entertainment and a man who would rather make every detail perfect.
It also shows the subject working with costume designers to find the exact crease in a jacket Page wore on stage, or collaborating with vintage equipment specialists to capture the exact reverberation of a particular shot. “I can only use guitars that he played,” Sakurai says in the film. “If it was any other guitar, I wouldn’t understand the song.” His mastery of the Led Zeppelin catalog is no less meticulous. He talks about details in bootleg recordings with a wine-loving approach, able to spot tiny differences between versions of the same song less than a year apart.
For decades, Sakurai was relatively content performing in small clubs in Tokyo. In 2012, Page himself showed up for a gig, an event that inspired his acolyte to risk everything and seek out other Zeppelin fans in California. He joined the tribute group Led Zepagain, although differing approaches exposed a divide that proved impossible to bridge. The group’s members took a slightly less meditative approach and did not share their Japanese bandmates’ fears about putting on jukebox-style greatest hits shows. For Sakurai, however, achievement was the highest expression of being. “Every time he played it was like he was discovering the record for the first time,” Dowd said. “Sometimes he reaches his peak, Jimmy Page, and disappears completely. And that’s transcendent – it goes beyond rock ‘n’ roll. It’s so visceral and physical.”
Photo: Abramorama
Sakurai’s mastery of 20-minute guitar solos goes beyond mechanical skills. When he channels Jimmy Page, he appears to transform into his own deity. “What appeals to me artistically is that mix of craft and rawness that you see when you play,” Dowd said. Sakurai comes to his study with a reverence for tradition and details. “One day I hope to meet an artist whose mindset is exactly the same as mine,” he tells the camera in one of the film’s more revealing moments. “I don’t know if that will ever happen.”
Dowd’s film is much more than a bizarre character study. It’s a celebration of finding and leaning into the one thing you truly care about, no matter how misunderstood you inevitably may be. “I’ve had the shittiest jobs,” Dowd said. “I did telemarketing. I took an Uber. At some point I sold my car so I could get to Japan and shoot another round of scenes for my film. I realized and identified with being out there and then getting shot down.”
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