'Tokyo Olympiad': If the Olympics Were an Indie Arthouse Darling

Kon Ichikawa’s Tokyo Olympiad, his film of… ahem, Olympic proportions, opens with a narration that runs through a history of the modern Olympic games by naming the host cities – from the first (in Athens in 1896) through the eighteenth: 1964’s Summer Games in Tokyo.

The narration quickly glides past the cancellation of the 1916, 1940, and 1944 Games “because of war” and then casually mentions that Japan was left out of the 1948 London Games (but doesn’t mention the reason… or touch on Japan’s role in WWII… or that Germany was also left out as a consequence of the war).

And this (maybe not-so) subtle elision of uncomfortable truths seems a fitting set-up for Ichikawa’s groundbreaking, monumental documentary of the 1964 Olympics, the first Games held in Asia. Tokyo was originally awarded the 12th Summer Games in 1940, but war with China prompted a relocation to Helsinki before the Games were ultimately canceled because of the expansion of World War II.

Less than 20 years after the end of the war, the 1964 Olympics were meant to be a pacifist Japan’s return to the global stage and a showcase for a reconstructed Tokyo. And this documentary, financed by the Japanese government (rather than the International Olympic Committee) was intended to be a patriotic focus on a modern Japan and Japanese athletes.

Legendary director Akira Kurosawa was originally tapped to direct the film, but he demanded a doubling of the budget and complete creative control over the opening ceremonies. Into that void stepped Kon Ichikawa, who ultimately delivered a sports documentary wholly unlike any that had come before (or, really, after).

Tokyo Olympiad has since become a classic – and one of the greatest sports films of all time – but it was decidedly NOT what the Japanese government wanted… and they hated it.

Ichikawa directed hundreds of technicians and more than 100 state-of-the-art cameras over the course of the Games, and the film is undeniably a brilliant technical achievement. Clocking in at 168 minutes, the film is also testament to the impressive scope of the Olympics.

But Ichikawa looked at the Games with an artist’s eye. He employed various camera techniques and a smorgasbord of visual effects that make Tokyo Olympiad feel more like an intimate, experimental film than the big budget, expansive documentary it is.

Rather than focus on the champions and the awe-inspiring feats of athletic prowess on display (think of what you might see on TV today during the Olympics), Ichikawa is far more concerned with those in the background.

We spend more time with the last-place finisher of the 10,000-meter race (who was lapped numerous times) than we do with the winner, Billy Mills. Rather than blindly celebrate Japanese victories (Ichikawa actually does the opposite, awarding their losses more screen time), we spend an inordinate amount of time with a runner from Chad who didn’t make it past the quarterfinals. Rather than focus on the winner of the pentathlon, we instead hear the story of an unnamed athlete who placed 37th.

Ichikawa defended his film as a patriotic “flag waver,” but he celebrates Japan and Tokyo primarily by letting the camera linger on the massive crowds of jubilant, cheering Japanese spectators. We see close-ups of children and elderly alike, both equally enthusiastic. We see the bicycle races as little more than a colorful blur as the riders race by a stationary camera that stays focused on a line of old men perched by the side of the road to watch, transfixed.

In their faces – the faces of ordinary Japanese citizens – we see the pride and patriotic fervor that swept over the country. And in them, we see Ichikawa’s true intent for the film.

Greatness isn’t defined by superhuman athletic abilities. That’s not what Ichikawa wanted to celebrate. Instead, he focused on the everyday people who were inspired by the athletes’ achievements, dogged determination, and suffering.

Greatness is defined by an ability to inspire greatness in others.

As such, Tokyo Olympiad isn’t a documentary that details the miraculous triumphs and successes of the Olympic Games. It doesn’t tell Cinderella stories or tug on the heartstrings with tales of the inevitable underdog victories. It doesn’t center on the winners, ignoring everything else.

Instead, it’s a documentary that looks, unflinchingly, at the brutal reality of the Games… and the utter exhaustion, heartbreak, and torment it causes the athletes. And it examines the inspiration that pain can have on an entire nation – a coalescing of national pride that motivates a people to move past its shameful history and into a new future. Together.

The newly released Criterion Collection Blu-ray (spine number 155) features a gorgeous new 4K digital restoration along with a bevy of special features. What else would you expect from Criterion?

Alongside the film are: