It's not entirely right to call Akio Sakurai an impersonator. "Inhabitant" is more apt. And as shown in Peter Michael Dowd's documentary Mr. Jimmy, who takes his title from Sakurai's stage moniker, he's certainly worked hard to get to that point. Since the age of 19, Sakurai has been obsessed with Led Zeppelin, particularly the rock group's virtuoso guitarist Jimmy Page. His passion is all-consuming, to a degree that he would embarrass, and perhaps alarm, even the most self-proclaimed fanatic.
Do you think there is only one way to play “Stairway to Heaven”? Think again. Sakurai can play different “live” note-for-note versions of any era of Zeppelin you want to name. But it's not just the music: Sakurai is also a student of the very essence of Page: how he dressed, how he moved, the instruments (even the discrete mechanical components of him) that he used to conjure his own particular magic. For 30 years, Sakurai, the son of a kimono maker, performed in Tokyo clubs to small and appreciative audiences. Then, in 2012, Page himself attended a Mr. Jimmy show, and the confluence of icon and emulator (archive footage included in the doc reveals Page was visibly ecstatic at this tribute) refocused Sakurai's career.
Director: Peter Michael Dowd
Stars: Akio Sakurai, Rie Nakahara, Toshio Suzuki
Dowd happened to discover Sakurai in the early days of his move from Japan to Los Angeles, where he intends to perform the Zeppelin catalog full-time. A good chunk of the film follows Sakurai's work with the Led Zepagain tribute band, whose members often seem taken aback by their bandmates' dedication. There's a healthy dose of tension underlying his confusion, much of it cultural. Several times Sakurai speaks of the Japanese determination to do something extremely well: a steadfast combination of competitiveness and devotion that is foreign to many American sensibilities. Every time he gently but firmly teaches Swan Montgomery, the avatar of Zepagain's Robert Plant, in the minutiae of lyrical pronunciation, he can feel both amazement and irritation fighting for emotional primacy.
Montgomery ultimately lands on the side of perceived audience expectations. Led Zeppelin was Led Zeppelin, and thus could indulge in interpretive flights of fancy, such as Page's 20+ minute guitar solos (which you better believe Sakurai can mirror almost perfectly). Should a tribute band, even a large one, have a similar privilege? Since Led Zepagain is still a carbon copy of the original at best, isn't it better and more lucrative to make versions of hits in digestible chunks?
It's not fair to say that Sakurai's goal is leniency. So what is it exactly? Certainly, his work goes far beyond imitation, claiming the most mysterious valleys. In one sequence, Dowd dissolves between Sakurai and a younger Page who beats himself up on stage, and they blend so perfectly that you often forget you're not always watching the actual movie. When you can see the seams, Sakurai's efforts look kitsch nostalgic. But when he fully "gets" Page, it's something else: a kind of channeling of a heady moment that's been lost to time.
Sakurai's goal, then, is to rid himself of himself and transform, if only for a sublime split second, into someone else from somewhere else: the dolator gloriously mutated into a past idol. There's certainly pleasure in that, though the degree to which this is truly worthwhile quest will vary by viewer. Even Dowd seems to doubt, at times, whether he's celebrating the rigor of his subject matter or exposing him as a fanatical fraud. (The film's intentionally truncated last scene, in particular, suggests several general readings, some for and some against.) However, it is Sakurai's same slippery passion (to humbly become the god he worships) that continually compels him.
Watch Mr. Jimmy 2023 Movie Trailer
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