Back when I first moved to Berlin, I lived near a mid-sized park with a striking gate-like iron sculpture at its center. It had a few sport and cultural spaces, but what stood out most was how differently people used the park. Everyone had their own way of spending time there.
Kids ran wild while neighbors walked their dogs. People picnicked on the grassy slope. On weekends, a father could be seen slow-roasting a whole pig from the morning, preparing a feast for his family. Along the fence of the sports field, a few Roma families lived in tents.
On May Day (May 1st), the park became a central gathering point, drawing huge crowds. By the next morning, a small mountain of beer bottles had appeared. During Berlin’s brief summer, sunbathers—some fully nude—stretched out across the lawns, soaking in every last drop of scarce sun. A middle-aged man jogged past, chest piercings bouncing as he ran. A handful of bored-looking goats loitered in the petting area, and after dark, shadowy figures in black drifted in to sell drugs, peacefully.
I started visiting that park every day; jogging in the mornings, lounging in the afternoons, and walking home through it at night on my way back from the station. One evening, as I was making my usual way home, casually brushing off a peaceful offer from a local dealer, a fox appeared in front of me. It looked at me just once, then, without alarm, nonchalantly disappeared into the bushes.
Having never lived in a place where wild foxes roam the streets, I was genuinely surprised. After that, I found myself scanning the park every time I went, hoping to see it again. Despite my hope, however, I never did. Instead, I ended up wandering deeper and deeper into the park, until one day I realized I had come to know it intimately—every corner, every path. At some point, without noticing, I had begun wanting to document this place.
But shortly after, I was forced to leave my apartment near the park. At the time, Berlin was in the midst of a housing crisis—rents were soaring, and people were regularly being pushed out for unfair reasons. (From what I hear, things have only gotten worse since.)
I had no choice but to move. With the change in neighborhood, I stopped going to the park, stopped looking for the fox. The idea of documenting that place was quietly tucked away in a corner of my mind that I rarely opened again.
A few years later, in 2018, I relocated to Tokyo. When a friend introduced me to the YOYOGI film project, memories of that park in Berlin came rushing back. The quiet fox, the drug dealers, everything. I decided to join the project.
The film’s director, Max Golomidov, left a strong impression on me from the start; an Estonian filmmaker with a sincere, direct way of looking people in the eye when he speaks. We clicked immediately. What stayed with me most was how he works as a colorist at a grading studio in Tokyo, but is also deeply involved in filmmaking as a cinematographer. I could tell he genuinely loves film.
As a cinematographer, he had already worked on several observational documentaries centered on specific places—one capturing the daily rhythms of a parking garage in the heart of Tallinn, and another set in Estonia’s only horse racing track. So when he moved to Tokyo and began quietly observing Yoyogi Park, it felt only natural that he continued the practice.
In a documentary where anything might happen, Max imposed a strict set of rules on himself: no camera movement, no staging, just a single fixed frame on a tripod, using one lens. He recalls that even after spending an entire day in the park, there were times when he’d come away with just a handful of usable shots, if that.
With quiet persistence, he kept watching: the visitors, the animals, the subtle rhythms of the park. What finally emerged were scenes that, though unstaged, carry an uncanny, almost fictional charm. Together with Russian editor Dmitry, he carefully pieced them into a compelling film shaped by light and shadow.
Another key element is sound. Once the visuals were complete, a sound designer back in Estonia created an enormous list of audio cues to match each moment. To collect them, Max returned to the park with a microphone in hand, recording across the seasons and at different times of day, listening deeply to the ambient life around him. For Max, the entire filmmaking process must have become a kind of meditation.
Watching this film, I couldn’t help but see myself in it, sitting alone in a park in a city I didn’t yet know, observing the steady stream of strangers passing by. I remember the strange sense of instability that came from being in a place where no one knew who I was, how thin and undefined the membrane of self can feel in a new environment. At the same time, there was an excitement in knowing that, through new encounters, I might be seen as—and even become—someone entirely different.
I’m equally struck by Max’s remarkable eye and the patience and passion behind his craft. I imagine what might have happened if I had made my own observational film back in that Berlin park. I doubt it would have taken shape with the same grace or poetic flow this film now holds.
After touring film festivals across Europe since 2022, YOYOGI will finally see its Japanese release starting July 19, 2025, at Theatre Image Forum in Shibuya. Its timeless quality is no accident. It reflects the director’s intention to capture and preserve moments as if they had happened just yesterday, no matter when you watch them.
I imagine that when Max, having moved to Tokyo about ten years ago, sat on a bench in Yoyogi Park and noticed cicadas—which don’t exist in Estonia—or the crows (which are a different species altogether), he must have felt a fresh sense of wonder. And perhaps that feeling wasn’t so different from mine when that friendly fox calmly crossed my path in that peaceful park in Berlin.
「YOYOGI」
July 19: sequential opening at Theatre Image Forum in Shibuya, Tokyo
(Bilingual Japanese/English)
Director, DoP: Max Golomidov
Producers: Volia Chajkouskaya, Ivo Felt / Allfilm, Volia Films (Estonia)
Co-Producer: Yu Nakajima / kofuba (Japan)
Editor: Dmitry Kalashnikov
Music: Yuma Koda
Sound design: Dmitry Natalevich
PR and Distribution: Yuya Kudo / KUDO COMPANY
Watch the teaser on YouTube
https://youtu.be/O5g2oAYZo84?si=-JYlzTNOFiUSYCav
Follow the project on Instagram
https://www.instagram.com/yoyogi.documentary/