Perfect Days directed by Wim Wenders (Japan/Germany, 2023)
Up until now, my favourite toilet cleaner in popular culture has been Raymond Briggs’ ‘Gentleman Jim’, a cartoon character from 1980 who dreamt of breaking out of his humdrum existence and dead end job. In stark contrast, the character of Hirayama in ‘Perfect Days’, played brilliantly by Kōji Yakusho, is more than content to follow a daily routine that borders on a zen-like ritual as an employee of a Tokyo toilet cleaning company.
It helps that the facilities he works in are in a series of incredible buildings commissioned by the Nippon Foundation in 2018. This unique architectural project was coordinated by Yamada Akiko who set out to counter the image of public toilets as “dark, dirty, smelly and scary” places that were best avoided Through unfortunate timing, these buildings were completed around the time that the pandemic struck. Post lockdown, the esteemed German filmmaker Wim Wenders was asked if would be interested in making a documentary to publicise this enlightened initiative. He leapt at the chance but happily decided to turn the film into a work of fiction.
Having made a trilogy of unsuccessful feature films – Every Thing Will Be Fine (2015), The Beautiful Days of Aranjuez (2016), Submergence (2017) – it’s fair to say that Wenders was not exactly on a roll coming into this project. Masterpieces like Paris,Texas (1984) and Wings of Desire (1987) seemed a very long time ago. His good fortune with ‘Perfect Days’ was to team up with Takuma Takasaki who co-wrote the minimalist screenplay and helped both with casting and in finding locations.
The shoot lasted just three weeks, a process that Wenders described at a Cannes press conference as “fast and furious”. The finished result is anything but fast and in no way furious. Instead , Perfect Days is a prime example of slow cinema that deliberately contrasts to the movies designed for audiences with a low attention span. It’s fully 45 minutes until Hirayama delivers a line of dialogue.
The film is also a visual love letter to Tokyo as we follow Hirayama journeying by bicycle to un-touristy stopoffs like a public baths, a launderette, a busy noodle bar, a well stocked second hand bookshop and an old school music store.
A visit from Hirayama’s fresh-faced niece Niko (Arisa Nakano) disrupts his well-honed routine in a positive way. This also gives us the only hint as to why he has opted out of the rat race in such a radical manner. Previously, the only clue came from the way that he watched commuters going to work as if thankful that he was no longer among them.
We learn from Niko that her mother and Hirayama do not see eye to eye. Niko, however, finds plenty to admire in her uncle’s lifestyle. When she is collected by her mother in a chauffeur driven car it is reasonable to assume that Hirayama himself has turned his back on a privileged background.
With the impatience of youth, Niko is eager to make a trip to the coast with her uncle. He resists saying this excursion will have to wait until the next time. When will that be? she asks to which he replies : “Next time is next time, now is now.”
This line sums up Hirayama’s resolve to live in and for the present moment. It’s an existential philosophy that gives him time to stand and stare while others are consumed with the cares of the daily grind. For instance, it allows him to pay attention to the play of light and shadows through the leaves of a tree which he tries to capture each day on his camera. At the end of the film’s closing credits the significance of this is explained by the Japanese word Komorebi which is defined in a caption as: “a pattern of light shimmering through leaves. It exists only once at that moment.” These shimmering effects are also a feature of short black and white dream sequences fimed by Wenders’ wife Donata.
Along with these poetic moments, music is essential to the atmosphere of the film. The soundtrack also presents a more westernised dimension since Sachiko Kanenobu’s ‘Aoi Sakana’ is the only Japanese song we hear. In keeping with his retro lifestyle, Hirayama plays tunes on a cassette player of his work van. This includes Lou Reed’s ‘Perfect Day’ of course as well as other classics from the 60s and 70s.
Nina Simone’s sublime ‘Feeling Good’ is a particularly inspired choice as the closing tune. As this plays, we watch Hirayama’s face in close up half smiling, half crying in pure joy; one of the many scenes that also reduced me to tears.
Like all the greatest movies, ‘Perfect Days’ teaches us how to see the world in a different way.
