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| Director Wim Wenders |
PERFECT DAYS B Japan Germany (124 mi) 2023 d: Wim Wenders
Next time is next time. Now is now. —Hirayama (Kōji Yakusho)
While this contemplative existential study has the imprint of a Wim Wenders film, known for his meditative explorations of alienation and longing, and for making extremely literate films with carefully chosen rock ‘n’ roll music, and a lifelong love for the Kinks, as his graduation thesis film, SUMMER IN THE CITY (1970), shot on 16mm by longtime Wenders collaborator Robby Müller, was notable for its continuous use of Kinks music. Many are proclaiming this is a return to form, a throwback to his earlier films, and while there are obvious parallels, it lacks the freedom of movement of his earlier 70’s and 80’s films, where an endless landscape became a central character that dominated the screen. With its more compressed Tokyo setting, it recalls the Japanese odyssey explored in Tokyo-Ga (1985), an observational travelogue that pays tribute to the unhurried ruminations of Yasuhirō Ozu. A graduate of the University of Television and Film Munich in 1970, Wenders worked as a film critic for various publications while he was still in school, and while he is a major figure in the New German Cinema movement from the 60’s to the 80’s, an era when most German films were subsidized by state television, Wenders is perhaps less known than his towering compatriots Rainer Werner Fassbinder and Werner Herzog, and while his films may be less radical, they have an equally distinctive style, coming closer to the everyday, while also more alienated and detached. The protagonists in Wim Wenders films tend to be on the literary side, like Bruno Winter (Rüdiger Vogler) from Kings of the Road (Im Lauf der Zeit) Road Trilogy Pt. 3 (1976), who periodically can be seen reading William Faulkner’s 1939 novel The Wild Palms, with its infamous closing line, “Between grief and nothing I will take grief.” In Wenders’ new film starring Kōji Yakusho, long associated with the works of Kiyoshi Kurosawa, the protagonist is also seen reading Faulkner’s The Wild Palms, along with other books, including Aya Kōda’s Ki, and a collection of Patricia Highsmith’s short stories. Amusingly, the used bookstore owner (Inuko Inuyama) always offers her own expository comments about the author of each of books he purchases, where her brief yet revelatory insight mirrors the internalized reflections of this film. Wenders exposes how modern life is stressful and degrading, how we disconnect from culture and social relations by transforming everything into a commercial transaction, whether it’s work, love, or friendship. Wenders honors a traditional aspect of Japan which has a strong culture of respect and duty, including a respect for cleanliness and the environment, but also for serving the common good. The knock on the film is that it does occasionally veer into cliché’d moments of sentimentality, where the music is used to provide the emotions the film discreetly avoids, becoming a nostalgic lament for the days when people routinely took pride in their work, while offering an overly optimistic take on class equality, honoring the value of menial labor, but it also accentuates the often overlooked transient moments of our lives, creating a cinematic tone poem of ephemeral beauty.
At the heart of this film are tiny architectural marvels, backed by the non-profit Nippon Foundation, where the Tokyo Toilet project was responsible for the creation of 17 new public bathroom facilities across Shibuya, Tokyo (a major commercial and finance center featuring two of the busiest railway stations in the world), each one designed by leading architects intent on transforming the perceptions of public rest room facilities in Japan, where according to a 2016 government survey devised by the Ministry of Land, Infrastructure, Transport, and Tourism, a mere 1% of participants reported frequently using toilets at parks and public areas, while 90% insisted they rarely or never used them due to the belief they were unclean, unsanitary, and unsafe, which is fairly typical of most large cities, where this depiction feels more like a dream oasis than a reality, as these futuristic designs are so appreciably welcoming. Award-winning architect Ban Shigeru came up with the idea of see-through toilets with glass walls so potential customers can see for themselves how astonishingly clean they are, with the otherwise clear walls turning opaque if they are occupied, while also introducing high-tech devices with heated seats and a built-in bidet with adjustable water temperature. Using colorful modernist designs that perfectly blend into their urban environment, PERFECT DAYS - Clip 2 YouTube (45 seconds), the key to their success is maintaining them in a pristine state, with a dedicated cleaning staff dressed in recognizable uniforms keeping regular cleaning schedules, where the maintenance status can be posted online. With this in mind, Wenders and co-writer Takuma Takasaki have concocted a near wordless rumination on the experiences of a middle-aged toilet cleaner in Tokyo, as the self-contained reserve of Hirayama (Kōji Yakusho, winner of the Best Actor award at the 2023 Cannes Film Festival, also an executive producer on the film) is seen going through his methodical routine each day, reading bargain-bin paperbacks before bed, neatly folding his futon mattress in the corner of his cramped apartment each morning, lovingly tending to his plants, hand-picked from parks when they are small sprigs blocked from the sunlight, overshadowed by larger trees, which he transplants to his home, drinking a can of coffee out of a vending machine before heading to work where he mops and scrubs toilets, keeping them spotlessly clean, showing extreme diligence in his work ethic as guardian of the facilities, where it’s ten minutes or so before a single spoken word is uttered. Instead the camera holds tight to Hirayama, who is in nearly every frame of the film, with viewers seeing what he sees, experiencing what he experiences, visiting public baths frequented by middle-aged and senior men while also routinely having meals in modest establishments where they cheerfully greet him as a regular customer, becoming an immersive journey into the existential soul of a single, solitary man who is part of society’s invisible class, low-wage workers who are ignored by the larger public as if they don’t exist. But we quickly learn what’s so appealing about him in the early morning light, playing a cassette tape in his minivan stocked with supplies on the way to work, as we hear Eric Burdon and the Animals in all their glory sing the 1964 classic, The Animals - House Of The Rising Sun (Music Video) [4K HD] YouTube (4:20). The music sets the tone for what follows, as despite his meticulous routine, there’s something uniquely different about this man of few words.
Every day Hirayama stops to eat lunch in a wooded park setting, eating a sandwich out of a vending machine while reading his book, yet he’s transfixed by the changing light in the trees above, pulling out his old Olympia 35mm film camera to take a snapshot, like Philip Winter (Rüdiger Vogler) in Alice in the Cities (Alice in den Städten) Road Trilogy Pt. 1 (1974), while also observing an elderly homeless man (Min Tanaka) in the park doing Tai Chi movements or collecting a bundle of sticks that he carries tied to his back, something out of the ordinary, appearing out of place, yet there’s something appealing about the way he looks out for him, always acknowledging his presence, showing ultimate respect for those living on the margins. Even off the clock, Hirayama shows an introspective reserve, yet extreme dedication to every moment of his life, expressed through prolonged silences, as the film slowly peels back the layers of the man, excavating meaning behind the rituals of his existence, finding poetry and purpose in the mundane, where this obsession with cleaning might be a metaphor for cleansing his life, as if atoning for past sins. Like Jim Jarmusch in his road adventures, Wenders sprinkles in a few oddball characters, where the chatty, hyper-nervous Takashi (Tokio Emoto) is Hirayama’s less dedicated, more easily distracted working partner who needs to scrounge up some cash for his date with Aya (Aoi Yamada), remarking she’s a ten out of ten, a bohemian blond who is different, probably out of his league, which explains his intensifying anxiety, melting down into a moral crisis when he exerts extreme pressure trying to manipulate Hirayama into selling some of his vintage cassettes, mostly music from the 60’s and 70’s, as they’re worth a fortune, fearing this opportunity will pass him by, growing ever more desperate with each passing minute. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the date (which we never see) doesn’t go well, but Aya grows fascinated by tape cassettes. Arriving out of nowhere, yet planted on his doorstep is Hirayama’s teenage niece Niko (Arisa Nakano), who stays for a few days, no reason given, becoming firmly embedded in her uncle’s routine, helping him on the rounds, eating that same sandwich for lunch, photographing that same tree on her phone, Perfect Days | Exclusive Clip YouTube (1:37), borrowing the same books to read, where it’s clear how fond they are of each other, even if they never formally express it, apparently turning to him when she has troubles at home. Both obtain gratification from having a structure, from being organized and enjoying the small moments without living in a hurry, where their bike ride together recalls the memory of Setsuko Hara as Noriko in Ozu’s Noriko Trilogy Late Spring (Banshun) (1949), Early Summer (Bakushû) (1951), and Tokyo Story (Tokyo Monogatari) (1953), especially when he reminds her “The world is made up of many worlds. Some are connected, and some are not.” In many ways, Hirayama (the last name of the family in TOKYO STORY), resembles a modern day Chishū Ryū from that Trilogy, each exhibiting a masterclass in minimalist screen acting, sharing the same fatherly wisdom, the conventions of comfort and routine, while taking extreme pleasure in minor details.
The music of Lou Reed figures just as prominently, starting the day with the sunlight bathing his face, PERFECT DAYS | Official Clip | In cinemas now YouTube (1:07), while also languishing in the atmospheric warmth of The Kinks - Sunny Afternoon (1966) 4K YouTube (3:36), where each day offers something new, yet the most stylistic innovation comes from black and white dream sequences, which appear like transitional pillow shots in Ozu films, an abstract blend of images that seem to contrast shadows and light, with the “dream instillations” design credited to Donata Wenders, the wife of the director. If you stay until the end of the final credits you’ll discover this comes from the Japanese concept of Komorebi (Komorebi 木漏れ日), which translates to “sunlight leaking through trees,” describing the pattern of light that appears when the sun’s rays filter through the overhead leaves of the trees, casting shadows that last only an instant before disappearing forever, creating a moment of fleeting beauty, like a Haiku poem. Another Lou Reed song seems to encapsulate the entirety of the film, Pale Blue Eyes - Velvet Underground // Perfect Days Edit YouTube (5:44), where memories come back to haunt us, often filling us with regret, yet the compilation of thoughts and reflections over an entire lifetime are what comprise our unique identity, as every moment becomes magnified through the lens of Wenders and his cinematographer Franz Lustig who has worked with him since LAND OF PLENTY (2004), in this case using full-frame lenses from the 70’s. One of the most heart-wrenching moments of the film comes from a basement noodle bar proprietess known only as Mama (Sayuri Ishikawa), who treats Hirayama with a kind affection, like a long lost friend, but when one of the customers pulls out a guitar, she is persuaded to sing for the house, a reprise of a song we heard earlier, but given a distinct Japanese quality that is truly her own, Perfect Days: House Of The Rising Sun (Japanse versie) YouTube (1:20). While we’ll never know her backstory, we can only imagine how this song encapsulates her life. Hirayama’s modest lifestyle appears to be a carefully constructed safeguard against painful family memories that still haunt him, like lingering shadows from the past, resembling the detached life of exhausted traveler Travis (Harry Dean Stanton) in Paris, Texas (1984), or Damiel (Bruno Ganz), the weary angel from Wings of Desire (Der Himmel über Berlin) (1987), where his avoidance of deep relationships and digital tools speaks to a desire for tranquility through a tightly regulated routine. There’s a quirky moment afterwards when Hirayama runs into a complete stranger seen giving Mama a hug, Tomoyama (Tomokazu Miura), where their coming together is pure coincidence, with grave implications, yet their interaction is almost childlike, filled with nuanced emotions and a carefree spirit, leading to Nina Simone singing Feelin’ Good in the final sequence, Perfect Days - Ending Scene YouTube (2:50), which plays over close-up images of Hirayama driving his van, an extended scene focusing entirely on the man we’ve been watching for two hours, suddenly jettisoned into our lives, where he sticks with us long afterwards, actually mattering in ways we can’t really fathom.
