Wim Wenders has a special gift for capturing the human soul in images. Perfect Days (2023) is a visual poem that confirms the German director’s unique ability to explore the depths of the human spirit. From the ordinary, he constructs a story that transcends the triviality of endless repetitive days. He paints pauses and silences with eloquence, creating a mirror in which we see our own reflection and are compelled to reflect deeply.
Hirayama (Kôji Yakusho) makes a living cleaning public toilets in the city of Tokyo. He leads a simple and quiet life; repetition is his greatest ally, the same routine day after day. We watch him carry out his work with deep devotion and an extreme commitment to achieving perfection down to the smallest detail. Music and books are his only companions, and at times, we feel that our protagonist has been left behind in another era, that he does not quite belong to this time or to the city he endlessly moves through.
It is Hirayama’s brief encounters with other characters that shape the narrative of Perfect Days. These fleeting interactions allow us to discover more about this enigmatic man who seems unmoved by the tedium of monotony. Hirayama’s world appears rather simple, yet subtle details reveal deeper implications behind his choices and the lifestyle he has embraced. Wenders does not rely on words, but the few lines of dialogue we hear are sharp and precise.
The canvas of Perfect Days is a city that never stops, a vibrant and restless metropolis. Upon that canvas, Wenders paints the life of a man who lives by the mantra: next time is next time, now is now. He sits peacefully observing the komorebi (the Japanese word for the flickering interplay of light and shadow created by leaves swaying in the wind), a singular moment that exists only once. Through Hirayama, who hardly speaks a word, we receive a quiet sermon on the meaning of life.
Supported by a masterful performance from Kôji Yakusho, beautiful cinematography, and an evocative soundtrack, Wenders transforms seemingly insignificant moments into poetry. He does not merely observe his protagonist’s life; he turns Hirayama into a mirror in which we see ourselves, discovering that life is not found in grand events, but in the small details of the present moment we inhabit.