“What men call the shadow of the body is not the shadow of the body, it is the body of the soul.”
"The Fisherman and His Soul," Oscar Wilde.
Music is your guide through the film.
When you see the images accompanied by the different songs, they take on a different connotation, especially with the way the music is presented, as it is not background music added during editing, but rather another protagonist that interacts with the other characters: a song sung by a character or a cassette tape that the actors also play and listen to —just like us as viewers of the work— influencing their acting and the final result of the scenes. The musical aspect is so important that it makes the film work as a musical as well.
At the beginning, with House on the Rinsing Song by The Animals, it is as if when the character talks about New Orleans, he is talking about Tokyo. And if we go a little further into the film, the song could also be talking about Buenos Aires, Caracas or Mexico City, about a humble mother and a father who risks his life to achieve something.
In the film, we can distinguish three main and essential protagonists. Without any order of importance, we could mention the human characters—among them Hirayama, Takashi, Aya, Mama, Niko, and Tomoyama—then there would be the music and the city with which Hirayama is deeply connected, both with its urban side (streets, designs, and architecture, such as Skytree) and its natural side ( the sun, the plants, the trees, and the people who live there.
The musical aspect is intertwined with a road movie style—through the streets of Tokyo—as the music is mostly played on the cassette player in Hirayama's van, which he uses to travel to the peculiar public baths where he works.
I thought about titling this article "The Boring Life of a Toilet-Cleaner," which is clearly a more controversial generic name than anything else and obviously attracts clicks, but then I thought: such a perfect film, a masterpiece like this, does not deserve an article with a title designed solely to attract clicks. That would be inversely proportional to the film's message. So I decided to give it a name more in keeping with its beauty and with the honour of writing about it. Initially, the film was going to be called "Komorebi", which was another option, but in the end I settled on one of the phrases that kept running through my head as I watched it.
The sound that awakens our protagonist, signalling the beginning of a new day, is that of a broom scraping the pavement. It is a neighbour performing her morning cleaning routine on the pavement opposite, on that lonely suburban street in the Koto district.
“It's curious that in some parts of the American continent, especially in rural areas and perhaps more so in the past, what woke us young people up was also a squeaking sound, but that of a knife on the burnt part of an arepa, accompanied, of course, by its delicious smell.”
It is curious too, to say the least, that her neighbour's activity wakes her up; in other words, someone else's routine activates hers, like a mechanism of symbiosis, mutualism or commensalism.
A Japanese man named Hirayama (Kôji Yakusho ) cleans public toilets in the city of Tokyo. His life is very simple and uncomplicated during the week; he goes to work, has a very strict and quiet routine, and has learned to enjoy the little moments that come his way throughout the day. His weekends are also routine, but very different from the rest of the week.
He is a very lonely man, with no partner, no friends and no close relationship with his family. His company is limited to a few plants that he cares for meticulously, the small books he reads at night before going to sleep and the music he listens to, mainly on his car radio, as he travels around the city for work.
Through his meticulous routine and daily rituals, we see how Hirayama is able to see beauty in everyday life and in small details without lavish displays, large expenses or excesses. No fancy restaurants or lavish trips.
Yes, the film is about his daily routine. We follow our protagonist in his everyday life, with the repetition of activities that seem like an almost religious ritual. But it is not a circular story or a loop, but rather a helical form, a spiral that generates layers with details that make each day different and interesting.
Less is more
Sometimes, fortuitous or random situations seem to be there to say or contribute something, as if they were in tune with the moment, life or the message that a work wants to convey, or as if that same luck had its own message and used us as a vehicle to communicate something special.
Initially, the city wanted to sell a tourist product, so it decided to hire film director Wim Wenders to make a photographic work, a documentary or a fiction film to publicize a project. That's where the idea for this film came from... it arose as a commercial, not an artistic, commitment. Then, when the actor who plays the protagonist was hired, he only had 16 days available in his schedule, so the production had to adapt to this circumstance. That is why it was decided to use a handheld camera instead of tripods or a fixed camera, as it is more comfortable and versatile. The format used was four-thirds (4:3), a format that is not very common in today's cinema, perhaps with the idea of facilitating shots in small spaces (bathrooms) and ensuring that the actors did not leave the frame. It could also have been an intentional artistic decision, such as trying to go back in time, in line with the concept of the whole film, which resulted in a different kind of visual language. Rather than being detrimental to the work, it enriched it. And I think that also has to do with one of the film's fundamental messages, which is to be happy and make the most of what you have or what you are given, whether it's a job cleaning toilets, a small flat or a mattress on the floor, in order to achieve fulfilment far removed from the Western ideas we are accustomed to.
Perfect Days, by Wim Wenders and Kôji Yakusho, is another attempt to answer questions about the meaning of life and happiness. It is not perfect (no pun intended), but it has had a profound impact on me. It is the story of a middle-aged man named Hirayama, who makes a living cleaning cyberpunk-style public toilets in Tokyo, Japan. This job takes up most of his day. The rest he spends reading, watering plants, capturing sunlight through trees with his camera, and going for bike rides. Hirayama leads a life of routines and habits: these are his 'perfect days'.
We hear that hackneyed phrase all the time: in our family, in someone's advice or in an Instagram video, that money can't buy happiness... but all the films we've seen tell us the opposite: that financial success, money or social status are related to happiness or help a lot to achieve it. In The Pursuit of Happyness, Will Smith plays a man who seeks happiness by becoming a successful Wall Street stockbroker, a film that influencers, speakers and companies love to use as an example of a model citizen who contributes to society. Well, that's not the theme of this film.
Can you achieve a happy and fulfilling life with a job that most people consider unpleasant, low-status or poorly paid?
Can you be an artist while working as a cleaner (floors, bathrooms and toilets)?
The film answers these questions with great skill.
Then there is the song Pale Blue Eyes, by The Velvet Underground. It seems to describe his mood swings, sometimes happy moments, sometimes sad moments that the day brings, and all of this framed by pale blue eyes that could be telling us about the Tokyo sky.
Not everything is rosy in Hirayama's life; inevitably, there are unpleasant moments in his daily life. There are people who despise you or barely pay attention to you, memories from the past that hurt you, and a loneliness that, even if you know how to enjoy it, can also be overwhelming. We are human beings; you also get tired and sometimes lose your patience. Hirayama is not exempt from feeling these kinds of emotions. In his daily life, there are beautiful moments and others that are not so good. But the former make it all worthwhile.
The Tokyo Skytree, at 634 metres high, is the tallest structure in Japan. Perhaps it represents the ethics and honesty of our protagonist, who stands out above everyone else, with an impeccable kindness that restores our faith in humanity.
Perhaps that faith is enough for us, the viewers, to believe in ourselves.
The film is a tour of the most beautiful places in the city of Tokyo accompanied by beautiful music. Perhaps these places are not so glamorous or famous, but they have a magic for those who know how to appreciate them: the urban landscapes (bridges, tunnels, avenues) seen from the fogged-up windscreen of the van, their quiet bike rides, such as the Sakurabashi bridge that Hirayama and his niece Nico cross, their visit after work to modest restaurants, but where he is treated with respect and warmth as if he were family.
It is a much deeper film than it appears. Like Hirayama's own life. It goes beyond easy and obvious conclusions about contemplation and the present, which is very important, and it is not easy to sit for 20 minutes and listen calmly and attentively to three or four songs, let alone an entire album, something that was very normal until the end of the last century.
His life is far from perfect; he makes mistakes and has made them in the past, he may have had bad relationships with his family, he sometimes gets angry and loses his temper, he gets tired and even feels deep sadness at times.
It is not a question of idealising Hirayama's life and believing that absolute perfection exists, because real life is a path with light and shade, and the meaning of life lies in finding balance in that beautiful contrast between the two.
Redondo Beach by Patty Smith plays in Hirayama's van when they are taking Aya (Aoi Yamada ), Takashi's (Tokio Emoto ) girlfriend, to work. Takashi disparages his colleague, calling him weird. The song is about someone with a broken heart, someone who has been abandoned and is sad. At first, Aya seems like a superficial woman who is taking advantage of the idiot Takashi, but if we add the song to the equation, we begin to suspect that she is simply a young woman who feels lonely.
Takashi's rating of people is reminiscent of the habit or tendency of some, such as film critics or popularisers of the subject, to try to rate a work of art or place it on a scale of better or worse.
Apart from the fact that it is arrogant, what gives me, or anyone else, the power to rate, to assign a scale to a person or a work?
Not only assigning a number to a person, but also assigning a price to tapes and cassettes, which for him have no aesthetic value, only something that can be sold or bought.
The belief that it is unfair or even sacrilegious to rate a work of art (or people or make rankings) with figures or numbers stems from the fundamental tension between the qualitative nature of art and the quantitative nature of numbers.
Art, in its essence, is a subjective, emotional and interpretative experience that resists numerical simplification.."An 8/10, 3 out of 5 stars" (or an initial monetary value) cannot capture the complexity and significance of a person or a work of art.
(Walkin' Thru the) Sleepy City by The Rolling Stones. Hirayama listens to it, remembering the fun times, remembering the funny situations with Takashi, who is pure fun —despite— or rather —thanks to— how irresponsible, reckless, impetuous and imprudent he is. Perhaps like most teenagers.
But Takashi isn't just an idiot; he's a character who also surprises us and can even teach Hirayama —and by extension, us— a lesson in humour, love, and friendship. he has one of the most beautiful moments in the film. Amidst his mistakes, he is capable of being a friend, of listening to and seeing someone who does not have the same cognitive abilities as him, who is below his mental capacity. He is capable of connecting with him and being a beautiful person.
"For Dera-Chan, my ears are his friends; I'm just an accessory…" —says Takashi about his friend with an intellectual disability—. Not everything about Takashi is negative. Despite all the noise he makes, he has a big heart and wonderful ears that he should perhaps use more. For example, by listening more and better to the music and the people around us, instead of being so talkatives.
Unlike most people, Hirayama leads a fulfilling life. By focusing on this 'nobody', the film highlights a way of life that seems almost inconceivable to us. Living in a technologically advanced city like Tokyo, a symbol of the hyper-competitive and ruthless nature of our modern existence, Hirayama's life is simple and minimalist, which has more than just aesthetic value. There is a sense of satisfaction embodied in everything he does. Although his life centres on repetitive actions, he approaches each moment and each day with a fresh perspective. Committed to giving his best at all times, Hirayama is completely devoted to every moment he lives. He is dedicated to living; unlike us, his actions are not a means to an end, but an end in themselves. Our actions are always geared towards making the future more secure and comfortable; we do things with an end in mind. We do this because, in many ways, we are dissatisfied with where we are and what we currently have. This is not the case with Hirayama. He is not unhappy with his work; he wakes up every morning with a smile: Hirayama chose this life. The brief conversation with his sister gives us enough clues to speculate that his current lifestyle is a choice, possibly as a result of Hirayama's troubled relationship with his father. Director Wim Wenders , in an interview after the film's release, alluded to the protagonist as someone who is in the process of healing.
Aoi Sakana (Blue Fish) had to have a Japanese presence in the musical section. It talks about leaving the past behind and embracing the present, which is the only thing you have in your hands. The story is already giving us clues that Hirayama had a family history that was perhaps not very pleasant.
Halfway through the film, Perfect Day plays
Performed by Lou Reed, it is the only song Hirayama listens to on the cassette player he has at home. It is the song that gives the film its name and spiritually sums up the entire film. Days with little flashes of joy that make each day worthwhile, and the happiest moments are those when you share that happiness with someone else.
Playing Marubatsu (まるばつ), 'noughts and crosses with circles and crosses', with someone unknown and anonymous, giving you hope that there is someone like you looking for a fun and authentic relationship, receiving an unexpected show of affection (such as a kiss) or being surprised by a quality you didn't know someone you underestimate had... that's a perfect day.
His music is so important that it even gave the film its title. It was going to be called Komorebi, but then it was renamed Perfect Days after the song by Loud Reed.
Sunny Afternoon Performed by The Kinks; this is the song he listens to while cleaning his modest home, where there is only the bare necessities, highlighted by books, cassettes, and his plants, which are as happy and silent as he is.
The tax collector, a large, fat woman trying to destroy me. It could be the passage of time, moments of monotony, anxieties about the past, fears about the future and uncertainty about death, not being so young, living your last years, doing what you can to be happy with what little you have left, even if it is very valuable. Perhaps only love or pleasant company can save me. And if not, then the company of my plants, art, photographs, words, music... and surrendering myself.
The temple he visits on Sunday mornings, his day off, is the Koto Tenso Jinja shrine. He professes the Shinto religion (or Shintoism).
The Japanese word for Shinto shrine is Jinja (神社), and the term 'Tenso Jinja' (Tenso Shrine), or 'Koto Tenso Jinja' due to its location—Hirayama lives in the Koto district—is a place of worship for this indigenous Japanese religion. Shintoism focuses on the worship of Kami (spirits or deities), often associated with nature.
His niece Niko, whom he hadn't seen in a long time, shows up one night unannounced, disrupting his routine; but he remains true to himself, making her feel welcome, generous, cordial and, above all, very respectful.
The next day, Niko decides to accompany her uncle to work and, following her uncle's habit of listening to music in the van, she chooses a Van Morrison cassette and Brown Eye Girl plays.
The two have things in common, they understand each other, enjoy each other's company, have fun and admire each other. They are the kind of people who make you feel like you are in a refuge from the outside world, incomprehensible and deafening.
Niko discovers a book in Hirayama's library: Eleven, by Patricia Highsmith; this book contains eleven stories, one of which is titled "The Turtle" (or "The Freshwater Turtle"). It is about Victor, a lonely boy repressed by his controlling mother, who finds a turtle and his mother, in a horrible and abusive way, cooks and serves the turtle, a terrifying and sinister story about a family. It tells us about the bad relationship Hirayama's sister has with her niece , a family very different from him, about his philosophy of life and why he lives alone and away from them. And, beautifully, in the midst of all this, his niece resembles him, having his sensitivity and appreciation for the beautiful and simple things in life.
Hirayama's world is very different from his sister's. He is someone for whom money is not so important; his books, his cassettes, and his life free from the pressures of social appearances and status matter more to him.
Hirayama seems to be a dinosaur or a caveman on the brink of extinction, someone who lives in another world with obsolete objects, clinging to the past in an unhealthy and dependent way. But in reality, he is quite the opposite. His life is pure life and contemplation, peace and tranquillity, a rhythm that allows him to observe and connect with his surroundings in a symbiotic and natural way, allowing him to listen to an entire song with total concentration, without being distracted by notifications on his mobile phone or the latest scandalous news on the internet. Zero anxiety and noise. It is the opposite of the scattered minds we have today, unable to find time to read a page of a book or contemplate the sun and its play of shadows with nature or urban structures at any point during the day.
"今度は今度。今は今。" (Kondo wa kondo. Ima wa ima). It means "next time will be next time, now is now." Hirayama says this phrase to his niece during their bike ride, and it coincides with philosophical phrases known as "Mindfulness" or "Carpe Diem" and "Mono no aware" (the lament of perishable, ephemeral or fleeting things). No matter what happens tomorrow, what matters is what happens today.
Hirayama tries to be like those trees that remain impassive, unperturbed but not rigid, moving to the rhythm of the wind and creating music that only a few privileged ears can hear. But he does not always succeed, for not only does he feel sadness, pain and sorrow, not only does he lose his patience and get angry, but he also becomes jealous and his heart can break, and in an unsophisticated way he tries to drown it in cigarettes and alcohol..
When one shadow overlaps another, does it become darker? This is one of the final questions posed by the film. We can also draw many interpretations from this, as if we were talking about the branches of a tree. If we assume that the shadow is the body of the soul and that two shadows come together, that is, two souls, they should produce a different result, becoming something more than a shadow. And the flame plays with "Tomoyama" (Tomokazu Miura), the ex-husband of her romantic interest, Mrs. "Mama" (singer Sayuri Ishikawa), the owner of the bar.
His pleasures seem to be found in places that most people tend to avoid. Solitude, reading, contemplating nature, observing and listening attentively, rather than noise and superfluous chatter.
He doesn't mind putting on gloves to pick up rubbish, paper, packaging and cigarette butts. He only wears gloves to avoid contact with cleaning chemicals.
It is as if this detail of his behaviour were a metaphor for his own social condition; like him, something that is despised, thrown away, given no value or importance.
He does not idealise poverty; it has its difficult and harsh aspects, but even in such a situation, one can see life in a different way, free and dignified. It is two hours of deep meditation.
Man creates art because he knows he is going to die. And that anguish makes man need to do something that transcends him. Man creates art because he fears not living... something substantial that has nothing to do with his manual dexterity. Hirayama turns an action as vulgar as cleaning toilets into something sublime, moving from homo faber to homo poeticus.
This film is a tribute to Japanese culture, a tribute from someone outside that culture, someone who was not born into it. Win Wenders. The beauty of Perfect Days is inversely proportional to the waste that its protagonist cleans, and at the same time, that same beauty is equivalent to the innovative beauty of the design of the toilets in this prestigious area (Shibuya). They talk to us about that fascinating subject called alchemy, which literature tells us so much about, turning something as dirty as waste or excrement into gold, into art, into beauty. It is the same alchemy of Frankenstein's rotting flesh or José Arcadio Buendía's search for value on that fine line between quackery and science. Guillermo del Toro brings us back down to earth by telling us that alchemy should be read more as something spiritual than physical.
Cleaning toilets does not seem to be the most artistic, exciting or poetic activity a person can do or perform in their lifetime, which is why in this case it is so special and teaches us so many things. We learn a lesson from a man who accepts his fate and understands that he has already achieved happiness, that Nirvana we all pursue. He understands his work as an active meditation that leads him to that state, like a writer when he writes an essay or a musician when he composes a melody.
Hirayama conveys his emotions and feelings through his gestures, saying almost nothing. The film has almost no dialogue, but that does not mean it has nothing to say. The protagonist manages to convey his feelings, artistic concepts and ideas without the need for words or dialogue. The film thus encourages the viewer to be a little like him and learn to read the small details that life offers us, just as he does in his daily life.
The song saved for last is majestic: Feeling Good by Nina Simone. With his gestures, he conveys a mixture of feelings that sum up the entire film in these final minutes, seeking to look at the sun, which is his daily prayer when he leaves his house. It is the perfect combination with that background music playing in our beloved van.
Y sí, como todas las obras maestras; tiene una escena post créditos, la mejor escena post créditos…
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