Wim Wenders’ ‘Perfect Days’ explores serenity in the life of a Tokyo sanitation worker

Wim Wenders’ ‘Perfect Days’ explores serenity in the life of a Tokyo sanitation worker. The German-born director, Wim Wenders, now 78, has found almost as much inspiration in Japan throughout his career as in the United States.

By Megan Sauer

Two of his documentaries from the 1980s, “Tokyo-ga” and “Notebook on Cities and Clothes,” are set there, as is a section of his 1991 epic ode to life on Earth, “Until the End of the World.”

Certain aspects of Asian philosophy suggest Japan as a place where one might seek serenity or live out ideas of serenity, and for Wenders, the relentless camera style of Japanese director Yasujiro Ozu has often been a model.

For his latest film, “Perfect Days,” Wenders portrays the orderly, ascetic yet culturally rich life of an elderly Tokyo resident working in sanitation. The venerable Japanese actor Koji Yakusho (“Shall We Dance?”) plays Hirayama, who cleans upscale public toilets in the stylish Shibuya district in Tokyo.

A slender man with salt-and-pepper hair and a humble demeanor beneath which a powerful charisma is glimpsed, he rises every morning in his modest apartment and drives a van into the city, playing his extensive cassette collection on the car stereo.

The songs include The Animals‘ version of “The House of the Rising Sun,” The Velvet Underground’s “Pale Blue Eyes,” and The Kinks’ “Sunny Afternoon.

The Kinks hold a significant place in Wenders’ filmography; in his classic “The American Friend,” the doomed framer played by Bruno Ganz softly sings along to “Too Much on My Mind” by the group in his workshop during one of his imperfect days.

And, of course, Velvet Underground leader Lou Reed has another song on this soundtrack (guess which one) and appeared in Wenders’ extensive contribution to post-Cold War international relations, “Faraway, So Close!“, which also featured a cameo by Mikhail Gorbachev.

Alone in his car, watching the sunrise, enjoying the music, Hirayama seems to revel simply in being present in this moment of life.

And although this is largely a solitary life, there’s something in its peculiarities that speaks of perhaps a specifically male form of wish fulfillment.

That is, the desire for a “meaningful” solitude that goes hand in hand with the desire, after a certain age, to simply be left alone by the world itself.

Hirayama only listens to cassette music; in a more demonstrative character, this would seem like an almost unbearable emblem of hipster fetishization (and this is something the film actually addresses), but with Hirayama, there’s more of a vibe of “everything in its place.”

Not much happens.

There’s much beauty in Hirayama’s world, including the parks where the designed toilets are located and a small, dimly lit bar-restaurant with its quiet owner with whom Hirayama forms a hesitant affinity.

At night, our hero reads, and when he dreams, he does so in black and white, in imaginative sequences done in collaboration with Wenders’ wife, Donata, a photographer.

Some critics have regarded Wenders’ pristine look at the life of a man who, we repeat, cleans bathrooms for a living, as somewhat evasive.

It’s true that Wenders takes a rather neat approach to sanitation work. Which, to some extent, reflects the fact that these facilities are practically art objects, but still…

Without going into unpleasant or salty details about it, I’d say that, given “Kings of the Road,” I don’t think Wenders owes us anything in the shit department.

(In this late ’70s film, the main character relieves himself on a beach on screen; the action is depicted naturalistically and nonchalantly, in a long shot; however, a commentator in Roger’s review labeled the scene as “sickening.” Damned if you do, damned if you don’t, I suppose).

But beyond what it doesn’t show, there are some critics who can’t stand both Hirayama’s concomitant attitude and the film itself. What I interpreted as “acceptance is key.”

For some, the distinction between acceptance and complacency doesn’t exist, and I get that.

However, this film consistently moved me, and the sought and often found serenity by its protagonist.

In any case, the film has its mysteries, and these mysteries look to another side of life, one not so serene.

The patience and tolerance that Hirayama shows toward his scatterbrained colleague Takashi (Tokio Emoto) is extreme enough to border on selflessness.

Upon Hirayama’s doorstep appears his teenage niece, signaling a touch of family discomfort.

The girl is slightly curious about her uncle’s way of life and borrows one of his books, a collection of short stories by Patricia Highsmith.

Soon after, the girl, Niko, tells Hirayama that she admired the story “The Terrapin” in particular.

The film itself doesn’t reveal it, but that story is about a boy whose mother boils a turtle (which he had actually brought home to eat); the boy avenges this by stabbing his mother to death.

When Hirayama’s sister shows up to claim her daughter, the sibling dialogue alludes to a bygone way of life very different from Hirayama’s current situation.

Is Hirayama making a living amendment? And if so, why? “I enjoy imagining that you’ve committed murder; it appeals to my romantic sensibilities,” Captain Renault tells Rick Blaine in “Casablanca,” pondering the mystery of Rick’s elusive past.

One is reminded of “The American Friend” based on Highsmith, and the anti-romantic murder in that film, and one wonders what Hirayama might be fleeing from.

The film reminded me of what Peter Bogdanovich said about Ford’s “The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance“: that “it’s not a movie for youngsters; it has the wisdom and poetic insights of an artist who knows that the end of his life and career is approaching,” the wisdom and poetry here are equally real and feel equally profound.