Per­fect Days review – pro­found sim­plic­i­ty by two cin­e­mat­ic masters

Not a word is uttered with­in the first ten min­utes of Wim Wen­ders’ Per­fect Days. We watch as Hiraya­ma (Kôji Yakushi) goes about his dai­ly rou­tine, lis­ten­ing to music in his van as he dri­ves to his job as a toi­let atten­dant in Tokyo. The ambi­ent sounds of the city fill the gaps where dia­logue would nor­mal­ly reside until Hirayama’s peace is dis­rupt­ed by the arrival of his younger and decid­ed­ly loud­er col­league Takashi (Tokio Emo­to) who doesn’t take the same pride in his work. He’s more inter­est­ed in chas­ing girls and try­ing to get off work early.

But despite his irri­ta­tion reg­is­ter­ing in the micro­scop­ic move­ments of Yakushi’s vis­age, Hiraya­ma nev­er lets on. He has an almost oth­er­world­ly seren­i­ty about him, exhibit­ing kind­ness towards strangers, and liv­ing his life dic­tat­ed by rou­tines. He is shown to have a keen inter­est in nature, gen­tly cul­ti­vat­ing saplings and pho­tograph­ing the trees he sees through­out his day. Franz Lustig’s vibrant cin­e­matog­ra­phy cap­tures the way that nature and urban­ism inter­sect with­in Tokyo, and how the two exist in a strange sort of harmony.

We learn more about Hirayama’s life in snip­pets and glimpses – despite not say­ing much, it’s clear he has bonds with many peo­ple around him, from the own­er of a local restau­rant to the book­seller who pas­sion­ate­ly dis­cuss­es Patri­cia High­smith with him. Wen­ders’ own musi­cal taste inspired the film’s clas­sic rock sound­track, and the famil­iar sounds of The Vel­vet Under­ground, Nina Simone and Otis Red­ding – among many oth­ers – con­nect Hiraya­ma to the wider world while pro­vid­ing a glimpse into his per­son­al­i­ty beyond the order­ly, sparse apart­ment he keeps. Lat­er, encoun­ters with peo­ple from his past reveal there’s much more to Hiraya­ma than meets the eye, but Wen­ders, the mas­ter of the poet­ic slow burn, nev­er gives us all the answers.

It’s a film of pro­found gen­tle­ness, both towards Hiraya­ma and in the way he treats those around him. When his brash col­league can’t afford to take his girl­friend out, it’s Hiraya­ma who gives him the mon­ey. His tac­i­turn nature seems to move oth­ers to share their secrets with him – and there’s a sense he will duti­ful­ly keep them. But while the film is as guard­ed as Hiraya­ma him­self, its eco­nom­i­cal style makes it all the more engross­ing. A titan of Japan­ese cin­e­ma, Kôji Yakushi deliv­ers a sub­lime cen­tral per­for­mance, able to con­vey every­thing in a sin­gle glance or move­ment of his face. The film’s stun­ning final sequence is per­haps the biggest tes­ta­ment to his act­ing tal­ent, an extend­ed take that lingers longer after the cred­its roll – it’s lit­tle won­der he won Best Actor at Cannes Film Fes­ti­val in 2023 for his performance.

More than any­thing, Per­fect Days reminds us how for­tu­nate we are to live at the same time as Wim Wen­ders, a film­mak­er of extra­or­di­nary tech­ni­cal abil­i­ty, but also pos­sess­ing a true poet­ic spir­it. Whether he’s turn­ing his keen eye to doc­u­men­tary or fic­tion, he encour­ages us to pause and reflect on the details of the world around us – no easy thing in a world as bustling and over­stim­u­lat­ing as ours. This small mar­vel, made with such rev­er­ence for Tokyo and Japan more broad­ly, is a fine exam­ple of this com­mit­ment to the beau­ty of the mundane.

In Per­fect Days, every tiny leaf, every turned page of a nov­el, is wor­thy of our atten­tion, unex­pect­ed­ly bring­ing to mind the words of Matthew Brod­er­ick in Fer­ris Bueller’s Day Off: ​“Life moves pret­ty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.” Per­fect Days encour­ages a sort of rad­i­cal pre­sent­ness in our own lives – learn­ing how to tru­ly con­nect with our exis­tence, even when it’s dif­fi­cult or caus­es us to con­front unpleas­ant truths. This is the only way we can hope to real­ly be a part of the world we live in. What could be more per­fect than that?