Wenders’ unobtrusive austerity matches that of his protagonist, and the early scenes flow with a gentle, peaceful energy. Nothing appears extraordinary about Hirayama, a man who lives alone and savors that first breath of fresh air he takes before the morning commute to work. But, understanding Hirayama through his quiet inner life does generate some unspoken tension about what would happen if his repetition was derailed. Wenders does introduce some clues into a distant past his hero is avoiding, but it unfolds cautiously, without a major jolt. Splitting the difference between an aging Yasujirō Ozu widow and the piano savant turned slacker runaway Bobby Dupea (“Five Easy Pieces”), Hirayama’s a new kind of rebel, someone who opts to live in isolation surrounded by the companions who matter most to him: music, work, food to live.
Wenders the documentarian
Hirayama does have a family, but Wenders keeps the details spare. It’s only when Hirayama’s niece shows up at his doorstep that his family story hazily emerges into focus. This casual bend towards melodrama doesn’t sink the film. Instead, it’s a brief and telling challenge to the introspective lens of the main character and, for that matter, the audience. Yakusho is the right man for the job, and he’s a dynamic lead despite having so few lines. His expressive gaze carries much of the film, earning Yakusho the Best Actor prize at Cannes. Hirayama works hard—on his feet all day, mostly working solo, scrubbing and moving aside when nature calls for others—and plays hard (in his own way). Wenders the documentarian is skilled at evoking the sights, smells and sounds of Hirayama’s Tokyo.
It’s an honest, truthful depiction of a full life, following someone who lives alone but is far from a hermit. A man of few words, he inspires consternation from his co-worker (“Hirayama doesn’t like to talk”) and curiosity, even admiration from his colleague’s girlfriend (who wants the Patti Smith tape) and his own niece (who asks to join him at work, and essentially shadow him for the day). The generational conflict and knotty family ties again evokes Wenders’ hero Ozu, particularly how the camera’s sympathy leans towards the wiser, world-weary Hirayama. Not much happens during his days, but that he can choose what to do with his time means everything. Instead of explaining this, Hirayama and Wenders show the tangible pleasure—abundant grins, deep breaths, and lounging—and Lou Reed does the talking, describing in song his version of ideal day (“Drink sangria in the park/and then we go home.”)
Temperate doses of joy
Perhaps the song’s refrain, however, of “You’re going to reap what you sow” provides greater insight into Hirayama’s outlook. Hirayama isn’t perfect, but he’s got control over his life, and curates each moment to his tastes, reporting only to himself Blocking out the noise, though, means carrying around a protective shield from the wider world, and when Hirayama contends with his past life (specifically, his niece and her mother/his sister), the messaging seems too predictable. Although, perhaps the plot twist needs to be forced on the audience as unwillingly as it was foisted on Hirayama. Wenders’ film—on the Academy Awards’ shortlist for ‘Best International Feature’—is more effective when it knows its limits. And like Hirayama, it follows the same script on repeat. Banal for some, it’s bliss for Hirayama, this series of humdrum tasks and temperate doses of joy into a life that’s imperfect to everyone besides him.
“Perfect Days” had a limited release in New York and Los Angeles, and is set for a February 7th theatrical release.
