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Perfect Days poster

Perfect Days

2023 · Wim Wenders

For when the world feels too loud and you want a film that slows your pulse instead of raising it — a comfort watch that's also a gentle nudge to pay more attention to your own ordinary days.

What it's about

Hirayama cleans Tokyo's designer public toilets, and he does it with care. His days repeat in ritual: the folded mattress, vending-machine coffee, cassette tapes in the van, a film camera pointed at sunlight through leaves, a paperback before sleep. Small encounters — a colleague's drama, a niece's unannounced visit — ripple through the routine and hint at the life he left behind.

The experience

Serene, unhurried, and quietly absorbing — almost nothing 'happens,' and yet you lean in, because the film trains you to notice tiny variations the way Hirayama does. It leaves you calm and strangely grateful, with Lou Reed and Nina Simone stuck in your head.

Performances

Koji Yakusho won Best Actor at Cannes for a performance built almost entirely without dialogue — decades of backstory carried in a glance, a routine, and one extraordinary final close-up of a face in motion.

The craft

Wim Wenders shot it in seventeen days in a boxy 4:3 frame that turns each day into a portrait, building the whole film from variation within repetition. The cassette-tape soundtrack — Lou Reed, Patti Smith, Nina Simone — does the emotional talking, so good speakers genuinely matter.

Why it matters

A late-career high for Wenders, widely called his best fiction film in decades, and Japan's Oscar submission — a rare case of a European master making a Tokyo film that Japanese audiences embraced as their own.

Essays & theory: a reading of Perfect Days →

Reception & legacy: how Perfect Days was received, argued over, and remembered →

Wim Wenders, the New German Cinema wanderer whose Tokyo-Ga once went searching for the ghost of Ozu, finally made his own Tokyo film — and it turned out to be his finest fiction in decades. Hirayama cleans the city's designer public toilets (the film grew from a commission around the real Tokyo Toilet project), and his days unfold in ritual repetition: the folded mattress, the vending-machine coffee, the analogue camera aimed at sunlight through leaves. Shot in seventeen days in the boxy 4:3 frame, the film builds its drama entirely from variation within routine, trusting that repetition, closely watched, becomes revelation. Koji Yakusho, a titan of Japanese cinema since the Imamura years, won Best Actor at Cannes for a performance conducted largely in silence; his cassette deck supplies the voice — Lou Reed, Patti Smith, Nina Simone — a jukebox autobiography of Wenders's own generation. The Japanese have a word for the flicker of light through foliage, komorebi, and the film ends on the thing itself: a face in morning traffic, holding joy and sorrow in the same long take.

Lines of influence

More essays on Wim Wenders’s films