We see it every day. Scrolling through social media, influencers and brands tell us to lose weight, make more money, buy this product and work harder. We see it in our media, in films like “La La Land,” “Whiplash” and “The Wolf of Wall Street” — all of which juxtapose our internal drive to reach greatness clashing with the harsh realities of relationships, our mental health and even the law. In almost every piece of media we consume, we see characters driven by a deep desire to rise above and become more than who they are now. They have a clear objective and obstacles to overcome. Ambition is the word on everyone’s tongue. But what if our characters weren’t like that at all?
Silence. Routine. Solitude. In an era defined by ceaseless noise — by digital chatter, relentless productivity and the pressure to always be moving forward — Wim Wenders’ “Perfect Days” offers a radical alternative: a life of quiet devotion to the everyday. At its center is Hirayama (Koji Yakusho), a Tokyo public restroom cleaner who has chosen — or perhaps accepted — a life stripped of excess and devoted to repetition, contemplation and the beauty of the unnoticed.
Hirayama is the embodiment of a modern monk. Every day is the same, waking up to the sound of a broom sweeping outside his humble apartment before the sun even rises. He waters his sprouts, shaves and washes his face, drinks coffee from the same vending machine and plays his treasured cassette tapes on the way to work. This comparison is driven further in the film as he consistently crosses paths with a monk in a temple where he eats his lunch. The two never speak a word, only communicating with a simple head nod. They understand each other. They are both caretakers. What might seem profane to us — a public bathroom stall — is made sacred by Hirayama. His meticulous cleaning and attention to detail are a spiritual regimen, his temple is a toilet stall and his prayers are his brush and cleaners, echoing the Benedictine mantra “Ora et Labora” (Pray and Work).
Have you ever stopped to see the light shimmering on a wall or the ground, with the shadows of branches and leaves dancing and swaying in the wind, making everyday objects into a beautiful Impressionist painting? This often overlooked phenomenon has its own word in Japanese, Komorebi (木漏れ日). Hirayama often is transfixed by the simple occurrence, and it never fails to make him smile. “Perfect Days” is a wake-up call to its viewers, crying out for them to stop obsessing with the light at the end of their tunnel, to slow down and appreciate the glimmers of radiance along the way.
“Perfect Days” is an honest depiction of the cost of choosing contentment. To embrace silence is to turn away from the noise of connection. To commit to solitude is to live apart from the world. Hirayama exists in a generational time warp — he listens to music on cassettes, reads physical books and takes photos on an old Olympus camera, which he gets developed as others have long since moved on to digital immediacy. His choice to live a “vintage lifestyle” is not mere nostalgia; it is a rejection of the constant pursuit of newness.
Fans of FX’s show “The Bear” might be familiar with the credo of the kitchens, “Every second counts.” It means to not waste a single second, to work as fast as possible and achieve maximum efficiency. Wim Wenders is saying the same thing — with an entirely different meaning. “Every second counts,” so slow down and appreciate them. Life is a gift to be treasured. We are not promised a grand adventure or quest in our life, breathing meaning and purpose into it. Make meaning out of the mundane, offer your small labors as a living sacrifice and find beauty in the small wonders of creation. This can be as simple as playing tic-tac-toe over a hidden piece of paper tucked away in a bathroom stall, or sharing a drink and playing shadow tag with a complete stranger.
In a culture that glorifies productivity, “Perfect Days” presents an alternative: a life of deliberation, of presence, of stillness. It is a film that does not condemn ambition but instead asks us to consider its cost. It suggests that meaning is not only found in striving, but also in surrender — in the quiet beauty of the everyday.
