The Poetics of Light
Wim Wenders’ Perfect Days
In Wim Wenders’ latest film, Perfect Days, light assumes the role of both muse and medium. It is not merely a tool to render the visible; it is an element with its agency, quietly orchestrating the film’s emotional and aesthetic resonances. Watching Perfect Days is to witness the choreography of illumination—the gentle play of light and shadow that transforms the ordinary into the extraordinary, crafting a visual symphony that transcends language.
Hirayama, the film's protagonist, is a janitor in Tokyo. His life, at first glance, is steeped in routine. Yet, as Wenders peels back the layers of Hirayama's daily existence, we encounter a man who has discovered how to live with an acute sensitivity to his surroundings. Hirayama’s world is one where every small detail—a sprouting plant, the cadence of raindrops, the rustling of leaves in the wind—becomes a universe of beauty. The way Wenders captures this resonates deeply with the idea that light itself is a healing substance. The mundane is elevated through light, and the visible world becomes imbued with layers of meaning. In this sense, Perfect Days is less a traditional narrative and more a meditative ode to seeing—to the act of witnessing life unfold in its minutiae.
Hirayama’s days are structured around a meticulous routine. He wakes early, tends to public restrooms across Tokyo, and finds moments of solace in activities many might consider trivial: listening to music on cassette tapes, watering plants, or savoring a cold glass of water. These rituals, however, are far from monotonous. Instead, they echo the rhythm of a dance, a deliberate choreography that transforms repetition into transcendence. In these repetitive acts lies an incredible freedom—the liberation of finding oneself fully present in the moment, where the small gestures of daily life become a form of meditation. This resonates deeply with my own love for routines and manual work. The act of engaging with something tangible, repetitive, and grounding—whether cleaning, planting, or even making art—offers a quiet clarity. It clears the mind and creates space for reflection, much like the world Hirayama inhabits.
Wenders himself has described Perfect Days as a meditation on simplicity. In interviews, he has spoken about the joy Hirayama finds in these unremarkable moments, suggesting that his life is not one of deprivation but of intentionality. There is an almost spiritual dimension to Hirayama’s existence—a reverence for the present moment, unclouded by distractions or ambitions.
One of the film’s most compelling qualities is what it chooses to leave unsaid. Wenders teases a backstory for Hirayama but never fully reveals it. In interviews, he has suggested that Hirayama’s decision to lead a simple life might stem from a profound turning point—a moment of loss or transformation that led him to embrace the present with open arms. Yet the details of this backstory remain elusive, allowing viewers to project their interpretations onto Hirayama’s journey. This ambiguity is central to the film’s power. Hirayama is a mirror, reflecting the viewer’s desires, fears, and aspirations. His silence speaks volumes, creating a dialogue between the character and the audience that is as introspective as it is universal.
Visually, Perfect Days is a masterpiece. The cinematography by Franz Lustig captures Tokyo in a way that feels both intimate and expansive. Public restrooms, alleyways, and laundromats are transformed into spaces of quiet poetry. The use of natural light underscores the film’s themes, creating a visual language that is as evocative as it is subtle. The soundtrack, too, plays a crucial role. Hirayama’s cassette tapes serve as both a narrative device and an emotional anchor, connecting his inner world to the external one. Music by Patti Smith and other iconic artists punctuates the film, adding layers of texture to its already rich tapestry. Perhaps the most striking aspect of the film’s aesthetic is its pacing. Wenders allows scenes to breathe, giving the audience time to absorb the details. This unhurried approach mirrors Hirayama’s rhythm, reinforcing the idea that beauty lies in the pause, in the act of lingering.
At its core, Perfect Days is a love letter to light. In Hirayama’s world, light is not just a means of seeing but a source of healing and creation. It travels through space to sculpt forms and shadows, revealing the contours of a world that is constantly in flux. This idea resonates with Wenders’ broader philosophy as a filmmaker. His work often explores the interplay between light and time, suggesting that the act of seeing is inherently tied to the act of living. In Perfect Days, this philosophy finds its purest expression. Light becomes a metaphor for resilience, for the ability to find beauty even in chaos.
While Perfect Days is deeply personal, it also offers a quiet critique of modern life. Tokyo, with its bustling streets and towering skyscrapers, serves as a backdrop to Hirayama’s journey. Yet the film is not about the city’s grandeur; it is about its hidden corners, its overlooked moments. Hirayama’s life is a counterpoint to the relentless pace of urban modernity. He finds solace in what others might dismiss as insignificant. This perspective feels particularly urgent in today’s world, where distraction and noise often drown out the subtler rhythms of existence.
Perfect Days is a film that lingers. It lingers in its pacing, in its visuals, and, most importantly, in the viewer’s mind. It challenges us to reconsider what we value, and to find meaning in the everyday. Through Hirayama, Wenders reminds us that the perfect day is not about grand gestures or monumental achievements. It is about presence, about seeing the world as it is and finding joy in its smallest details. Wim Wenders has created a cinematic poem, one that celebrates the healing power of light and the quiet beauty of a life well-lived. As the credits roll, I am left with a simple but profound question: What would my own perfect day look like?