Perfect Days: A Romanticized Fantasy Through Rose-Colored Glasses

Written before the article:

This article was originally written in Mandarin and translated into English with the assistance of ChatGPT, followed by my revisions.

Originally titled "《我的完美日常》，一場浪漫化的虛幻夢境," you can check the article at the following link:

《我的完美日常》，一場浪漫化的虛幻夢境

 Ⅰ. A Romanticized Fantasy

In the Collider Interviews, Wim Wenders discusses his approach to directing "Perfect Days":

“I think most everyday routines of people in movies are not nice, and I wanted his everyday routine to be gorgeous, and I wanted you to want to live like this, so what about you now?”

 —Wim Wenders & Koji Yakusho, *Collider Interviews*.

Through Wenders' description, I form my opinion about "Perfect Days": the director forgoes character development and emotional arcs to present a fairytale-like portrayal of Hirayama, a public toilet cleaner, showcasing his glamorous, minimalist lifestyle through a rose-colored lens.

As a result, "Perfect Days" primarily reflects the director's vision and artistic choices.

 "Since they didn't ask him anything about a terrapin, he did not bring it up."

 —Patricia Highsmith, *The Terrapin*.

Patricia Highsmith's short story "The Terrapin" is briefly mentioned in the film. The boy Victor in the story, and Hirayama, share similar backgrounds, with overbearing parents who pressure them significantly. Just as Hirayama cries after meeting his sister Keiko in the film, as a viewer, you realize that Hirayama’s inner “terrapin” still stirs beneath the facade of a tranquil life.

Furthermore, I believe that a key factor in the widespread acclaim for "Perfect Days" is our inability, as viewers, to resist evaluating the film through our cultural perspectives. The curiosity and voyeuristic mindset lead people to consider "Perfect Days," which does not pursue "dramatic climaxes," as flawless, perhaps viewing it as a precious escape and solution in today's society.

Ⅱ. 《Perfect Days》Summary

"Perfect Days" depicts the life of Hirayama, a cleaner of public toilets in Shibuya City, Tokyo. over twelve days and nights. From waking up to the sound of sweeping outside his window to turning off the lights after reading a few pages of a book, director Wim Wenders and screenwriter Takuma Takasaki collaboratively crafted Hirayama's daily routines. Actor Koji Yakusho brings the character to life through detailed actions and body language, portraying a man who does not live for fame and fortune but focuses on the present, appreciating and being moved by the "sunlight filtering through the leaves" (木漏れ日, komorebi).

In addition to the visible daily life, "Perfect Days" also presents Hirayama's daily dreams. The black-and-white, fragmented images shot and edited by Donata Wenders reflect and summarize Hirayama's day, occasionally flashing past memories and serving as a metaphor and capture of “Komorebi."

Hirayama's daily life is far from dull or monotonous, with frequent human-induced ripples breaking the routine. These include unfulfilled love and the sudden resignation of his former colleague Takashi, the unexpected visit from his runaway niece Niko, Takashi's love interest Aya who serendipitously falls in love with cassette tape music, the mama-san (ママさん, credited as "Mama" on IMDB, played by Sayuri Ishikawa) who visits a small bar weekly, and her terminally ill ex-husband. At the 2023 New York Film Festival, Koji Yakusho explained his acting approach and summarized the film:

"There were very few lines in this beautiful script, but to get closer to the character, I just thought about how he cleans these toilets every day. He goes to the forest and eats his sandwich, takes a bath and then goes home, reads a book that he loves, and goes to sleep.

So thinking about this man and just pondering who he was during the shoot was really where I did a majority of the work that you (moderator) were asking me about, but as Takuma said this was like a documentary in a way because there were no rehearsals we would just go straight into shooting takes, it was as if I was living as him.

 As we were shooting I knew that every moment would not be repeated so I just cherished every moment, and I think that’s what you see on screen."

—Koji Yakusho and Takuma Takasaki on *Perfect Days*, NYFF61

Ⅲ. On the Film's Genre and the Manifestation of the Artist's Intent

Both the director and the screenwriter have described "Perfect Days" as a "documentary" in interviews. Wim Wenders specifically mentioned that after seeing Koji Yakusho's deeply immersive performance, he believed he was filming Hirayama in a "documentary manner," allowing the "actor to become the film" (quoted from "Wim Wenders & Koji Yakusho - Collider Interviews").

Takuma Takasaki stated that during the early stages of writing the script, he discussed with the director the concept of "depicting a fictional character in a documentary style," while also focusing on constructing information that might not necessarily be seen on the screen (quoted from "Koji Yakusho and Takuma Takasaki Discuss 'Perfect Days' - 61st New York Film Festival").

In this article, I have no intention of discussing the form of "Perfect Days" as determined by the creators, nor is it the purpose of this article to define its "genre." My view on the form of the film aligns with the following quote: rather than rigidly defining genres, it is often more worthwhile to study and discuss the work itself:

"The distinction between documentary and fictional film is not so clear-cut; the two actually have a lot in common and share similar qualities."

Lee, Daw-ming. "Redefining 'What Is Documentary': Contemplating on Hybrid Forms of Documentaries and Fiction Films." Taipei Theatre Journal, no. 10, 2009, pp. 79-109.

What truly interests me is how the creators, within the limitations of the subject matter, after writing the script, injecting their personal perspectives, and making a series of artistic choices and directions regarding music, actors' emotions, character backgrounds, symbols, etc., still believe that "Perfect Days" can be considered a "representation and realization of reality," faithfully presenting "almost real characters," untainted by personal bias, and thus expecting the audience to be deeply moved by the film's "realistic depiction."

 Ⅳ.The Origin Story of Perfect Days: THE TOKYO TOILET Project

The Tokyo Toilet project is the origin of Wim Wenders' creation of "Perfect Days." Initiated and funded by the Japanese non-profit organization, The Nippon Foundation, this art and social innovation project invites 16 renowned architects to renovate public toilets to harmonize with their environment, transforming them into cultural and artistic landmarks. The Nippon Foundation specifically pointed out that the purpose of the project is to embrace and accept people's differences and to overturn users' negative impressions of public toilets.

 "The Tokyo Toilet project is recreating public toilets at 17 locations in Shibuya, Tokyo, as a step toward achieving a society that embraces diversity."

— From The Nippon Foundation's introduction to the Tokyo Toilet project.

The Tokyo Toilet project goes beyond renovating buildings. They also collaborate with many visual artists. Photographers such as Daido Moriyama(森山大道), Satoshi Nagare(永禮賢), and Yoko Takahashi(高橋ヨーコ) have each published a photography book titled "The Tokyo Toilet."

On the same day as the Japanese premiere of "Perfect Days," the Tokyo Toilet project also sponsored an exhibition featuring segments from the film's "dream sequences." Donata Wenders' exhibition, "Komorebi Dreams," focusing on the theme of "sunlight filtering through the leaves," officially opened.

(Original title: Komorebi Dreams: supported by The Tokyo Toilet Art Project / Master Mind. Note: Master Mind Ltd. is one of the production companies for "Perfect Days.")

“It may sound as though I am exaggerating, but no other photographer has used public restrooms in Japan as much as I have.”

 —Daido Moriyama's description of his photography book "The Tokyo Toilet."

This is my take. Given the transparency and good intentions behind the funding, it is indisputable that artists accept subsidies and create works according to specific themes and budgets. However, once artists start claiming that their choice of subject matter is bold and unprecedented, or deliberately obscure the source and influence of the funding, the "artistic value" and "core values" of their work need to be scrutinized.

Of course, unlike Daido Moriyama's self-description, Wim Wenders has never downplayed the connection between "Perfect Days" and the Tokyo Toilet project. Wenders candidly mentioned in interviews that his first reaction to the invitation was that the "theme was not feasible." After further understanding the project's goals, the collaboration with artists and architects, and an on-site visit to Japan, he was inspired by the Japanese people's "post-pandemic" respect for the city. He then accepted the invitation and began production, attempting to create a feature film that conveys a broader theme of "respect" beyond the simple act of cleaning toilets, a film that the world could learn from this "spirit of respect" (quoted from "Wim Wenders & Koji Yakusho - Collider Interviews").

As for whether "Perfect Days" successfully conveys its intentions—translating the director's observations and learnings about the "post-pandemic" world in Japan—I believe this relates to the real-world trend of people still "attempting" to return to normal life, accumulating resources, and expanding consumption. In the world of "Perfect Days", there is no pandemic, even if there’s, its impact is almost invisible.   

The concepts of "respect" and "post-pandemic" seem more like simple sources of inspiration rather than profound themes. However, I think this is a common shortcoming in many works post-2020 and should not diminish the creators' intentions and efforts.

Ⅴ. How to Create a Fantasy

Hirayama's focus on his work, his attention to cleaning details, and even the meticulous checks of the bidet toilet functions—TOTO Ltd. being one of the Tokyo Toilet project's partners—indeed, these scenes sincerely depict the cleaning work environment. As a viewer, knowing the background information about the Tokyo Toilet project as an art creation to promote its concept does not diminish the film's sincere portrayal of the craftsman's attitude.  

However, if we use these meticulous depictions of the work environment to praise the uniqueness of the cinematography in "Perfect Days" and ignore any promotional intentions. I think it would be a disrespect and disregard for the Tokyo Toilet project's purpose.

So, how does Wim Wenders himself use these ‘’specific themes, budgets, and subjects? 

By showcasing a beautiful daily life, creating a feature film that the world can learn from this "spirit of respect," working in a documentary-like manner, and letting the actor become the film...

” So what about you now?”  

That’s right. I believe "Perfect Days" is Wim Wenders' promotion of his personal "perfect dream," meticulously crafted from characters, events, times, places, and objects, with traces of the director's careful construction, or attempts to subtly obscure subjects.

 1. Character 

 (1) Hirayama

Hirayama leads an elegant, cultured life.

From waking up early to carefully tending to his bonsai (盆栽), listening to 1960s and 1970s cassette tapes during his commute, capturing tree shadows with a film camera during lunch breaks, and reading literature by authors such as William Faulkner, Aya Kōda, and Patricia Highsmith before bed, Hirayama's lifestyle closely mirrors Renée Michel, the concierge in Muriel Barbery's 2006 novel "The Elegance of the Hedgehog." The three notable differences are that Hirayama does not hide his cultured life, has no cat named Leo, and his reserved nature prevents the audience from understanding his appreciation of beauty and the rich inner world through dialogue.

On his days off, Hirayama brings a newly purchased Aya Kōda novel to his regular small bar and shows it to the bar's hostess (mama-san, ママさん).

 Mama-san: "Is this an essay?"

Hirayama: "Have you read it?"

 Mama-san: "Mr. Hirayama is very knowledgeable."

Hirayama smiles faintly at the comment and does not respond further.

Beyond his cultured lifestyle, Hirayama’s daily necessities are as simple as possible. A can of vending machine coffee in the morning, a regular convenience store sandwich with milk for lunch. After work, he switches to riding a bicycle, bathes at a sentō (銭湯), and eats dinner at a small, regular shop.

Regarding character development, Wim Wenders mentioned in an interview that while writing the script, he decided not to "fill in" the character's history but to leave clues for the audience to fill in the background, giving them more "room for speculation." For example, the background of his sister (who has a driver, questioning Hirayama’s job), the conflict with his father, and Hirayama's "interests" suggest that he is not a cleaner born into the profession but likely comes from a more privileged family background (quoted from "Wim Wenders & Koji Yakusho - Collider Interviews").

I sincerely hope to believe that these clues Wenders left about Hirayama's background are meant solely to highlight Hirayama's "choices." Hirayama "chooses" his current life, and Hirayama "chooses" to sustain himself through cleaning work.

However, romanticizing the protagonist's "choices," and explicitly stating that Hirayama’s "interests" differ from common perceptions of cleaners, inadvertently reinforces negative stereotypes about cleaning jobs—unless this is precisely Wenders' intention.

It is indeed a negative career choice, but did you see how Hirayama responded to his sister's questioning tone with a brief but clear smile and nod, conveying self-affirmation and confidence? You should take pride in this.

 ” So what about you now?”  

(2)’’Female’’ Characters

This may be an overly harsh critique, but when almost all the "female" characters in a film or any artistic work exist solely as objects of the male gaze or sources of male inspiration, I find it difficult to give the work a positive evaluation, and vice versa.

If a work explicitly states that its purpose is to celebrate desire, expressing a preference for a particular gender in a personal manner, as long as it does not degrade or objectify in a derogatory way, I see no issue with it. However, if a work does not have this stated purpose but clearly conveys a differential treatment of genders or merely uses certain gender characters as foils or catalysts for the actions of another gender, this is something I would strongly criticize.

Indeed, the women in "Perfect Days" are not born to please Hirayama or other men, but they invariably become the targets of Hirayama's and the creators' gaze, reflecting on themselves.

Aya, played by Aoi Yamada, works at a hostess bar and is pursued by Hirayama's colleague Takashi (played by Tokio Emoto). One day, the three of them sit together in Hirayama's car. Aya rummages through Hirayama's collection in the car and asks if she can listen to one of his tapes.

As Patti Smith's "Redondo Beach" plays, Hirayama carefully observes Aya's expression, seemingly to determine whether she likes it.

： She was the victim of sweet suicide——

Aya becomes immersed in the music, humming along.

"Redondo Beach" describes a woman who, after arguing with the singer, drowns herself, leaving the singer to cope with the grief of their eternal separation.

Although Patti Smith shared that the song's inspiration came from a fight with her sister, the absence of clear gender pronouns for the "singer" in the lyrics led fans, with Smith's support, to widely interpret "Redondo Beach" as a song about a lesbian couple separated by death.

 "Redondo Beach is a beach where women love other women.”

Whether it's the 1975 live recording of Patti Smith's "Horses" album or various performances from 1976 in Stockholm to 2022 in Karlin, Prague, Smith emphasized the inclusivity and unbiased nature of love in her lyrics:

 "Redondo Beach is a beach where everybody loves other everybody.”

"Women loving women, people loving each other" is how the first verse of "Redondo Beach” a lot of time begins. Despite the song's sorrowful content, for fans, it remains a pure love song without judgment or bias.

Perhaps this is what Wenders meant by "leaving clues for the audience to fill in the background." In "Perfect Days”, "Redondo Beach" lacks the overt representation of women or people in love, instead subtly presenting Aya's contemplation of the music and Takashi's persistent pursuit of Aya, even though there is no evident chemistry between them.

Later, Aya listens to "Redondo Beach" again with Hirayama. Apart from asking Hirayama if Takashi had disclosed why their relationship couldn't develop, the camera focuses on Aya's face, revealing her sadness and disappointment upon seeing Hirayama's indescribable expression. They do not converse further.

As the music ends, Aya unexpectedly kisses Hirayama. She hurriedly leaves Hirayama, and the film. The kiss occurred after Takashi asked the unmarried Hirayama if he felt lonely during work.

Afterward, Hirayama goes to the bathhouse as usual, smiles while soaking in the bath, and later naps in his room while listening to Lou Reed's "Perfect Day."

 Just a perfect day

 Drink sangria in a park

And then later

When it gets dark we go home

Just a perfect day

Feed animals in the zoo

And then later a movie, too

And then home.’’

"Perfect Day" was written by Lou Reed after spending a day in Central Park with his then-fiancée, Bettye Kronstad. The song's simple lyrics capture the tranquility and the romance found in everyday moments shared by lovers.

The juxtaposition of "Redondo Beach" and "Perfect Day" deepens the regret, seemingly reinforcing gender role stereotypes. Aya's tragedy is forgotten, while Hirayama's joy is emphasized.

One might ask, if "Aya" were a male character, would Hirayama's reaction be the same? Additionally, if Wenders intended to express admiration and affection, would a kiss (with the director’s blessing, allowing me to fill in the background) be the only way for a possibly queer woman to convey goodwill toward the opposite sex?  

Aya and Hirayama's interaction raises doubts about whether the director intentionally or unintentionally emphasized "heterosexual" attraction while neglecting other possible forms of emotional expression.

Undeniably, the film subtly portrays "women's fading and being eroded by time." These women are used to contrast with Hirayama's life, reflecting Wenders' desire to make Hirayama's life as beautiful as possible, as mentioned in interviews. These fleeting women seem to commend Hirayama for finding his footing amidst change, yet they inevitably vanish with the flow of time.

(1)At the film's beginning, a mother rudely takes her lost child from Hirayama's hands, her anxiety and disgust completely ignoring Hirayama.

(2)Mama-san murmured, "Why isn't there anything in this world that doesn't change?"

(3)During lunch, Hirayama notices a nearby female office worker. Her lifeless, exhausted expression and posture make Hirayama very uneasy.

(4)Is it a coincidence? The film uses "women's voices to evaluate women" a couple of times.

(5)The bookstore owner says, "Aya Kōda should be more famous. Although her writing is ordinary, it is still original." "Patricia Highsmith understands anxiety very well. She clearly points out that anxiety and fear are not the same thing."

(6)After Hirayama expresses that he lives in a "world" very different from others in this diverse, closely connected yet unrelated society, his niece Niko asks, "What about me? In which world do I live?"

Hirayama does not answer.

To be more specific, I think that as a "man," Hirayama cannot answer, and as Hirayama himself, who is similar to Niko as "Victor," he cannot bear to answer.

 2. Creating Events

From the sudden departure of his colleague Takashi, the visit of his niece Niko, the meeting with his estranged sister, to witnessing the embrace between Mama-san and her terminally ill ex-husband, the creators added many drastic deviations to Hirayama's otherwise routine life over a few days.

There are also smaller changes. A game of tic-tac-toe hidden in the gap of a bathroom wall, a newly discovered sapling—these, as mentioned in the film's brief introduction, show that Hirayama's daily life is far from boring or monotonous, frequently disrupted by human-made ripples.

When all the changes are human-related, such as the car's fuel shortage being tied to Takashi, who borrow Hirayama's car, I found myself longing to see unexpected abnormalities in Hirayama's life without any apparent reason—perhaps a broken vending machine preventing his regular coffee consumption, or a particularly still day with no wind or rain, making it impossible for Hirayama to observe any flickering shadows of trees. I anticipated how Hirayama would respond to such situations, the unpredictability of nature.  

But in "Perfect Day", there are no non-human anomalies. Everything has a cause and must have an effect. Just like at the end of the movie, when Hirayama invites the bar Mama-san's ex-husband to observe the overlapping shadows in the dark, questioning whether the colors deepen, Hirayama says:

 "Colors need to be deeper to have meaning."  

I think it was after Hirayama said, "Colors need to be deeper to have meaning," that I began to doubt the creators' frequent emphasis in interviews that "Hirayama is already satisfied with his life."

Hirayama clearly expects that life should accumulate meaning. In the movie, "accumulation" does not refer to material wealth, fame, or fortune. "Daily life" must have meaning to be justified.

Certainly, a satisfied person can still have expectations, desiring each moment of life to reveal more value. Quoting Albert Camus, humans seek meaning and order in a world without a clear purpose or ultimate answers. Though such behavior is absurd, we should find freedom in the absurd and create our meaning.

 ‘’ We must imagine Sisyphus happy.‘’

 —Albert Camus,* The Myth of Sisyphus*

Alright, I think what Wim Wenders might be conveying to the audience is: "We must imagine Hirayama is actually happy and content." As for whether Hirayama himself is truly happy and content, it probably does not matter much to the creators.

3. Metaphors of Time and Emphasis on Place

The creators added numerous metaphors and hints about the passage of time in Hirayama's world. Examples include Hirayama's amazement upon seeing Niko (which seems like a typical reaction when an adult sees a child after a long absence), the neatly stored photo boxes in the closet labeled by month, and an elderly person standing in a residential area next to a space covered with a waterproof sheet, asking Hirayama, "Do you remember what used to be here?" and then answering himself:

"We're all getting old."

For a film that tries to capture and celebrate "Komorebi," these details constantly remind the audience that while you can strive to live in the present, time inevitably slips away, and the passage of time changes everything. "Perfect Day" is also replete with analogies and contrasts. The director's binary portrayal of gender seems to influence his perception of the past and present, new and old, rise and fall, and decay. The film frequently cuts to shots of the Tokyo Skytree, and the "young" Niko is even given a line:

 "Is that the Skytree?"

Of course, I can't be 100% sure of the Japanese public's familiarity with the Skytree, but "Is that the Skytree?" sounds more like a question one might expect from someone from afar (in this case, a German director).

Aside from reinforcing that Hirayama lives in an urban jungle, a technologically advanced society, perhaps lonely but not alone (and reminding us dozens of times that this is Tokyo), as a fellow foreigner, I found it hard to find a more meaningful explanation for the frequent shots of the Skytree.

 4. Embellishing Objects

 (1) Wim Wenders' Music Playlist

Music undoubtedly serves as both an inspiration and a storytelling medium for Wim Wenders. In an interview, Wenders mentioned that from the early stages of writing the script, Nina Simone's "Feeling Good" was a crucial element guiding the script:

‘’It’s always good to have some sort of word in front of the script that summarizes a little bit your intention, and everything was in these words by Nina Simone.‘’

—Wim Wenders & Koji Yakusho, *Collider Interviews*.

Wenders also emphasized that all the music featured in the film was finalized during the shooting, with no additions or changes made during post-production.

As for how he decided on the music tracks, Wenders provided an intriguing answer.

‘’Well, we figured in his biography——that you do not know——when he decided to live a different life, he didn’t need much from his previous life.

 But he remembered the time in his life when he really loved music, and when music meant a lot to him, and never again afterward.

 And that was when he was young, in the '70s. So, he remembered that in the attic, he still had that old cassette recorder and this whole suitcase full of cassettes. He got it done, and that was all he needed as music in any way.’’

 —Wim Wenders & Koji Yakusho, *Collider Interviews*.

This response highlights several key points:

 (1)The entire suitcase of tapes is a cherished collection from Hirayama's youth, which is why all the music comes from the 1960s and 1970s.

(2)For Hirayama, music serves more as a tool for reminiscing about past moments of happiness. This likely explains why he has no interest in discovering new music. Further speculating, I even think that Hirayama might no longer be "moved by music" at this stage in his life; instead, he listens to music as a practice to cherish past memories.

 (3)Of course, the reason why "music no longer brings him the same emotional impact" is likely related to his conflicts with his father and the pressures of life. This doesn't mean that Hirayama has completely lost the ability to appreciate music.

 (4)For Hirayama, each piece of music is not merely a "summary of the present" but a blend of past memories. These "past memories" are what the director refers to as a secret autobiography and a test of the actor's skill.

 (5)Lastly, it is undoubtedly true that Hirayama's magical tape collection is actually "Wenders' personal selection."

Having a "personal selection" appear in the film is entirely reasonable and, in my view, a creative approach worthy of admiration and emulation. It signifies a creator's balanced approach to multimedia creation. However, when a creator claims, "My thinking is entirely based on the character's needs," or emphasizes, "This is not my personal opinion; it's the protagonist's voice," my appreciation for this balanced approach is slightly diminished.

Both Wenders and Takuma Takasaki have repeatedly stated that they only used music Hirayama would listen to; all the music was arranged according to Hirayama's thoughts and not merely as background. When Takuma Takasaki was asked how he responded to the film's music having a distinct atmosphere and sense of era, he reiterated that the selected music was always aligned with Hirayama's life, not just for generating commentary or creating a deliberate mood. (From "Yakusho Koji and Takuma Takasaki Discuss 'Perfect Days' - 61st New York Film Festival")

Given this, I can only praise Hirayama for being exceptionally good at timing his music choices, with each song perfectly matching the time of day. From waking up in the morning and heading to work with "House of the Rising Sun," to the afternoon's "Redondo Beach," the late night's "Walkin’ Thru the Sleepy City," and "Brown Eyed Girl" listened to with Niko—songs that capture both the morning and the brown-eyed girl. If the creators could openly say, "Yes, this is the playlist I chose for Hirayama. The music is part of my creation, my way of setting and interpreting the atmosphere," such honesty would make the audience feel the sincerity of the creation.

Emphasizing that it's "the character's choice" inevitably brings to mind the creator's obsession with the "documentary" style, as well as a sense of detachment and control over the character. Does Hirayama really feel good listening to Wenders' inspiration, Nina Simone? Does he truly believe "It's a new dawn. It's a new day. It's a new life for me"?

We must imagine Hirayama as actually happy and content.

(2) The Metaphor of "The Terrapin"

One morning, Niko reads Patricia Highsmith's collection of short stories, and shares with Hirayama, "I feel like I can really relate to Victor in the story."

Hirayama does not respond directly to Niko's comment, and the two head out to work together, as they did the previous day.

In the evening, Hirayama's sister Keiko comes to pick Niko up from Hirayama's place.

 Niko: (If I go back with Mom.) I will become like Victor.

 Hirayama: No, you won’t.

Victor is the boy from Patricia Highsmith's "The Terrapin." After enduring long-term pressure and conflict with his mother, Victor ultimately kills her and is seen at the end of the story undergoing examination in a medical facility.

The terrapin is an “ingredient" that Victor's mother buys for cooking. Amidst their conflict (during which his mother slaps Victor after a barrage of words and information), Victor initially believes the terrapin is a pet his mother bought for him. However, upon learning the turtle's fate, he accepts it and tries to cherish the brief time he has with it, even planning to show it off to friends before it becomes stew.  

Victor has always been aware of the turtle's fate. The breaking point comes when his mother disregards his plea to "at least wait until tomorrow" and kills the terrapin without warning, just as she has done repeatedly with her cruelty and mockery since he was conscious.

In his mind, Victor undoubtedly equates himself with the terrapin, realizing his mother sees him as merely an extension of herself to praise, belittle, mock, or vent on, with no real care for him. The mother's pressure and cruelty likely stem from deeper emotional confusion.

If Victor had not lashed out, if he had followed his mother's chaotic expectations, I believe Wenders’ depiction of Hirayama in "Perfect Life" is inspired by a grown-up Victor from "The Terrapin."

Apart from similar backgrounds (a dominant parental figure, and a living situation that is neither lavish nor lacking, as inferred from brief conversations with his sister Keiko), both have a preference for books, contemplation, and static hobbies, which are misunderstood by their caregivers. They have developed a quiet demeanor and hide their sadness or anger to protect themselves (Hirayama cries after Keiko leaves and also at the movie's end). Both care for and cherish small animals or plants (the terrapin and Hirayama's bonsai), and both ultimately break free from parental constraints in extreme ways.

Hirayama is a manifestation of Victor. With the director's subtle approval, allow me to further speculate again.

Niko also has a bit of Victor in her. This is why Hirayama cannot or will not clearly answer some of her questions. The "terrapin" in Niko's heart has not yet driven her to lose reason or make extreme choices. Though Hirayama senses the anomaly, he neither points it out nor encourages it.

In "The Terrapin," there is a description of how Victor cries in a way that his mother won’t notice:

(Victor buried his face in the pillow, closed his eyes tightly, and opened his mouth, crying in a manner he had practiced many times.)

 ’‘With his mouth open, his throat tight, not breathing for nearly a minute, he could somehow get the satisfaction of crying, screaming even, without anybody knowing it.’’

 —Patricia Highsmith, *The Terrapin*.

At the end of the film, does Hirayama feel good, with no need to hide his tears? Is the future bright, or is it as the final lines of "The Terrapin" suggest: "Because they asked no questions about the terrapin, he (Victor) did not bring it up"? Is he still avoiding and hiding because no one asks?

 (3) Photography as a Quasi-Spiritual Practice

Hirayama only takes out his film camera during lunch break, photographing sunlight filtering through the leaves of the same tree. On his days off, he develops the photos, buys a new roll of film, tears up the less satisfactory photos, and stores the ones he wants to keep in a metal box.

Is Hirayama practicing a form of spiritual cultivation, or is he simply capturing the beauty of "komorebi" (sunlight filtering through trees)?

Or perhaps Hirayama has no specific goal and is merely "recording," similar to Tehching Hsieh's "One Year Performance 1980-1981," also known as the "Time Clock Piece." The essence of clocking in may be meaningless, but the act itself is a dedication and commitment to art.  

I think it's fair to conclude that regardless of the interpretation, "photography" in "Perfect Daily" stands in stark contrast to everyday life. Unless your hobby is running a niche community sharing daily tree shadows, Hirayama's approach to photography is quite different from that of typical enthusiasts.

Wenders' description of Hirayama discovering his "cassette collection" also reminds me of how Hirayama stores his photography works. Could it be that the photos of tree shadows filling his cabinet, like the music of the past, no longer move Hirayama in the present? Perhaps he continues to collect them in anticipation of one day "bringing them out," just as he decided on his new life by "bringing out the cassettes, which was all the music he needed."

(4)Bonsai, Komorebi—Hirayama's Contradiction

Hirayama captures the sunlight filtering through the leaves (komorebi) with his eyes and meticulously cares for his bonsai at home. While I believe the bonsai represents Hirayama's gentle care for the "terrapin" in his heart, I can't help but see a fundamental contradiction between bonsai and komorebi. These actions, though seemingly harmonious, reflect the inner conflict and tension within Hirayama.

As an outsider to the culture, I have a complex view of bonsai. Through meticulous care and pruning, maintaining a thriving miniature natural landscape, bonsai can be seen as a form of control and careful management of nature. It also symbolizes a reverence for and protection of the past to some extent.  

On the other hand, komorebi—the sunlight filtering through the leaves—represents the fleeting beauty of the present moment. The contrast between these two reflects Hirayama's inner struggle between the past and the present. He cares for the bonsai (the fragile terrapin in his heart that cannot be eradicated but can be soothed through care), and collects books and cassettes, all of which can be seen as a longing for the past. At the same time, he yearns for the gentle and transient beauty of sunlight filtering through the leaves.

This contradiction continually manifests in his daily life. Hirayama's reverence for and protection of the past, juxtaposed with his desire for the beauty of the present, creates a subtle yet persistent inner conflict.

Looking on the bright side, the inclusion of bonsai and komorebi elements might symbolize Hirayama's attempt to reconcile with the past. Finding a balance between bonsai and komorebi could be the first step toward achieving inner peace.

 Ⅵ. Through Rose-Colored Glasses

Constructing Dreams and Guiding the Audience

After constructing a dreamlike world and its inhabitants, Wim Wenders goes beyond merely showcasing. He further guides the audience's gaze and interpretation.

How does he achieve this?

1. Emotional Guidance for Actors

Regarding Hirayama's emotions, Kōji Yakusho stated in an interview:

 “So Wim’s direction really was a little bit different from what was in the script.

 Because in the script, there was nothing about Hirayama laughing, smiling, or getting angry, and so I just thought this was a character that didn’t really express all that much.

 But when Hirayama was leaving for work, he（the director） would say, 'Okay, there’s a moment where you kind of smile in this time,' and he said that a few times.

 Then there’s the moment where his coworker, the young guy, quits, and he said to me, 'Okay, when you call the office, this is when you’re the most angry in the whole film.'

 And I asked Takuma, the co-writer, 'Does he really get angry? Does this character really get angry like this?' And myself and Takuma were both kind of surprised by that.

But I realized after seeing the film that the advice is really what made him human and relatable.

And then I would say that this director here really told me to act freely during this shoot, and that was a really new experience for me.”

 —Wim Wenders & Koji Yakusho, *Collider Interviews*.

Concerning actors' performance methods, acting systems, and the ways directors interpret and guide actors, I have always believed that amid various techniques and theories, creators need not adhere strictly to a single doctrine. Instead, they should blend various elements to "season" a method that suits them best. Therefore, questioning an artist's method seems "ungenerous" to me. Just as everyone's taste buds differ, a mismatch in preferences doesn't entitle critics or creators to completely discredit each other's techniques.

What interests me more is why a creator employs a specific method and what their purpose is. Kōji Yakusho's response leads me to pose several questions:

The necessity of emotional expression: Imagine if the director's instructions for smiling and anger were removed—would Kōji Yakusho's performance and Hirayama's life instantly become bland or devoid of humanity, failing to resonate with the audience?  

I think the answer is clear: certainly not. Enhanced "emotional expression" serves more as a highlight rather than a transformation. After giving actors enough freedom to blend their characters with their traits, the director delineates these highlights to suit their artistic choices and designs them to guide the viewer's perspective. This is the director's unique recipe, combining elements of Method Acting and Classical Acting.

Actors don't necessarily need to fully understand the nuances of the emotions because the purpose of the method is to convince and "condition" the audience. Hirayama's smile before leaving the house signifies his anticipation and satisfaction with the new day; the morning after Niko leaves, Hirayama's small sigh replaces his smile. As viewers who have seen Hirayama's morning smile at least six or seven times, we subconsciously or unconsciously immediately grasp the profound impact of Niko's departure on Hirayama.

 (1) The Necessity of Emotional Expression

Imagine if the director's instructions for smiling and anger were removed. Would Kōji Yakusho's performance and Hirayama's life instantly become bland, devoid of humanity, and fail to resonate completely?  

I think the answer is obvious: certainly not. Enhanced "emotional expression" serves more as a highlight rather than a transformation. After giving actors enough freedom to blend their characters with their personal traits, the director delineates these highlights to suit their artistic choices and designs them to guide the viewer's perspective. This is the director's unique recipe, combining elements of Method Acting and Classical Acting.

Actors don't necessarily need to fully understand the nuances of the emotions because the purpose of the method is to convince and "condition" the audience. Hirayama's smile before leaving the house signifies his anticipation and satisfaction with the new day; the morning after Niko leaves, Hirayama's small sigh replaces his smile. As viewers who have seen Hirayama's morning smile at least six or seven times, we subconsciously or unconsciously immediately grasp the profound impact of Niko's departure on Hirayama.

 (2) The Purpose of the Smile—For Whom Does Hirayama Smile?

Let's assume Hirayama is not a character but a real person brought to life from the movie.

"Try to smile," a photographer, who we assume is documenting the "Tokyo Toilet Project," says to Hirayama.

If we interpret this positively, the photographer might simply believe that "a smiling Hirayama is more pleasing," thus encouraging him to smile more.

However, beneath this positive interpretation lies the invisible pressure to conform to the gaze, conceal true emotions, and disregard the burden of emotional labor.

A. Objectifying gaze

Deliberately creating emotions to serve the gaze of others reduces a person from being an independent individual to an object for others' appreciation.

 B. Concealment

Related to the gaze issue, concealing or downplaying genuine emotions to meet others' expectations or needs is almost a sign of disrespect for Hirayama's true feelings.

 C. Appearance

When inner feelings and genuine needs are ignored, and individuals are judged solely on appearance, they are objectified.

 D. Emotional labor

Managing emotions or altering expressions to meet expectations can cause potential stress and emotional exhaustion, which should be acknowledged as "labor fatigue."

 (3) Expressing Anger—The Fragility of a "Perfect Life"

This is a very personal take, but Hirayama's angriest moment in the film only made me feel the precarious and fragile nature of his perfect life.

What if the company can't assign a new worker the next day? Or applies pressure, forcing Hirayama to continue working overtime?

'It's a terrible work environment, and I can deeply empathize’’—perhaps aligning with Kōji Yakusho's description of making the character more relatable and human.

But what about Hirayama's life? Can he still maintain the "perfect daily life" depicted in the movie, or is it merely a respite? I can't help but feel anxious about Hirayama's life.

In the end, a simple "try to smile" or "show more anger" on the set can be just straightforward director's notes. However, reflecting on life choices and the director's portrayal of the "perfect life" through the film, I think it's always worth spending time on self-examination.

 2. Dream Silhouettes—"Hirayama's Life is Fulfilling"

Wim Wenders and Takuma Takasaki both mentioned in interviews that the black-and-white, fragmented "dream" scenes are summaries and reflections of Hirayama's daily life. Takasaki further elaborated:

 ‘’It wasn’t that he was forced to live that kind of existence; I believe that he chose to live that kind of life on his own.

 In terms of his daily existence, every day for him is fulfilling. I think that feeling is reflected in the dream sequences. That’s an expression of what he’s feeling.‘’

 —Koji Yakusho and Takuma Takasaki on *Perfect Days*, NYFF61

After exploring the film's elements from various aspects, I understand the creators' wish and expectation for Hirayama to have a fulfilling life. However, based on the film itself, I do not believe that Hirayama's life is truly "fulfilling."

Regarding whether the dreams express Hirayama's inner feelings, examining the 12 dream sequences in the film, besides the recurring shadows of trees (komorebi) and the light patterns created by moving vehicles, what stands out are the occasional "memory" images triggered by daily life. For example, after encountering the lost mother and child, the hand-holding scene appears in his dream; after listening to the mama-san singing, the silhouette of a woman appears; and when his routine is disrupted and he falls asleep exhausted after overtime, the dream features grid-like light patterns for the first time.

The simplest and most appropriate understanding of the dream scenes might be "what one thinks by day, one dreams by night."

Although unrelated to the film's content, Wenders' differing attitudes towards the music and dream sequences in the film are intriguing. Wenders meticulously selects each piece of music and even passionately states:

 ‘’ It’s always good to have some sort of word in front of the script that summarizes a little bit your intention, and everything was in these words by Nina Simone.‘’

However, regarding the creation of the dreams, the director said in an interview:

 "Because we were shooting for 16 days, we couldn’t possibly lose one second on dream stuff, so Donata with her two-woman crew—she was one of them—shot and edited all the dreams and did all these marvelous shots of the Komorebi and of the reflections of the day in his dreams every night."

—Wim Wenders & Koji Yakusho, *Collider Interviews*.  

Allow me to draw this bold conclusion: I believe that in Wenders' mind, since the "dreams" in the film are merely summaries, they are not as important as the music or Hirayama's daily life.  

I find this thought very regrettable, as dreaming might be Hirayama's freest moments, now reduced to mere notes on a perfect illusion.  

Fortunately, Donata Wenders' "Dreams of Sunlight Through Leaves" exhibition can stand alone, which somewhat restores a bit of freedom for Hirayama. (Maybe.)

(Unrelated to the film, a personal thought—when referring to other team members, if you would never emphasize their gender, such as saying, "This is my male screenwriter" or "This is the male actor I work with," but choose to refer to the female members of the same team as the "female team," it makes me uneasy. When the purpose is unrelated to promoting or acknowledging women's rights in the workplace, these terms imply a gender bias on the part of the speaker and reflect subtle stereotypes. I strongly believe that these terms, especially when used on public platforms, should be scrutinized and discussed, not dismissed as harmless language, even if the speaker's spouse is part of one such "team." From these small observations, it is not difficult to see where the binary attitudes towards gender in the film originate.)

3. A Dance Only Hirayama Sees—Dicing through the Romanticized Fantasy 

Min Tanaka, a dancer, plays a homeless in the film (note: according to the cast list on IMDb). He stretches and moves slowly in a park near the public restrooms, his movements reminiscent of quietly rooted grass in a dense forest, undisturbed by external influences, merging with the present sunlight. Hirayama always stops his work to quietly observe the homeless man's stretches.

In an interview, Kōji Yakusho expressed his admiration and appreciation for Min Tanaka and shared his thoughts on Hirayama observing the homeless:

  I would say Hirayama sees this homeless man, but maybe he actually doesn’t exist in reality.

 Most people see homeless people but pretend not to see them, and I think Hirayama is able to see him.

He has this special connection with him because this man sort of expresses Komorebi, which is the light that trickles through the leaves of the trees and casts a shadow.

 Through his dancing, he sort of expresses what Komorebi is.

 And so, I think Min Tanaka is an absolutely incredible dancer and actor, someone that I really respect deeply.‘’

 —Koji Yakusho and Takuma Takasaki on *Perfect Days*, NYFF61

Regardless of the homeless man's reality, no one in the film besides Hirayama pays attention to him, just as no one but Hirayama observes the Komorebi, except for a brief lunch scene with Niko.

Excluding all other film elements, the homeless man dancing in the creator's dreamscape, moving uninfluenced by any gaze or romantic fantasy, is, in my view, the only true perfection in "Perfect Days."

Ⅶ. Conclusion

Ultimately, the unfamiliarity with the culture and Hirayama's life is a key factor that leads viewers to romanticize the film.

During the viewing process, viewers cannot help but admire Hirayama's perseverance and his freedom from material constraints, comparing their own lives to his own. The to-do lists, urgent shopping needs, impending bills, and the overwhelming work or personal relationships—Hirayama "seemingly" does not have to worry about these.

Hirayama lives among people but without the noise of traffic and the hustle and bustle. How is this possible for Hirayama? Listening to tapes, observing Komorebi, and hiding the restless turtle in his heart, his soul finds peace in distant places.

"Perfect Days" is a metaphorically flawed, seemingly beautiful illusion of life. As a fellow viewer, I’m glad to see so many people reflect on their lives after watching the film, finding inner peace and a foothold in modern life. But please remember, this is ultimately a subjective creation of the artist, romanticizing and concealing the realities of many real-life Hirayamas.

We don't need "Perfect Days" to see Komorebi and to ponder, "So, how do you decide to live now?" May we all eventually reconcile with the terrapin in our hearts and quietly live in our own perfect days.