The film doesn't romanticize poverty or labor. Hirayama has a choice. He could be a corporate drone. He chooses instead to be a custodian of small spaces, finding dignity in doing one thing perfectly.
This is the structure of . The first "2023" is the calendar year. The second "2023" is the spiritual repetition. Each day is a mirror of the last, but with tiny, imperceptible variations.
The film’s secret weapon is its structure. Hirayama lives by a rigid, beautiful routine: Perfect Days -2023-2023
We meet Hirayama, played with heartbreaking subtlety by Kōji Yakusho (who won the Best Actor prize at Cannes for this role). Hirayama wakes up before dawn to the sound of a woman sweeping the street outside his modest apartment. He brushes his teeth, trims his mustache, waters his tiny ferns, and climbs into his van.
He drives a van adorned with a ladder and cleaning supplies, listening to cassette tapes—The Animals, Lou Reed, Patti Smith, Nina Simone—that serve as the soundtrack to his labor. His job? Cleaning public toilets in the Shibuya district of Tokyo. The film doesn't romanticize poverty or labor
These intrusions suggest that Hirayama’s simplicity is perhaps a choice made after a complicated past. He is not naive; he is someone who has actively simplified his life to find peace. He is a modern-day monk, his uniform his robes, his toilet cleaning his meditation.
Wenders is playing a long game. He wants you to notice the texture of concrete, the way steam rises from a noodle bowl, the sound of a cassette tape clicking into place. He wants you to realize that Hirayama isn't trapped in his routine—he is liberated by it. He chooses instead to be a custodian of
The narrative structure reflects this routine. The film presents a series of "perfect days," cyclical yet distinct. We see the seasons change subtly; the light shifts, the trees grow. The repetition is not boring; it is grounding. It forces the viewer to align their internal clock with Hirayama’s, finding comfort in the ritual.