Wim Wenders’ Perfect Days is a meditative masterpiece that celebrates the quiet dignity of ordinary life. Set in Tokyo and anchored by a mesmerizing performance from Kōji Yakusho, the film follows Hirayama, a middle-aged man who works as a public toilet cleaner. What could easily have been a bleak portrait of routine becomes, instead, a luminous reflection on presence, solitude, and the beauty found in the seemingly mundane.

Hirayama’s life is one of ritual. He wakes early, listens to classic rock on cassette tapes, lovingly tends to his plants, and performs his cleaning duties with care and quiet pride. There is a peaceful rhythm to his days, captured with poetic simplicity by Wenders’ direction and Franz Lustig’s luminous cinematography. Tokyo is shown not as a bustling metropolis but as a series of intimate and contemplative spaces: alleyways, parks, and architecturally striking public toilets that Hirayama maintains with devotion.

What makes Perfect Days so affecting is its restraint. There is no dramatic plot and no soaring climax. Instead, Wenders invites us to slow down and notice the textures of life. The rustle of leaves, the play of sunlight, and the comfort of habit are all given time and space. The film echoes the Japanese aesthetic of wabi-sabi, which embraces the beauty of imperfection, transience, and simplicity.

Kōji Yakusho’s performance is the soul of the film. With minimal dialogue, he conveys a depth of inner life through the smallest gestures, such as a lingering glance or a barely perceptible smile. It is a masterclass in understatement and earned him the Best Actor award at Cannes for good reason.

Perfect Days is not a film for those seeking action or drama. It is a film to be felt more than followed. It offers a gentle invitation to sit with silence, to see with fresh eyes, and to find the extraordinary within the ordinary. In a world that moves too fast, Wenders offers a reminder that perfection may lie in the most imperfect and fleeting moments.