Melodic Mentorship: Wenders’ Influence on the Music of “PERFECT DAYS”

Music in Wim Wenders’ Films

Until a certain point in my life, the act of watching a Wim Wenders film had a significant meaning for me as an experience that included “listening to the gems of music that Wim Wenders selected and orchestrated. The rock and pop masterpieces scattered throughout his early films, such as “The Goalkeeper’s Fears,” “Alice in the City,” and “An American Friend,” served as the best introduction to the actual songs and artists used in the films, and also demonstrated how creative the existing music could be for the films. It was also a vivid reminder of the creative potential of existing music for film. The experience of immersing myself in the scores that great musicians such as Jürgen Knepper and Ry Cooder contributed to his films was also deeply moving, something I don’t often get from the work of other directors. In retrospect, one of the main reasons I am writing this series as a person who loves music and film equally is that I was fascinated by the brilliance of his films and the music that resonated within them.

His forthcoming new film, PERFECT DAYS, is a brilliant reintroduction to Wenders’s sound directorial genius, which I have somewhat forgotten of late. In fact, if I may be so bold as to say so, this film is a clear standout in his recent filmography, in which it must be said that he has continued to make films that are somehow awkward, and from a certain point of view, it is somewhat of a “return to his roots.

Exploring the Essence of Everyday Minimalism in Tokyo

This film is packed with noteworthy topics, the most notable of which is that it stars the famous actor Koji Yakusho and was filmed entirely in Tokyo. The film is based on the “THE TOKYO TOILET” project, a project to revitalize public toilets in Shibuya Ward with innovative designs.

The majority of the film is a routine depiction of Hirayama’s daily routine. Living in an old apartment in Oshiage overlooking the Tokyo Sky Tree, he wakes up at a certain time every morning and prepares himself in a certain order. After drinking the same can of coffee as usual, he gets into a small van packed with his work gear and takes his usual route to work. Once he arrives at the job site, he carefully and efficiently cleans the restrooms, just as he did yesterday and the day before. During his lunch break, he eats lunch in the precincts of the same shrine every day and captures the light and shadows pouring from the grove of trees with his old film camera. Some of the plants he grows at home seem to have been given to him from sprouts growing on the shrine grounds. He listens appropriately to the chatter of his young colleagues, but he is a quiet man. His colleagues call him eccentric, but on the other hand, he is strangely dependable.

When he finishes work, he goes straight home and immediately heads for the neighborhood bathhouse. He exchanges friendly glances with the old people who frequent the bathhouse, but he is still a man of few words. In the evening, he goes to his usual izakaya (Japanese-style pub) and enjoys dinner over a glass of chuhai. Before going to bed, he reads a paperback book, and when he starts to doze off, he turns off the light and goes to bed. Then he wakes up at the appointed time to the sound of the old woman across the street sweeping the path with a broom. It’s a repetition. Repeat, repeat, repeat. Repetition. On my days off, nothing unusual happens. I do my laundry at the laundromat, send the photos I have taken of the grove to be developed, buy a 100-yen paperback book at a used bookstore, and settle down at a tavern that I only visit on holidays. And that’s it, over and over again. Over and over again.

In other words, this is a “minimalism of everyday life” that shows the regular life of a city dweller, similar to Jim Jarmusch’s recent film “Paterson” or Chantal Akerman’s ambitious film “Jeanne Dielmann, 1080 Brussels, 23 rue des Commerces”. Jeanne Dielmann, 1080 Brussels, 23 Rue des Commerces, and others. The rhythm of these non-dramatic, calm, and slow moving images is reminiscent of a series of road movies that Wenders himself once set as a milestone. The subtle stoicism that pervades the entire film and the calm yet warm observation of the seemingly solitary characters also strongly suggest an aesthetic that is common to his works from the 1970s to the 1990s.

Protagonist’s Cassette Tapes Echoing with 1960s-1970s Classics

As indicated earlier, the use of music is also very effective and pleasing. Wenders, who is meticulous in his music selection each time he makes a film, carefully selected the best songs of the past this time as well, incorporating the opinions of Takuma Takasaki, who co-wrote the screenplay.

The songs used in the film are as follows

The Animals “House of the Rising Sun”, The Velvet Underground “Pale Blue Eyes”, Otis Redding “(Sittin’ On) The Dock Of The Bay”, Patti Smith “Redondo Beach”, Lou Reed “Perfect Day “, The Rolling Stones “(Walkin’ Thru The) Sleepy City”, Sachiko Kanenobu “Blue Fish”, The Kinks “Sunny Afternoon”, Van Morrison “Brown Eyed Girl”, Nina Simone “Feeling Good “.

Longtime Wenders fans will be thrilled with this list. Lou Reed (and The Velvet Underground) is a special one that he has long admired, and even had Lou Reed himself play himself in “Palermo Shooting” (in 2008). Van Morrison is no different, and has been a deep admirer since the beginning of his career. The Kinks are also one of the director’s favorite rock bands, and he has dedicated an entire film to them in the past (1971’s “Summer in the City”), not to mention using them in the film.

Another pleasant surprise for Japanese audiences is the use of music by Kinko Kananobu. When we had a chance to interview Kinnen herself, we asked her how she came to use the song, and she told us that Wenders and Takasaki had long been fans of “Blue Fish” and the album “Misora,” which contains the song, and that is why they decided to use the song.

It is also important to note that these songs are not used as accompaniment to the film, but rather as “in” sounds, that is, they are actually played in the film. They are all on cassette tapes in Hirayama’s collection, and are played from his car stereo as he passes along a set route on his way to work. In other words, the music is played in connection with the personal experiences of the characters. This method of using music to evoke an intimacy that directly touches the private space of the characters has become commonplace today, but it is a method that Wenders himself practiced and refined in his early films in the 1970s. The overlap of the intimate sphere projected on the screen and the images/memories associated with these songs held by the individual viewers doubly encourages the narrative of the film as a result. The film’s “return to its roots” can be seen in the fact that the filmmakers themselves have reached a level of maturity in this technique, which from today’s perspective can even be considered “model” in a sense.

It’s an admittedly Elevated Moive

The various fragments of “culture” that appear in this film, not only music but also various works of fiction (William Faulkner’s “The Wild Palm”, Fumi Koda’s “The Tree”, Patricia Highsmith’s “11 Stories”) and old Japanese film cameras, seem to have a certain, perhaps even a bit distasteful In fact, the film is critical of the film from such an aspect.

In fact, there are many who criticize the film from this aspect. It has been pointed out that the film’s focus on and praise of Hirayama’s fictional stoicism and the protagonist’s cultured, cultured, and cultured “solitary” persona has led to its depiction functioning merely as cultural symbols and signs, and that the filmmakers may be self-sufficient in this regard. This seems reasonable to me. More to the point, it is difficult to dismiss the criticism that the film does not escape the taste for highbrow intellectualism and does not directly address the realities of many blue-collar workers or the social and economic problems that lie behind them.

(*) Although I am not defending the film further, I would like to mention the following as it relates to the film’s setting. The characterization of Hirayama as a “quiet essential worker blessed with cultural capital” may, from one perspective, seem convenient to reinforce the belief in a fictional, innocent professional. However, as the film progresses, it becomes clear that Hirayama has chosen to lead his current life due to unavoidable circumstances, and that he was once a man of high social standing.
In addition, even if there were no compelling reasons for his past, if we, the readers, were to close ourselves off to the possibility of such a person existing in “reality” and point the finger at him as “not realistic,” we would also be going too far.

Such criticisms are quite possible, and I believe there is room for more than a little credit to be given. On the other hand, however, I do not think that such criticisms immediately and totally undermine the value of the film, and to put it another way, it is not true to say that Wenders’ films that have won historical acclaim so far have not been free from the same tendency. What I am trying to say is that the beauty of Wenders’ works has often more than compensated for such “flaws,” and the same should be true of this film.