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.

Navigating the “World-Encompassing” Realm

Despite the smooth appearance of “Perfect Days,” which is dominated by a well-made, tranquil, and elegant mood, the message presented in the film is quite bold, or rather, very orthodox (*). (*) As suggested by several scenes and lines, the film celebrates the existence of many metaphorical “ring worlds,” the brilliance and joy of living consciously within them, or conversely, the brilliance and joy of the moments when they blend together, and the way life is activated through such moments. In fact, some of the cinephiles are actually celebrating the joy of living consciously in the midst of it all.

In fact, it is a brave thing that the “message,” a concept that some cinephiles tend to strangely avoid, is being sent out in such an unabashed manner.

The “world-encompassing” is a concept proposed by German biologist Jacob von Uexküll in the early 1900s. He believed that each species does not live in a single, universal world that can be grasped objectively, but lives in a “world-encompassing,” a subjective world unique to each species through its perception. Recently, the Japanese philosopher Koichiro Kokubun drew attention to this “annular world” as an important concept in his best-selling book “The Ethics of Leisure and Boredom.

If we apply the concept of the “ring world” to this work in a more generalized and simplified manner, we can quietly understand that this work depicts the “lack of interaction” among the various people of society living in each ring world, and at the same time, the nature of life of those who sometimes “interact” because they are social beings in the end, regardless of how they posture themselves. However, no matter how the person is positioned, he or she is still a social being, and therefore, sometimes “crosses paths” with others. We cannot have a complete view of each ring world, but we can sometimes move, connect, and blur the intersections of these rings. This is often an unpleasant experience for us and, in Kokubun’s words, leads to a weariness with the “boredom” of life. However, I believe that this ambivalent state of human beings is also the deepest part of what makes us human or social beings. When one comes into contact with one’s own unchanging routine of daily life (“the circle world”) and the rupture-like events that come to it (“crossing the circle world”), one suddenly becomes aware of the presence of ooze that colors the way one comes and the way one will go.

Now is Now, and Next is Next.”

“PERFECT DAYS” attempts to capture this faint awareness, which seems so obvious and therefore so difficult to touch, as a film, an interweaving of light, shadow, and sound. When Hirayama’s niece Nico (*), who suddenly throws up memories of her own past, visits, the two engage in the following conversation. The following conversation between the two is one of the most beautiful and poetic scenes in the film.

(As they pedal their bicycles side by side)

Hirayama: “This world is really many worlds.

There are worlds that seem to be connected, but are not.

The world I am in is different from the world Nico’s mom is in.”

Nico: “What about me?　Which world am I in?”

Hirayama (stops bicycle) “……”

Nico (getting off the bicycle and looking at the flow of Sumida River in front of him) “Is this the ocean if you go all the way here?”

Hirayama “Yes, the ocean.”

Nico “Wanna go?

Hirayama “…… next time”.

Nico “When is the next time?”

Hirayama (looking at Nico) “Next time, now is now”.

Nico (ruminating) “…… next time, now now now”

They (getting on the bike again, zigzagging alongside each other) “Now this time, now now that”.

*Fans of Wenders and Lou Reed will have to feel a clear homage to this naming.

Hirayama spends his days in an unchanging routine, but at the same time, because of this, he is more sensitive than anyone else to what is changing. Although it may seem that he simply wants to continue his unchanging, closed circle world, he himself, somewhere in his heart tied to the memories of the past, may be longing for small changes, and with these changes, he may be thinking about rowing into a “new, unchanging routine. Perhaps the music and books he loves surround him, not so much for the stability of the unchanging routine, but rather to bring him to a moment when his heart is shaken in spite of himself.

Singing about Light and Music that Connects the “World-Encompassing”

Let’s listen to the music in this film again. There is one thing you will notice. The music in the film sings about the light of day: dusk, the morning sun, the lazy afternoon sun, and the light of dawn. The Animals “House of the Rising Sun,” which opens the film, Otis Redding “(Sittin’ On) The Dock Of The Bay The Animals “House of the Rising Sun,” which opens the film, Otis Redding “(Sittin’ On) The Dock Of The Bay,” The Kinks “Sunny Afternoon,” and Nina Simone “Feeling Good,” all of which sing of the subtleties of sunlight in their own way. It is no mere coincidence that the songs “Dock Of The Bay,” “Sunny Afternoon” by The Kinks, and “Feeling Good” by Nina Simone all sing about the subtleties of sunlight, and that the sunrise, sunset, and sunset motifs are repeatedly shown in the film. The colors appear only when the sunlight shines through the grove of trees swaying in the wind. Or the overlapping shadows created by the sunlight and the shades of gray they depict. These motifs, which appear again and again in the film, are the light that Hirayama and the other characters are exposed to, and they overlap with the shadows cast by their respective figures. This theme of celebrating light and shadow can be taken as an unconditional affirmation of the art of cinema. When we realize this, we are once again in awe of Wenders’ earnest auteurism.

The “personal” sound of the music that adorns the film not only brings an intimate and private touch, but also, like the sunlight shining on Hirayama and his friends, immerses and intersects the people present, and more specifically, the film itself and our ears and skin as viewers.

When Hirayama listens to a Patti Smith cassette tape with the young people in the car, or to a Van Morrison cassette tape with Nico, the music certainly functions as something more than an intermediary that connects and melds the worlds of each ring. When Hirayama listens to The Kinks while cleaning his room by himself, or when he listens to Mama’s songs at his favorite izakaya (*), our ears and bodies are certainly immersed in the music, and our minds are unavoidably kidnapped onto the screen.

* The mama is played by Sayuri Ishikawa, and the regular customer who accompanies her on the guitar in the same scene is played by Morio Agata. The song “The House of the Rising Sun” is sung in Japanese by Maki Asakawa.

At the end of the film, after an unexpected encounter the night before, Hirayama looks up at the sky with a fresh face as usual and gets into a blue van. Today he chooses a cassette tape of Nina Simone. She sings powerfully with all her heart.

It’s a new dawn
It’s a new day
It’s a new life for me
And I’m feelin’ good

The film shows Hirayama’s face, which is full of laughter and tears. What a powerful final scene. There is no pedantry or hesitation here. In this scene that closes the film, Wenders expresses his complete trust in the power of music. As someone who has been deeply fascinated by the experience of “listening to Wim Wenders’ choice of musical gems,” I am most strongly moved by this above all else.

PERFECT DAYS

Roadshow on December 22, 2023 (Fri.) at TOHO CINEMAS Chante and other theaters nationwide
Director: Wim Wenders
Screenplay: Wim Wenders, Takuma Takasaki
Cast: Koji Yakusho, Tokio Emoto, Yusa Nakano, Aoi Yamada, Yumi Aso, Sayuri Ishikawa, Min Tanaka, Tomokazu Miura
Distributor: Bitters End
©︎ 2023 MASTER MIND Ltd.
https://www.perfectdays-movie.jp