Contradictions Shape Us: Understanding Komorebi through ‘Perfect Days’
Contradictions Shape Us: Understanding Komorebi through ‘Perfect Days’
Hirayama (Kōji Yakusho) having a nap | Feature art by Abigail Manaluz
Minor hints of spoilers for Perfect Days ahead.
To live in the present moment is daunting.
The past can bite back anytime in the same way that contemplating about the future entails so much anxiety and fear.
To be content in the present moment is difficult.
When struggles accumulate and shadows overlap, does darkness grow even more dimmer? If it’s indeed true, then why does the sunlight become more pronounced when shades of leaves rustle with each other from a branch of a tree?
Wim Wenders' widely revered and lauded 2023 film, Perfect Days, with its transcendental cadence and humility, fully encapsulates that feeling and poses its significance. It's a straightforward story of a man who takes pride and conviction in cleaning Tokyo's stunningly advanced public toilets. He carries on through his days with a mind fettered in the present and a grin at the thought of tomorrow. Hirayama, played by the iconic Koji Yakusho, who won the Best Actor award at the 2023 Cannes Film Festival, has a particular routine that struck me as very tender in the film.
Some might overlook it because it's just one among the many he performs day to day. Every afternoon, during his lunch break, Hirayama sits at a park with his sandwich and a vintage Olympus camera. His eyes are always glued above, observing the leaves of trees with delicate keenness. Then he brings out his camera, tilts it upward, and joyously captures an image of the Komorebi, a uniquely Japanese term that denotes the dousing beams of light filtering through the leaves.
For those unaware, Komorebi is the original title of the film but was later renamed after 16 days of restless filming according to a Frieze interview with Wenders. I believe that either title is great, but having knowledge of the original one provides a pivot in the overall thematic essence of the film to chew on. I might dare go as to say that it's the blueprint of Perfect Days' enlightening message on cultivating an appreciative glimpse of the ordinary.
Superseding its literal meaning, Komorebi also implies the inseparable interplay of shadows and light. Perfect Days is not a middle ground for this concept; instead, it's an invitation to embrace harmony amid the coexistence of two opposing sides of the coin. Hirayama finds peace not because he engages in lackluster activities or follows a rigid itinerary centered around his greatest passions, such as reading books and listening to soft rock cassettes. But because, he breathes life into them with a sense of moving contentment, transforming their static nature into a grandeur of their own.
Hirayama (Kōji Yakusho) and Niko (Arisa Nakano) enjoying a bike ride
Contrast is not inherently a conflict.
We're never given the chance to know his past, thoughts, or even the reason why he lives alone leading such a humble lifestyle. This ambiguity elevates the layers behind his character, never aiming to confuse nor spoon-feed, but by stripping away our tendency to focus on what is not directly in front of us. Perhaps it's an indirect allusion to the fact that there is so much beauty if we just stay still and put our feet on the ground just like how Hirayama never fails to smile while looking at small fractures of wonder and is always preoccupied by the present moment. It's more worthwhile than buying a watch just to look at it the whole day.
In the first half of the film, we see Hirayama's simple yet fulfilling rituals at their purest, without being burdened by any major stressors, except for the ramblings of his silly lovesick co-worker named Takashi about his relationship with a girl. Hirayama's astute gentleness and patience never faltered; it even convinced me to view Takashi's ever-present arrogance and naiveté without judgment, but rather with compassion and extensive understanding. It excellently underscored the point that absolute shades do not exist; it's all about the angle from which we view things from afar or closely.
We carry the capacity to form our own vantage point; why not see things beyond our tip-toeing preconceptions?
On the other hand, during the closing stretch of Perfect Days, Hirayama's highly structured life is challenged as problems related to his past and future arise one by one. From an unexpected visit of a family member to emotional withdrawal from intimacy due to unfortunate circumstances. We all know that a silhouette is absent without flesh, the past will always come hunting us in varying magnitudes that even the future is also affected. In the end, Hirayama needs to deal with it even if it means disrupting his routine with a beer or putting shadows on top of each other.
However, we must keep in mind that the darker the room, the more radiant everything becomes upon leaving it.
Until then, we need to wrestle with it enduringly.
Hirayama dreams in black and white but glances at the tiniest of things in full vibrance. He's fond of taking pictures of the brightest little accidents, but the photos he get are in a monotone palette. Everything seems so contradictory and uncertain and that's ultimately the beauty of it all. It's a grandiose haze that's bigger than us. Making sense of everything wastes more time than cherishing what is happening now.
It is meant to be felt, not solved.
One thing is always definite though: Now is now.
And realizing this will surely lead to more perfect days defined by no one but the tango of us and our own little contradictions.
