His routine never changes. Hirayama is a single man in his sixties. We see his morning ablutions, dressing in his overalls, buying a coffee from a machine before setting off early to work in his van. He repeats these rituals every day (don't we all?). You would think these repetitive scenes would be so boring, but no. They are just so fascinating. Hirayama (a deservedly award winning performance from Koji Yakusho) is the cleaner for Tokyo's municipal outside toilets. And there are quite a few. Some gems of architecture. He is a fast meticulous operator, taking huge pride in his work, even using a mirror to check under the rim. There is hardly any dialogue in the opening scenes, just grunts to his useless co-worker. But smiles to the users.
What is brilliant about this film is that there are so many things unexplained and unsaid. We have to fill in the gaps. Isn't that great? Like we gradually come to realise this is a highly intelligent and well educated man. His tiny, tidy "apartment" has shelves of books. When he buys a new one from his usual bookshop, he scours the one dollar shelves of second hand paperbacks. Patricia Highsmith features. The fact that the owner always gives him a comment on each one is in itself a beautiful moment. There are these little glimpses of his weekends, So why, we ask ourselves, is he doing this job? The film never explains his past, until a tiny devastating offering near the end. But the past rears it's head when his young niece arrives unexpectedly having left home. So at last we have some conversations. But not about the past. Hirayama is estranged from his family and true to form, we have no idea why. Until those few words when the niece is collected to return home. (Even some reviews missed the meaning of that short exchange). And even then we have to make up our own minds about what might have happened.
One fabulous feature of the film is the music. The tracks are from Hirayama's cassette tapes. The young people in the film have no idea what they are and do not even know how they are inserted to the car's cassette player. When his co-worker's girlfriend returns a cassette, she hesitates in his van. When she kisses his cheek and dashes off, she may be wishing Hirayama was thirty years younger. The opening track when Hirayama starts his van is House of the Rising Sun by The Animals. Both Mark Kermode and Wendy Ide in The Guardian fail to acknowledge this song even though they mention the others. And that the song is sung in Japanese later in the film. Here was I sitting down to watch this film and it starts with a song I loved from sixty years ago. Not only that, but I was in the audience of the Hammersmith Odeon in 1964 (the Chuck Berry and Carl Perkins tour) when The Animals played what they said was their brand new release. Little did we or they know it would reach number one a couple of weeks later. (My post of the 28th January 2015).
Somehow Hirayama is stuck in the sixties, not only for his choice of music (see list at the end) but with cassettes and his Olympus camera that takes film. So, I thought, only analogue for him, only to be surprised when later we find he does own a mobile phone. Those photographs he takes of the trees when he stops for lunch on a park bench have to be developed in a shop. Does he only photograph these trees? When he looks at the finished photos that is all we see. They go in meticulously stored and dated boxes. Years and years of just trees? This tiny fragment (only a few seconds) is typical of the movie asking us to think what is going on rather than telling us. There is so much we want to know but never will. We are left to make up our own minds about what might happen in the future. We know Hirayama has made a connection with his niece. The owner of the bar he has frequented over many years is about to lose her estranged husband. Who knows. At the end he has a brand new co-worker, a very attractive and confident young woman. Again we are only given seconds to think about that.
Then the final shot is quite outstanding. Back in his van, Hirayama is torn between happiness and sadness. Listening to Nina Simone's Feeling Good. His past has made him what he is, as it is for us all. Director and writer Wim Wenders has given us something quite extraordinary. An unusual film but one that will linger in the mind for a long time. There will be moments from the film that will pop into your head without invitation. Two hours should have been a drag, but you did not want it to end.
Soundtrack:
The House of the Rising Sun by The Animals
Pale Blue Eyes by The Velvet Underground
(Sittin' On) The Dock of the Bay by Otis Redding
Redondo Beach by Patti Smith
(Walkin' Thru The) Sleepy City by The Rolling Stones
Aoi Sakana (Blue Fish) by Sachiko Kanenobu
Perfect Day by Lou Reed
Sunny Afternoon by The Kinks
The House of the Rising Sun (Japanese Version) by Maki Asakawa
Brown Eyed Girl by Van Morrison
Feeling Good by Nina Simone
It was strange at the beginning of the film that the screen was very narrow. This was the 1.33.1 aspect ratio that the director used. I got used to it very soon after the start.
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