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  • Observations on Work, Employment & Education

    Jörg Markowitsch

    Samurai of the loo

    In Perfect Days (2023), Wim Wenders achieves the seemingly impossible. With the help of The Tokyo Toilet project and through the depiction of an antihero-hero, he crafts the ethos of a toilet cleaner.

    When I returned from my trip to Tokyo in early spring last year, I brought back so many ideas and insights that they still occupy my mind a year and a half later. Two aspects of the trip par­ti­cu­lar­ly impressed me, both of which I was tho­rough­ly unpre­pa­red for. In every bar I visited, people were smoking. Yet outside the bars, espe­cial­ly in the lively enter­tain­ment districts, there were frequent signs stating: “No smoking on the streets.” Though I usually consider myself a non-smoker, I immedia­te­ly bought a pack of Mevius and, for the first time in 15 years, I lit a cigarette inside a bar. The only reason I could fathom for the outdoor smoking ban seemed to be the avoidance of cigarette butts on the street, combined with Japan’s acclaimed high standards of cleanliness.

    The second striking feature also relates to  clean­li­ness and hygiene. I don’t know any other megacity, espe­cial­ly one with over 10 million residents, where public restrooms are available in suf­fi­ci­ent numbers, are all impec­ca­b­ly clean, and, on top of that, free of charge. Every metro station, every park, every square has its own unique toilet “temple”.

    While I didn’t visit the archi­tec­tu­ral gems of public restrooms portrayed in Wim Wenders’ latest film Perfect Days (2023) — funded by Nippon Foundation’s The Tokyo Toilet project — their existence in the film didn’t surprise me. What did surprise me, however, was the way Wenders portrayed Hirayama, a man in his fifties who works as a humble toilet cleaner in Toyko. The calmness and dedi­ca­ti­on that Hirayama (played by Koji Yakusho) brings to his work are extra­or­di­na­ry. A com­pa­ra­ble level of com­mit­ment to their tasks, I have only ever seen exhibited in The Samurai (Alain Delon, Le Samouraï, 1967), and perhaps The Bride (Uma Thurman) in Kill Bill (2003). But unlike them, Hirayama is on no revenge mission. A toilet brush replaces the katana, and the only fight scene is limited to boxing with shadows at night under a streetlight.

    The film follows Hirayama through his daily routine: waking up, getting ready, getting dressed, loading up his emble­ma­tic Japanese mini-truck, cleaning one toilet, driving to the next (while listening to American pop music on cassette), cleaning another, and after work, visiting the bathhouse. Hirayama carries out his work with complete self-orga­niz­a­ti­on, respon­si­bi­li­ty, and dignity.

    Wenders places special emphasis on Hirayama‘s breaks. At lunch in the park, Hirayama eats his sandwich while appre­cia­ting the “Komorebi” — the sunlight filtering through the tree leaves—and captures par­ti­cu­lar­ly beautiful moments of this light with an old pocket camera.

    The delicate story that unfolds between Hira­ya­ma’s routines, quietly revealing something about his back­ground; Koji Yakusho’s nuanced per­for­mance; and the masterful yet subtle direction have been widely praised in various reviews. Yet, what fasci­na­tes me most is how Wenders elevates an entire pro­fes­si­on — the cleaning services. Hirayama, who barely speaks more than three sentences throughout the film, effec­tively embodying the solitary samurai of the cleaning world. To unders­core his uni­queness, Wenders contrasts Hirayama with Takashi (Tokio Emoto), a young, immature, and lazy worker for whom Hirayama often has to step in or clean up after. In his complete neglect and apathy for the job, Takashi repres­ents the “standard.” After all, who enjoys cleaning to toilets? As in classic cliché Westerns — and in classic cliché Chinese Westerns too — this dynamic of two polarized cha­rac­ters empha­si­zes the excep­tio­na­lism of the hero. But who is the hero here, then? The avenger of the poor, the oppressed, the tormented, or the murdered?

    The hero is a simple worker in the least desirable, lowest-paid segment of the cleaning industry. (Note from employ­ment sta­tis­tics: cleaning work is pre­do­mi­nant­ly done by women part-time). His heroism lies in his humanity, his awareness of his dignity despite the external circumstances.

    The cinematic, internal elements that elevate the role of the toilet cleaner include a hero in the form of an antihero, who lives modestly, speaks little, listens to tapes, reads used books, pho­to­graphs light filtering through treetops while having no explicit mission and remaining untrig­ge­red by ever­ything. He does his work tho­rough­ly, con­sci­en­tious­ly, and always humbly. The work-related, external factors that elevated the profile of cleaning services are, on the one hand: a mea­ning­ful but achiev­a­ble task, serving societal needs, and a high degree of autonomy. On the other hand it’s an appealing work envi­ron­ment with favoura­ble con­di­ti­ons. The former is a matter of work orga­niz­a­ti­on, the latter a matter of archi­tec­tu­re. Both are a matter of the respect we afford to certain professions.

    City governments in other major cities could follow the example of The Tokyo Toilet, which co-financed the film, by providing free, clean, aes­the­ti­cal­ly pleasing public restrooms in suf­fi­ci­ent numbers and ensuring decent working con­di­ti­ons for those who maintain them.

    Perfect Days (2023, JP/DE), Wim Wenders), Trailer 

    Filmstill. Perfect Days (2023)

    Filmstill. Perfect Days (2023)

    Filmstill. Perfect Days (2023)

    Filmstill. Perfect Days (2023)

    Tags

    Samurai of the loo

    Jörg Markowitsch

    In Perfect Days (2023), Wim Wenders achieves the seemingly impossible. With the help of The Tokyo Toilet project and through the depiction of an antihero-hero, he crafts the ethos of a toilet cleaner.

    When I returned from my trip to Tokyo in early spring last year, I brought back so many ideas and insights that they still occupy my mind a year and a half later. Two aspects of the trip par­ti­cu­lar­ly impressed me, both of which I was tho­rough­ly unpre­pa­red for. In every bar I visited, people were smoking. Yet outside the bars, espe­cial­ly in the lively enter­tain­ment districts, there were frequent signs stating: “No smoking on the streets.” Though I usually consider myself a non-smoker, I immedia­te­ly bought a pack of Mevius and, for the first time in 15 years, I lit a cigarette inside a bar. The only reason I could fathom for the outdoor smoking ban seemed to be the avoidance of cigarette butts on the street, combined with Japan’s acclaimed high standards of cleanliness.

    The second striking feature also relates to  clean­li­ness and hygiene. I don’t know any other megacity, espe­cial­ly one with over 10 million residents, where public restrooms are available in suf­fi­ci­ent numbers, are all impec­ca­b­ly clean, and, on top of that, free of charge. Every metro station, every park, every square has its own unique toilet “temple”.

    While I didn’t visit the archi­tec­tu­ral gems of public restrooms portrayed in Wim Wenders’ latest film Perfect Days (2023) — funded by Nippon Foundation’s The Tokyo Toilet project — their existence in the film didn’t surprise me. What did surprise me, however, was the way Wenders portrayed Hirayama, a man in his fifties who works as a humble toilet cleaner in Toyko. The calmness and dedi­ca­ti­on that Hirayama (played by Koji Yakusho) brings to his work are extra­or­di­na­ry. A com­pa­ra­ble level of com­mit­ment to their tasks, I have only ever seen exhibited in The Samurai (Alain Delon, Le Samouraï, 1967), and perhaps The Bride (Uma Thurman) in Kill Bill (2003). But unlike them, Hirayama is on no revenge mission. A toilet brush replaces the katana, and the only fight scene is limited to boxing with shadows at night under a streetlight.

    The film follows Hirayama through his daily routine: waking up, getting ready, getting dressed, loading up his emble­ma­tic Japanese mini-truck, cleaning one toilet, driving to the next (while listening to American pop music on cassette), cleaning another, and after work, visiting the bathhouse. Hirayama carries out his work with complete self-orga­niz­a­ti­on, respon­si­bi­li­ty, and dignity.

    Wenders places special emphasis on Hirayama‘s breaks. At lunch in the park, Hirayama eats his sandwich while appre­cia­ting the “Komorebi” — the sunlight filtering through the tree leaves—and captures par­ti­cu­lar­ly beautiful moments of this light with an old pocket camera.

    The delicate story that unfolds between Hira­ya­ma’s routines, quietly revealing something about his back­ground; Koji Yakusho’s nuanced per­for­mance; and the masterful yet subtle direction have been widely praised in various reviews. Yet, what fasci­na­tes me most is how Wenders elevates an entire pro­fes­si­on — the cleaning services. Hirayama, who barely speaks more than three sentences throughout the film, effec­tively embodying the solitary samurai of the cleaning world. To unders­core his uni­queness, Wenders contrasts Hirayama with Takashi (Tokio Emoto), a young, immature, and lazy worker for whom Hirayama often has to step in or clean up after. In his complete neglect and apathy for the job, Takashi repres­ents the “standard.” After all, who enjoys cleaning to toilets? As in classic cliché Westerns — and in classic cliché Chinese Westerns too — this dynamic of two polarized cha­rac­ters empha­si­zes the excep­tio­na­lism of the hero. But who is the hero here, then? The avenger of the poor, the oppressed, the tormented, or the murdered?

    The hero is a simple worker in the least desirable, lowest-paid segment of the cleaning industry. (Note from employ­ment sta­tis­tics: cleaning work is pre­do­mi­nant­ly done by women part-time). His heroism lies in his humanity, his awareness of his dignity despite the external circumstances.

    The cinematic, internal elements that elevate the role of the toilet cleaner include a hero in the form of an antihero, who lives modestly, speaks little, listens to tapes, reads used books, pho­to­graphs light filtering through treetops while having no explicit mission and remaining untrig­ge­red by ever­ything. He does his work tho­rough­ly, con­sci­en­tious­ly, and always humbly. The work-related, external factors that elevated the profile of cleaning services are, on the one hand: a mea­ning­ful but achiev­a­ble task, serving societal needs, and a high degree of autonomy. On the other hand it’s an appealing work envi­ron­ment with favoura­ble con­di­ti­ons. The former is a matter of work orga­niz­a­ti­on, the latter a matter of archi­tec­tu­re. Both are a matter of the respect we afford to certain professions.

    City governments in other major cities could follow the example of The Tokyo Toilet, which co-financed the film, by providing free, clean, aes­the­ti­cal­ly pleasing public restrooms in suf­fi­ci­ent numbers and ensuring decent working con­di­ti­ons for those who maintain them.

    Perfect Days (2023, JP/DE), Wim Wenders), Trailer

    Filmstill. Perfect Days (2023)

    Filmstill. Perfect Days (2023)

    Filmstill. Perfect Days (2023)

    Filmstill. Perfect Days (2023)

    Tags


    Dystopias of the working world

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    After more than a century, Katharina Gruzei's reinterpretation of the very first film in film history, ‘Workers Leaving the Factory’, shows a grim picture of the world of work and gives food for thought: Has the situation of workers deteriorated so much and what kind of worklife are we even heading towards?

    Night Mail - The focus on work

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    "Night Mail" (1936) was commissioned as an image publicity film by the British General Post Office and went down in film history as a ground-breaking documentary. Directors Harry Watt and Basil Wright succeed in creating an ode to workers and modern technology by enriching their naturalistic style within the film with poetic elements and always keeping the human aspect in mind.

    Night Mail - The Poetic Gaze

    Night Mail — The Poetic Gaze

    When the eminent film scholar Amos Vogel was forced to flee Vienna to the United States in 1938, the 17-year-old had already made the decision to devote his life to film. One experience that would define his future was a screening of "Night Mail" (1936) and this film still doesn’t fail to impress today.

    Bossnapping à la Cantona

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    Eastern German Women. Self-realisation through employment

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    As a woman you always have to be better than the best man in the team. That's the minimum for a successful woman, where patriarchy works." This is how Maria Gross, a cook and restaurateur from Thuringia, sums up the situation of East German Women (2019) in a MDR-documentary by Lutz Pehnert.

    Between enlightenment and ‘plugging’.  A history of vocational guidance films on nursing

    Between enligh­ten­ment and ‘plugging’. A history of voca­tio­nal guidance films on nursing

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    About this blog

    By selecting a film or an image, this blog literally illus­tra­tes the vast sphere of work, employ­ment & education in an open collec­tion of academic, artistic and also anecdotal findings.

    About us

    Konrad Wakol­bin­ger makes docu­men­ta­ry films about work and life. Jörg Mar­ko­witsch does research on education and work. They are both based in Vienna. Infor­ma­ti­on on guest authors can be found in their cor­re­spon­ding articles.

    More about

    Inte­res­ted in more? Find recom­men­da­ti­ons on relevant festivals, film collec­tions and lite­ra­tu­re here.

    About this blog

    With picking a film or an image, this blog literally illus­tra­tes the vast sphere of work, employ­ment & education in an open collec­tion of academic, artistic and also anecdotal findings.

    About us

    Konrad Wakol­bin­ger makes docu­men­ta­ry films about work and life. Jörg Mar­ko­witsch does research on education and work. We both work in Vienna. Infor­ma­ti­on on guest authors can be found in their respec­ti­ve articles.

    More about

    Inte­res­ted in more? Find recom­men­da­ti­ons on relevant festivals, film collec­tions and lite­ra­tu­re here.