Observations on Work, Employment & Education
Samurai of the loo
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)
© Bitters End, Japan
Filmstill. Perfect Days (2023)
© Bitters End, Japan
Filmstill. Perfect Days (2023)
© Bitters End, Japan
Filmstill. Perfect Days (2023)
© Bitters End, Japan
Samurai of the loo
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)
© Bitters End, Japan
Filmstill. Perfect Days (2023)
© Bitters End, Japan
Filmstill. Perfect Days (2023)
© Bitters End, Japan
Filmstill. Perfect Days (2023)
© Bitters End, Japan
Dystopias of the working world
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
"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
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
In the last two decades in particular, disputes between management and workers in France have become increasingly intense. The so-called "bossnapping", the hostage taking of management, masterfully staged by Éric Cantona in the Netflix series ‘Inhuman Resources’ (2020), provides a telling example.
Eastern German Women. Self-realisation through employment
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
Combating nursing shortages through film has a history. A W-o-W film evening explored the changing nature of the nursing profession through vocational guidance films over the last 80 years.
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.