Few filmmakers are as prolific and celebrated as German auteur Wim Wenders. In the many years he has been active as an artist, he has left his mark in cinema, documentaries, TV series, music videos, photography, art exhibitions and more. His accolades speak for themselves, with him being a multiple Academy Awards nominee, a Grammy nominee, a Palme d’Or winner, a Golden Lion winner, among countless others. Indeed, we could write entire articles dedicated to Wenders’ methodical and serene approach to art, one that has been rightfully recognized and celebrated. However, for this article specifically, we are interested in Wenders influences. And not just any influence, his Japanese influence, as Wim Wenders’ Japan is often presented as a teacher, one that taught him to see the world in a calm, meditative way.
It should be stated that Japan is far from Wenders’ only influence. If you’re familiar with his filmography, his interests range from the Caribbean to Spain, from Germany to America. Only he could direct the Cuban music group documentary Buena Vista Social Club, two years after his American drama The End of Violence. He is, in short, a true lover of film, and as such is interested in the language of film itself. He searches for stories, thinking not just about the stories being told, but how to best translate them. And it’s here where his Japanese influences can be truly felt. From Japan, Wenders learned how to expand his filmmaking language, making it quietly sharp, intricately effective, and more human.
If you want to know the full story of Wim Wenders’ Japan, keep reading.
The American Era, A Precursor
The American Friend (1977), directed by Wim Wenders. Character of Tom Ripley.
When talking about Wim Wenders, there are plenty of places we could start his story off. We could begin with a little German boy dreaming of becoming an artist, or a university dropout slowly learning the wonders of filmmaking. But perhaps the most effective starting point is with the era that introduced him to much of the world: the American Era. This is one half of what is often considered Wim Wenders’ most prolific years, with the other half being marked by his return to Europe. To be specific, the American era began in 1977 with the release of The American Friend, with Wenders moving to the USA; and ended with 1984’s Paris,Texas, after which Wenders left America.
In the US, under the wings of director Francis Ford Coppola, Wenders quickly rose to prominence as an up-and-coming star in cinema. However, despite his success and clear mastery of the artform, Wenders has gone on record that he was still lacking a “master” at the time. This is to say, someone whose filmmaking style he aspired to achieve. And in the mid 70s, while talking to his New York distributor, he discovered Yasujiro Ozu. In Wenders own words “I’d never seen anything that had so much shaken my world. It wasn’t necessarily the story, it was the way it was told.”
Wenders immediately understood what was special about Ozu. His style was uniquely Japanese, exploring its values and culture; and yet, universal. It was human in ways that can only be achieved through inductivity: from the particular, to the general. Wenders knew right then and there he had found his master. From that point on, chasing Ozu would become a challenge, an aspiration, and a goal. And right before he said farewell to America, this first sight at Wim Wenders’ Japan can be seen clearly.
Paris, Texas (1984)
Paris, Texas (1984), directed by Wim Wenders. Protagonist Travis Henderson and his son.
Although a uniquely American film, with a story that could only be told in the country’s South West region, Paris, Texas was already showing much of Wenders’ Japanese influences.
For starters, the pacing is deliberately slow, calm, and the true purpose of the film can only really be understood once we reach the third act. The film is what we would describe as a “slow burner.” In subtle ways, this is Wenders following in Ozu’s footsteps. He, like his master, presents us with scenes of lives, fractured lives, and it is up to the viewer to piece together the characters’ feelings through their action and inactions. Like Ozu’s classic film (and one of Wenders’ favourites) Tokyo Story, even unconscious decisions have an impact on other characters. This, in turn, gets to the viewer, who begins to understand the film as a little snippet of life itself, rather than a scripted piece tailored for the big screen.
Moreover, the camera work of the film resembles Ozu’s style when it comes to wide shots. Wenders treats the American desert, the ever-developing Houston, and the suburbs of California with the same respect Ozu does Tokyo. Long and sprawling views with a solitary point of view character, thinking things have changed, wondering if he ever knew the places at all.
Beyond Ozu, Japanese concepts like Mono No Aware (the impermanence of things) are present in Paris, Texas. The concept itself is about the beauty and inherent sadness of knowing things won’t last forever. In the film, this is communicated beautifully with the relationship of the main character and his son. Throughout the film, we see them reconnect after being years apart, but we know their time together is limited. Things have changed in those years of distance, and their relationship is bound to end at some point. So it’s best to enjoy the moments, mourn their passing, but never forget them.
Searching for Ozu in Tokyo Ga
Tokyo Ga (1985), directed by Wim Wenders. Yasujiro Ozu’s chief cinematographers, Yahura Atsuta, shows how he used to shoot for Ozu.
Before Paris, Texas was released, Wenders was already eager to explore the place that inspired Ozu throughout his filmography: Tokyo. But he knew, from the films he deeply loved, that Tokyo was a city destined to change. The questions—how has it changed? What remains of what I think I know?—were prevalent in his mind. And, in 1983 he set the goal of answering these questions, travelled to Japan and attempted to find the ghost of Ozu’s Tokyo. The video diary of this journey would become his 1985 documentary, Tokyo Ga.
Tokyo Ga (1985), directed by Wim Wenders. A scene of Japanese men drinking in a park.
Released shortly after his return to Europe, Tokyo Ga is presented as a sort of pilgrimage, although Wenders himself is reluctant to call it that way. The film began with scenes of Ozu’s Tokyo Story, overlapped with Wenders’ voice narrating the importance it had on him. In Wenders’ own words “if there is such a thing as a sacred treasure of cinema, for me it’s the work of Yazujiro Ozu.” He then goes on to explain how Ozu depicts the transformation of life in Japan, and especially Tokyo: the world and values he once treasured have changed completely. Crucially, Wenders highlights, Ozu doesn’t disdain what’s new, but rather laments a bygone era with nostalgia and care.
He then goes on to lay the thesis of this documentary: Does that bygone era remain in any way, shape or form?
Further from Ozu, Closer to Tokyo
After he established his goals with the film, what follows is a series of interviews with people related to Ozu, as well as vignettes of Wenders exploration of the city. As critics have pointed out, Wenders’ use of a handheld camera adds intimacy to his recordings. Additionally, this camera choice contrasts with Ozu’s stillness when it comes to interior shots (static, tatami-level camera placements). One could argue Wenders actively presents himself as vulnerable and humble, as if following the shadow of his master is a futile yet necessary endeavor.
Ultimately, the film reflects that feeling. The people Wenders meets that are related to Ozu (Chishū Ryū, Ozu ‘s frequent actor; Yuharu Atsuta, chief cinematographers), reinforce the idea that Ozu was special. They saw him as a master, far more intelligent than them, that, although rough at times, brought out the best of their potential. Their work was never the same without Ozu, they felt indebted to him, and Atsuta even cries remembering his somewhat distant, yet close relationship. Ozu was a man of few words, they said, but those words were always the right ones.
Tokyo Ga (1985), directed by Wim Wenders. A boy gets picked up by family member after playing baseball with his friend.
Ozu, it appears, was still far from Wenders reach. Nevertheless, Tokyo, the city that inspired him, never felt more close. As Wenders states, “No other city has ever felt so familiar and intimate to me.” With his trusty hand camera, Wenders explores pachinko machines at night, the Shinjuku district, golf courses and the place where the realistic food sculptures are made. What he discovers is that Tokyo is alive, subtly beautiful, and calm despite the 1980s extravaganzas. Wenders shows the same neon Tokyo Ridley Scott loves, but demonstrates the meditative view of Ozu remains. If you take a deep breath and explore, Ozu’s Tokyo is still there.
A Newfound Perspective: Notebook on Cities and Clothes
After leaving Tokyo, Wenders was looking for an excuse to return, feeling there was much left to say about the city. So, when the Centre Pompidou encouraged him to do a documentary that would require him to travel once again, he took it. Initially, however, he was reluctant about the subject they wanted him to cover: fashion. Yes, fashion. What could a filmmaker possibly say about fashion? Wenders wondered. But his interest was piqued after knowing who they wanted him to work with: fashion designer Yohji Yamamoto.
Wenders knew little about Yamamoto, only that he owned a jacket designed by him. However, this was enough to catch his attention. As you see, when Wenders first put on the jacket, he felt more like “himself.” It wasn’t merely the fact that he could see himself wearing it in the future, it was as if the jacket carried with it an aura of nostalgia. He felt transported back to his childhood, saw his father wearing it, and immediately imagined the piece of clothing as if he had inherited it. Yohji Yamamoto knows something I don’t, Wenders said to himself.
Intrigued, he wondered if his own work, that of filmmaking, could be in any way related to that of Yohji’s. Maybe they could find common ground. So, doing what he does best, Wim Wenders packed his gears (a 35 millimeter and a video camera, just in case), and started filming. This exploration, he argues, is not a task, but his way of life, a simple notebook of cities and clothes that maybe can say something.
The Impermanence of Film and Fashion
Image credit: Nikkei Asia, Wim Wenders and Yohji Yamamoto.
After meeting Yohji Yamamoto, Wenders quickly finds his suspicions correct: the guy was an artist. He dialogues with the world, loses himself in his craft and in the face of its appearance insignificance, believes he can make a difference. The two quickly bond over a photography book titled People of the Twentieth Century, by August Sander, released in 1929. The book consists entirely of pictures of people of the twentieth century, with their respective names and occupations. Yohji is particularly fascinated by the faces and clothes of the people, as they “look the part.” A baker looked like a baker, a blacksmith like a blacksmith; in today’s world, Yohji laments, it’s impossible to know. He then goes on to say that his goal, as a designer, is to make that connection again.
Wenders quickly is able to grasp the paradox in Yohji’s goal. After all, he is a fashion designer, and fashion is only concerned with the here and now. Fashion is, in one word, ephemeral, and yet, Yohji believed those old photos were eternal. As Wenders states, “Yohji spoke two languages, the solid and the fluid.” Upon making this discovery, Wenders realises he is also speaking in two languages: analog and digital.
Throughout the film, he alternates between his two cameras, for reasons as simple as he ran out of camera roll or battery. But once he makes the connection, the film changes. We see a video within a video, the digital through the analog, and vice versa. The film thus becomes a new reflection of Mono No Aware: cinema is also ephemeral, but it can capture lasting, beautiful moments in time.
Cinema and fashion, it turns out, are not so different after all. The backstage of a fashion show can look, as Wenders says, like the editing room after the first cut.
A Digital Tokyo
Another takeaway from the film that should be noted is how Wenders reflects on Tokyo of the 1980s. When he finally gets used to his digital camera, he goes for a walk around the neon sky scrappers and starts recording. After seeing the footage, he thinks to himself that perhaps this digital view of Tokyo is a valid one. Here, it is as if is dialoguing back with Ozu, who was known for remaining persistent in his choice of camera.
Moreover, the reflection reads as if he is casting doubt, or pondering the possibility, that the digital world could have an aura. In here, we mean aura as Walter Benjamin understood it, that is to say, to have a presence in time and space. Although contradictory at first, Wenders sees through the lens of digital Tokyo and thinks of the future. He thinks about the artist of the future. Could their virtual language come to define the twenty-first century? Could it have a presence? Could artists find it? Could they make one?
Prompted by the futuristic sight of Tokyo, he is left speechless by this question. “Fuck” he sighs, as he can’t say for sure what will happened. We can’t answer those questions either, but, with the benefit of hindsight, we can say he was on the right track. Tokyo, in a literal way, placed him there.
Journey to Onomichi: Photography as a form of tribute
While he was directing documentaries and feature films across the globe, it seemed that his work in Japan had taken a back seat. The country, many concluded, was just one more of his many interests. However, this is just what the public saw, as Wenders was still interested in pursuing Ozu’s ghost. The issue was, what could he do next? By now, he had visited Tokyo multiple times, he knew the city, so what could he possibly do to bring himself closer to Ozu’s vision. The answer was not in the person, nor the idea of the person, but his films; Ozu’s craft, which Wenders deeply loves. So he asked the simple question: where was Tokyo Story filmed?
This led Wim Wenders and his wife to Onomichi, a coastal town where much of the movie (outside Tokyo) was filmed. They stayed for a week, took many photographs and these would later be featured in an exhibition titled Journey to Onomichi. Presented at Omotesando Hills, in Tokyo, Japan, in 2006, and later turned into a book in 2009, the exhibition is a love letter to what was, and still is, Wenders favourite film. It documents the story of a fan rediscovering the place that kindled his passion for filmmaking, while simultaneously discovering the culture that surrounds that place. Wenders is able to show that, unlike the Tokyo of then and now, Onomichi remains the calm place Ozu left behind.
Although this photo exhibition may seem inconsequential in Wim Wenders’ larger body of work, it shows he was still looking for ways to be like his master. This is why it’s not surprising that, in 2023, Wenders would finally direct what feels like a film Ozu himself would’ve made.
Perfect Days
Perfect Days (2023), directed by Wim Wenders.
We’ve finally arrived at Wim Wenders most recent film, and the one that made his connection with Japan explicit. Set in today’s Tokyo, featuring a Japanese cast, a Japanese co-writer, and spoken almost entirely in Japanese, Perfect Days was a film that surprised many. What is a German director doing with this movie? Why him? For those who had followed his career, however, the answer was obvious. Perfect Days is a film that follows on Ozu’s footstep: is calm, meditative, deeply emotional and is able to find beauty in the quiet subtlety of the mundane. Wim Wenders, as one of Ozu’s biggest pupils, was the perfect filmmaker for a story like this. And, if the accolades of the film are anything to go by (best actor at Cannes, and Oscar nomination for foreign film, and the Japanese Academy award for best director and actor), Wenders did a fantastic job.
In the story we follow Hirayama (played by renowned actor Kōji Yakusho), a toilet cleaner who goes about his day with contempt and serenity. He is employed by the Tokyo Toilet Project, a real life institution that constructed some of the most beautiful toilets in the world. The movie is concerned with the beauty of the small things, as our protagonist finds enjoyment in cleaning the toilets, taking pictures, reading books, and so on. Additionally, like Tokyo Story, the film reads as a nostalgic lament of a bygone era, as our protagonist lives in an analog world, with his surroundings becoming more technologically advanced. Even the toilet he is cleaning appears, at times, beyond his comprehension, but he is glad knowing they still need cleaning.
A Slow Burner
Perfect Days (2023), directed by Wim Wenders. Scene of protagonist Hirayama and his niece.
One of the most immediately noticeable aspects about the movie is its pacing. For more than half of the film’s runtime, we see Hirayama just going about his week, with a few minor alterations here and there. A question almost guaranteed to appear in a viewer’s head is, couldn’t this be shown in a montage? The answer is yes and no. Yes, this could be shown in a montage, but the effect the latter half had wouldn’t be as impactful.
Once he finally thinks we have a grasp on who Hirayama is as a person, the film presents what we could realistically call “the conflict.” His niece, a young girl of no more than twelve, runs away from home and stays with him. For no more than two days, which feels miniscule after the week we spent with him, Hirayama’s sister picks her up and leaves, but not before having a chat with his brother. Just like Ozu’s writing, the dialogue is subtle but insanely revealing, never calling attention to what the characters are truly saying.
Wenders gives us, just like his master used to do, a glimpse of a uniquely Japanese life. A life that yearns for a bygone era and is doing his best to maintain it. And we, the viewers, understand him. We yearn with him. See things from his perspective and, for brief moments, are able to enjoy the beauty of the mundane. But something is boiling inside Hariyama and, in turn, us. The realization that, although a valid way to fight the world, we are indeed fighting to preserve something long gone. It’s beautiful, heartbreaking, and moving.
If Wenders ever did find Ozu’s ghost, he did so with this film.
Last Words
Perfect Days (2023), directed by Wim Wenders. Scene of protagonist Hirayama reading in solitude.
To conclude this article, we’d like to remind you that Japan is far from Wim Wenders’ only influence. Some of his most acclaimed films undoubtedly borrow from cultures like Germany, the USA, Spain, and much more. Nevertheless, Japan is among his most consequential influences. Through Ozu, Tokyo, and concepts like Mono No Aware, Wenders was able to get a better grasp of the language of filmmaking. It’s not just an inspiration; it’s an aspiration: to film as his eyes see, to capture the subtle beauty of the world the way Japan appears to have done so.
Wim Wenders’s Japan is a cornerstone of subtle beauty, ephemeral and eternal, liquid and solid, ever-changing without losing its essence. It’s a place we have no doubt he will revisit in the future, with more beautiful stories to tell.
