Before cutting to black, this film leaves behind a word. Komorebi A word expressing the warmth
and gentleness wrapped up in the imagery of sunlight filtering through the gaps of tree leaves. It
truly encapsulates the core of the film, which hinges upon the simplicity of finding joy in the
shadow of ordinary things of ordinary days. For most people, caught in the loud traffic of a busy
life weighed down by deadlines and responsibilities, this will feel like a breath of fresh air. It’s a
journey down the rabbit hole of a routine life that seems to be stuck in a loop from the outside
but is woven so carefully with an openness that lets the audience get lost in the feeling of
contentment that is etched into every scene.
This Oscar nominated Japanese slice of life explores the daily routine of Hirayama, a public
toilet cleaner living in Tokyo. The movie can be sectioned into four short stories, but it runs
smoothly as a whole, shown from the lens of an ordinary man reveling in the beauty of life even
amidst the small struggles that each day springs on him. We see Hirayama’s attention zoom in on
trees again and again, as he sits under them in the park every day during his lunch break to eat
the same sandwich as every other day. He takes pictures of the trees every time with just as much
marvel as the first time. Even when something new happens to him, be it his assistant quitting
without notice leaving him to cover for him, or his runaway niece tagging along with him when
he goes to work, or a stranger leaving behind pieces of paper in the public toilet to play tic-tac-
toe with him, he keeps living in that same routine, humble and quiet and at peace.
There’s a scene where Hirayama is standing across from his sister, who seems to be pitying his
blue-collar job, as she stands next to her chauffeured car. It’s a moment that’s gone in seconds, as
the scene continues with them talking about their ill father, but it leaves a mark. And therein lies
the beauty of the film. Even with others walking past him with an air of arrogance, pity, or
wariness, Hirayama stays true to himself, settling into the comfort of reading new books,
listening to music, and dining out. We also get to see him hard at work, with the camera panning
from angle to angle to portray his dedication to the craft- without a hint of resentment or
frustration. It’s a seamlessly pieced together tribute to workers who are shown so little
acknowledgement for the challenging roles they play every day.
Much like the canopy of leaves that Hirayama likes to take photos of, mundane jobs are not the
same all the time, even if they do look like it from an outsider’s point of view. They too have the
intricacies and nuances that everyone experiences in their own work, and it was refreshing to see
the film recognize that with so much depth. There are precious moments when Hirayama breaks
into tears or appear to be on the verge of crying, and they are intertwined with his moments of
utter contentment, a meaningful ingredient of the story that signifies how sadness and grief can
be embraced as part of the ordinary just as much as joy and comfort. The film is undoubtedly a
success with its unique way of telling a story without much of a plot, leaning more on the
strength of storytelling of the ordinary to make its point. And the story it ends up telling is the
kind that tends to stay with you even after the credits are done rolling.
Fun Fact: A notable part of the film is the various mentions of books and songs scattered
throughout its 2 hours runtime, and it makes for a really good recommendation list to refer back
to