If Zen Buddhist philosophy aims at perfection and peace through daily, contemplative practice, then the fictional toilet cleaner featured in the new Japanese film “Perfect Days” could be said to embody its wisdom. Every day, we see him ply his trade at Tokyo’s newest public bathrooms, each one more of a work of art than a mere lavatory. As he diligently scrubs and tidies, focused on his duties, his concentration reaches a state of meditation. Yet he is also open to distractions, such as the shadow of leaves cast on a wall, reinforcing Zen’s emphasis on nature and taking in one’s surroundings. 

One might expect such a theme to be explored by a Japanese director, yet “Perfect Days” is directed by Wim Wenders, the German auteur of such classics as “Wings of Desire” and “Paris, Texas.” Similarities, though, between those films and his latest appear almost immediately, with solitary men haunting each of them and an observant, dynamic quality to their imagery. 

The reclusive janitor of Mr. Wenders’s new picture is Hirayama, a late middle-aged man who lives in a low, dilapidated building near Toyko’s Skytree, the tallest tower in the world. Nearly every morning, he wakes to the caressing sound of an old woman sweeping the street outside his window. After his ablutions, he heads out in his small truck to the various restrooms he services, his breakfast a canned coffee consumed while driving. All this, including his work, is done with a smile, or at least an amused demeanor, even when a drunk young man kicks over his cleaning sign. The only note of perturbation in the reserved character appears when his young co-worker, Takashi, arrives late. 

Once his work day is done, Hirayama heads to his local men’s spa, where he bathes and relaxes, followed by dinner at a modest underground eatery where he is a regular. Back home, he struggles to read a book by Faulkner and then falls asleep on his simple sleeping pad. This template is repeated the next day and the one after that, yet Mr. Wenders and his editor, Toni Froschhammer, reveal new details each time, building on Hirayama’s appreciation of workaday curiosities. 

Although this may sound a tad tedious, the Oscar-nominated “Perfect Days” avoids monotony early on due to its pictorial use of light and color, and the intricate framings of the city and its highways and byways. Coupled with the protagonist’s daily gratitude and little discoveries, the movie ambles along pleasantly, with nary a whiff of scatalogical humor but plenty of amusing moments and minor variations in Hirayama’s quotidian life amounting to a plot. 

Adding to the movie’s gentle buoyancy is its soundtrack of songs from the 1960s and ’70s, including Lou Reed’s “Perfect Day,” naturally, and Patti Smith’s “Redondo Beach,” which at times also lends a bitter undertone to the proceedings. This music, heard via Hirayama’s old cassette tapes, leads to some humorous, almost wistful scenes with Takashi and said colleague’s girlfriend.

Just when the routine starts to feel, well, repetitive, Hirayama’s teenage niece, Niko, shows up at his door, apparently running away from home. Estranged from his wealthy sister, our hero brings Niko along on his rounds, resulting in the girl expressing appreciation for the humble quality of his life. A little later on, he reunites with his sister in a heartbreaking scene hinting at past familial trauma. We further come to realize near the film’s end that he might have struggled with alcohol in his younger days.

The solitude and calm that the character clearly cherishes, then, is in response to deep wounds and not just a design for life or spiritual quest. This disclosure tweaks our idea of him and provides acclaimed actor Kōji Hashimoto with added opportunities to display his range. Quick, dusky dream sequences, which mirror the black-and-white photographs he occasionally takes, also heighten our sense that Hirayama seeks order not only in a chaotic world but in his mind. 

A couple characters express disbelief at Hirayama choosing such a thankless job and working so hard at it, unable to fathom that the work affords him the chance to be invisible, rather than it being a punishment, a penance on his part, or merely dedication to his fellow man. In going unnoticed, he in turn observes what they often do not or choose to ignore, like a tree seedling or a homeless man performing a strange pantomime. 

Hirayama’s silent, dignified wonder at much of what he encounters every day frees him from social distinctions and pressures, though it also creates a gulf between him and others, which Mr. Wenders never scrutinizes. Instead, he chooses to playfully portray the character as Buddha-like, and the movie invites us to play along.