Karl's Perfect Day hardly betrays its title under the guise of a program. It is literally about that and only about that: in a gesture reminiscent of Andy Warhol, following around Berlin-based Swedish poet Karl Holmqvist from the moment he gets up until he goes to sleep, and all through various daily activities in fine detail. Brushing his teeth, taking care of plants, watering them but also reading them poetry, going for a bike ride, putting on whatever clothes he happens to find, seeing a girlfriend again, visiting Hannah Höch's house, etc. If, through the many details, it is perfectly clear that Karl has decided to twist daily demands at the pace of the utopia he has chosen for himself, it is just as clear that it would take the qualities of a plant collector to accurately and delicately capture each and every one of these decisions. And that is exactly what Rirkirt Tiravanija achieves in this second film of his, by weaving a film where art and life circulate with the same, discrete intensity in an almost invisible space where everything refuses to speak louder than necessary, including the moment of a concert-performance with the great musician Arto Lindsay when Karl sings "elephant telephone". It takes an artist another artist to disclose him in this challenge of ordinary happiness.