Les feuilles mortes

A film brimming with charm, thanks to its human characters, struggling in their own way to make a living. She's a cashier, moving from job to job. She owns her own apartment. He's a manual laborer who works in a factory, but drinks. And he goes from job to job. They cross paths. They're both alone. They're drawn to each other. Girl meets boy. Boy meets girl. They're both shy. But there will be grains of sand in the mechanics of their relationship. Aki Kaurismäki doses the construction of this couple perfectly.

Aki Kaurismäki sprinkles his film with references (Jean-Luc Godard, George A. Romero, for example). The result is a short film, and all the better for it. There are no unnecessary sequences here. There's no extra-diegetic music. Without going too fast, Aki Kaurismäki builds the love story between the characters. A film to warm the heart.

Fallen Leaves is a rather short movie but very dense in content. The acting, the dialogues, the sets are austere, which can feel unattractive for many people used to the usual bombardment of images. But this minimalistic direction leaves an immense space for emotions.

The characters have precarious lives. They are confronted daily with the pains and the hardships of the working-classes: bad bosses, poverty, unemployment, addiction. On this background of darkness, the movie manages to remain light and even funny. Life feels fragile and yet, the characters also find solidarity, hope, and love. That might be the political and poetic meaning of this movie.

I left the theater full of joy and with a smile on my face.

I'm not here to write a full review but just to share one observation. The Finland in picture is not real, neither it is a Finland of the past, despite of artifacts from the 70s and 40s. It is a Finland of proletariat, an allusion to what was once and could possibly still return. The colors, the fashion, the rhythm, and the certain quality of post production of the film is deliberately made to look like old Soviet cinema (perhaps). I grew up in Soviet Union, so immediately recognize that aesthetics, as well as the reality of the depressed suburbs, omnipresent alchoholism, and the worst kind of proletariat reality, where people are neither given a setting for developing nor being in any way protected. The war in Ukraine is an actor of the film as well. It is present from the opening scene and on - some listen to it, some switch the channel off, but it constantly comes back to interact with the characters. The film might be, among other things, a commentary on the reality that modern-day russia represents. Also interesting that the main male characters are delusional as in wanting to be something they are not on multiple occasions (Holapa's friend wanting to be young or a singer-superstar signing large contracts, or Holappa himself claiming he could easily be a "cool guy" if only he wanted to). It is certainly about us all, and how much delusional hopes are a part of human condition. Yet these become paramount, a desperate means for escape, in a world where people are living in poverty and with little means for self-actualization. Of course there is also this scene when Anse comes to the hospital to read to Holappa and sits down onto a chair painted in blue and yellow, but that might be already a bit of a stretch to think this might symbolize ukraine fighting to get whatever Holappa represents out of darkness and into the world of hope. Overall it's a charming feel-good movie, classically Kaurismaki.

..not with the movie, but with another seeker. That seems to be the main idea of Kaurismäki's movie Fallen Leaves.

Life is hard and monotonous. It's also petty, particularly when you're on low wages. So find someone to squeeze. Have a go at a bit of solidarity too.

Ansa and Holappa are both working annoying jobs in modern day Finland. They listen to news of the latest atrocities from the Russian army in Ukraine, they have a cigarette or a swig, they sit in unhappy bars, they struggle with their bosses, they are lonely. They admire the cinema.

Some of the vignettes are well informed about poverty, earlier in my life I worked in a supermarket where we would be in trouble if we took out-of-date food, even though we were hungry and were being made to throw it in the bin. The bosses' view was that we would deliberately let things go off, or over prepare fresh food if we were allowed to take the out-of-date food away. When we have money we take for granted things like internet access, when you don't someone will gouge you for a few minutes access.

Spend some time with someone who catches your fancy, use some energy to not mess it up. There's no sex in the movie and I quite like that in a society that over-fixates on fetishized addiction sex. Sometimes it's just lovely to have company, to talk and listen to music, just to feel their presence. Wouldn't you like a person round the house oh lonely cinema goer?

Greetings again from the darkness. Finland is often listed as the country having the happiest people, and this latest from writer-director Aki Kaurismaki (Oscar nominated THE MAN WITHOUT A PAST, 2002) arrives to make sure we never again believe this. It's not that the film is oppressively sad, but it does focus on loneliness ... especially that of the two main characters.

These two leads are Alma Poysti as Ansa and Jussi Vatanen as Holappa. The timeline of their relationship goes something like this: They notice each other on karaoke night at the local tavern, but they don't speak to each other. They cross paths at a bus stop, again not speaking. When they finally do meet, they go for coffee and a movie (Jim Jarmusch's zombie flick, THE DEAD DON'T DIE). He then loses her phone number. They almost meet a couple of times outside the cinema (where a Bardot poster is displayed), but just miss each other. When they do meet again, they part ways over a 'deal-breaker'. She adopts a stray dog she initially names "dog". When they meet again, they don't speak.

Some may call this progression dry, but with filmmaker Kaurismaki at the helm, a better description is wry. Ansa expertly sports a forlorn look most of the time. The only exception is when she flashes subtle signs of hopefulness when she looks at Holappa. On the other hand, he spends most every day and evening guzzling from a glass, a bottle, or a flask ... a habit that costs him various jobs. His circular reasoning is explained as: "I'm depressed because I drink and I drink because I'm depressed." Adding to the tone are reports of Russia's invasion of Ukraine every time Ansa clicks on her kitchen radio.

Ansa has a friend named Tanya (Alina Tomnikov) and Holappa has a buddy named Huotari (Janne Hyytiainen). He is attracted to her and she admires his singing voice, yet deems him too old to date. These two characters could have been expanded, but Kaurismaki is so efficient at storytelling that the film barely lasts 80 minutes. Static shots and wordless exchanges fill much of the time, each scene with a definitive purpose that we fully understand. Personally, I've rarely been so filled with hope as watching Ansa purchase a single plate and corresponding utensils.

The film is spartan and quiet, yet the deadpan characters feel real and fully developed despite minimal dialogue. There is certainly a message about alcoholism and how outside forces can have such an impact, and yet the film seizes on Ansa's hope for a better day. Kaurismaki's film won a Jury Prize at Cannes, and is Finland's submission for Best International Feature Film. For those who thrive on intimate cinema, it's a gem ... and for those who doubt that "happiest country" label for Finland, you now have your supporting documentation.

Opened in NYC and Los Angeles on November 22, 2023, other cities to follow.