Fallen Leaves (Kuolleet lehdet), 2023
The latest cinematic perplexity from Finnish auteur Aki Kaurismäki, takes the concept of a Hollywood romance, crumples it up, and throws it into the chilly Helsinki wind. Here, grand declarations and whirlwind courtships are replaced by what feels like an eternity of soft sighs and shared silences. Yet, don’t mistake its subdued nature for subtlety. While the film tries to whirl about with a bittersweet charm — akin to autumn leaves in a melancholic breeze — it often feels more like getting slapped in the face by those same leaves.
We trudge alongside Holappa (Jussi Vatanen), a middle-aged man whose luck has run out along with his job, and Ansa (Alma Pöysti), a single woman who finds the excitement in her life as absent as her romantic prospects. Their chance meeting in a smoky karaoke bar sparks… not much, really. A hesitant curiosity, perhaps, which embarks on a sluggish dance of ‘almost connections’ amid missed calls and wrong addresses, sprinkled with those oh-so-precious moments of Finnish awkwardness and wry humor.
Kaurismäki sticks to his guns with a minimalist style that pairs well with urban loneliness — a palette washed out except for the occasional, jarring pop of color. Pöysti, in particular, shines with a performance so nuanced you migh mistake her slight shrug for an emotional earthquake in this frosty Helsinki backdrop. But the real quake is in how the film manages to stretch a thin storyline over its runtime, with pacing that could glacier over any interest you had when you first sat down.
The film’s soundtrack, while hauntingly pleasing, plays on repeat enough to make you wonder if the record is broken — much like the spirits of its protagonists. Speaking of broken spirits, the hopeful undercurrent that Kaurismäki seems to aim for feels more like an underwhelming trickle. Despite the loneliness and quiet despair, the characters find small victories in shared meals and stolen glances — though why they bother is as much a mystery as the film’s appeal.
Bleak mundanity showcases the absurdity of life, certainly not in a humorous way, and I’m left questioning what exactly pulls these characters together, besides mutual boredom. Their wooden expressions — whether an intentional artistic choice or not — leave me feeling as cold and disconnected as the settings they meander through.
If this film were an American production, it would probably never see the light of day — no distribution, no festivals, no nothing. But since it’s Finnish, it’s suddenly “quaint” and “quirky.” Critics seem eager to praise anything that comes out of Finland, perhaps hoping that acknowledging its dreariness might spawn more cinematic exports from the country.
In grappling with what might ease the viewing experience of Fallen Leaves, one is truly at a loss. The film is so steeped in anti-life and anti-joy sentiments that the slightest pharmaceutical aid might tip you into despair. As for its protagonists, their first step should definitely be a ticket out of Finland and a ban on booze. Perhaps only then, with a modest dose of mescaline, might they — and we alongside them — glimpse a world that conspires for us, not against us, contrary to what their dreary surroundings and spirits might suggest.
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