FALLEN LEAVES You can’t rely on many things these days, but you can sit down for an Aki Kaurismäki film reasonably confident you will find a) mournful Helsinki citizens drinking and smoking like they mean it, b) moments of romantic transcendence as evanescent as Finland’s winter sun, and c) the best soundtrack of the year. Fallen Leaves doesn’t disappoint on any count.
It’s the surprise fourth instalment in what most of us thought of as the proletarian trilogy; bittersweet (though mostly bitter) tales of men and women scuffling through temporary occupations of manual labour, finding each other through songs, films and alcohol. Ansa (a careworn Alma Pöysti, last seen dreaming up the Moomins in Tove) is a zero-hours shopworker, responsible for chucking out the expired food at the end of the day, caught slipping a rancid ready meal into her purse and summarily fired. Holappa is a metalworker and just-about-functioning alcoholic who’s breathalysed after a workplace accident and thrown out on his arse.
They meet at a local karaoke bar and begin a shy, fledgling romance. Outside the local Ritzy are posters for and , but their (“It reminded me of Bresson’s !” enthuses one cinephile on the way out). But inevitably Holappa fumbles the scrap of paper with Ansa’s phone number and the lovers are parted.
