Fallen Leaves

The same droll humour and keen social awareness that have defined [Kaurismaki's] work since Leningrad Cowboys Go America, in 1989, are now put in service of a lovely, star-crossed romance.

Fallen Leaves is the best big-screen romance of the year even though its prospective lovers exchange only a handful of words and, for most of the film, don’t know each other’s names.

Fallen Leaves is consistently funny, but its laughs arrive without fanfare. They slide in calmly, at times obliquely in eccentric details, offbeat juxtapositions, taciturn exchanges, long pauses and amiably barbed insults.

An 81-minute film that’s as crisp and bittersweet as a late autumn breeze, Kaurismäki’s latest might amount to little more than a bauble in the end, but it offers a stirring reminder — both with its story, and through the experience of watching it — that life can only be so bleak so long as you can still go to the movies and escape it for a little while.

Drolly scripted, impeccably designed and photographed, and played to succinct perfection, this may only be a slender drama, but it's also a cherishable summation of what makes Aki Kaurismäki special.

Fallen Leaves is another of Kaurismäki’s beguiling and delightful cinephile comedies, featuring foot-tapping rock’n’roll. It’s romantic and sweet-natured, in a deadpan style that in no way undermines or ironises the emotions involved and with some sharp things to say about contemporary politics.

It’s a nice but exceedingly minor movie. It leaves little imprint.

It's directed in a way that makes you feel nostalgic for some reason, with some really nice blocking and staging from time to time. Though the end might feel a little unsatisfying, it still manages to deliver a compelling story.

A ponderous and depressing romantic comedy involving people who are struggling to make ends meet, and relentless drinking.

(Mauro Lanari) Sublime style not because it is very recognizable (if only that were enough...), but because it is masterfully antiphrastic: thorny themes such as those of neorealism and its surroundings treated with strenuous anti-naturalism (camera almost always fixed, bull's-eye lights, estranged acting, lunatic dialogues, the interlocutors who never look at each other but gaze at a mysterious elsewhere, current affairs and timelessness, dramedy and tragicomedy). The cinematic referents are openly cited. If only he had something interesting to say, however: with this film Aki intends to add an appendix to the working-class trilogy he directed between '86 and '90, and he does so by reversing the path taken by Charlot to Chaplin with the story of "Monsieur Verdoux" written by Welles, that is, by re-proposing "fairy tales for adults". Then don't be surprised by the joint hosanna of the "Cahiers" and "L'Osservatore Romano".

It’s not much of a secret that the worldview of Finnish society can be more than a little bleak. At the same time, though, it also possesses an understatedly campy, eminently whimsical quality that comes in stark contrast to this otherwise-dour outlook. And this makes for a combination of traits that can be somewhat puzzling to fathom, especially to outsiders. That’s the quirky social conundrum that writer-director Aki Kaurismäki seeks to capture in his latest offering, a wry comedy-drama focused on the lives of two lonely, lovelorn working class Helsinki residents (Alma Pöysti, Jussi Vatanen) who struggle against life’s hiccups while seeking to forge a romance. But, in telling their story, the filmmaker has difficulty finding sufficient traction to engage viewers. We witness a story full of modest, garden variety ups and downs, as well as more than a few miscommunications, experiences we’ve all no doubt undergone ourselves from time to time. However, is that enough to make a compelling picture? It certainly doesn’t feel that way much of the time, given its wooden dialogue and restrained, sometimes-stilted performances, no matter how pointedly this production may portray the nature of this extraordinarily reserved people. To its credit, the film works best when it pokes fun at the nature of Finnish culture, providing some delicious nuggets of droll humor, backed by a diverse yet spot-on soundtrack that fittingly and ironically complements what’s unfolding on screen. Nevertheless, there’s so much here that lends so little to a narrative that just never catches fire that it’s hard to imagine almost anyone generating any interest in, or enthusiasm for, the protagonists and their feeble attempts at launching a relationship. Maybe I’m missing something here, but, if there is something meaningful that this release is trying to convey, it’s apparently well buried under one of those big piles of fallen leaves that give this picture its title.

A romantização da condição de vida precária pintada num quadro de comédia romântica por um cineasta claramente apaixonado por cinema (dadas as referências), mas incapaz de não afetar os personagens com seus maneirismo elitistas. Terrivelmente chato em sua maior parte do tempo, com personagens tão apáticos quanto gélidos. Ao menos acertou na lindíssima trilha sonora.