Are we condemned to be slaves to our worst tendencies, or is it possible – desirable even – to break free from our existing patterns of behavior that keep us from aspiring for a more fulfilled life? This is the central existential question that hovers over Finnish writer-director Aki Kaurismäki’s latest tragicomedy, Fallen Leaves.
With Kaurismäki once again returning to exploring the Sisyphean task of the working class trying to find happiness in a neoliberal, capitalist system that’s stacked the odds against them, the film is a spiritual addition to his Proletariat Trilogy – that includes Shadows in Paradise (1986), Ariel (1988), and The Match Factory Girl (1990). It’s interesting that Kaurismäki, who threatened to quit directing altogether after his last feature, The Other Side of Hope (2017), returns to a universe he’s intimately familiar with for his new film. You might think that by returning to familiar themes, he’s rehashing old material, and the result would be uninspired. However, the outcome is, delightfully, quite the opposite.
By leaning on the humanism of his flawed characters and treating them with remarkable empathy – a Kaurismäki trademark –he’s able to make subtle tweaks to his existing template in a way that speaks more urgently about surviving the debilitating despair of living through a post-capitalist society today. Fallen Leaves is a film that not only recognizes the absurdity of wanting happiness in an otherwise grim world – with ongoing wars, the rise of zero-hour contracts that offer no job security, and the lack of real wages keeping pace with the cost of living – it also attempts to give us an antidote to help combat our grim reality.
The fact that the film commits to this kind of irrational hope almost feels like an act of rebellion; to ‘Believe’ with a capital B in a Ted Lasso kind of way that all of us are capable of being better people, that all of us deserve a better future. That the film can combat this insurmountable feeling of hopelessness that’s present in the zeitgeist with sincerity and genuineness without coming across as overly nostalgic or schmaltzy is nothing short of a true cinematic miracle. Without a doubt, Fallen Leaves is the hopeful film of our times that we didn’t know we desperately needed.
Fallen Leaves is about two lonely people – Ansa (Alma Pöysti), a zero-hour contract worker doing odd jobs to make ends meet, and Holappa (Jussi Vatanen), a construction worker who cannot hold on to a job due to his alcoholism. They happen to meet accidentally at a karaoke bar and then again and again due to certain cosmic coincidences. While it’s obvious they crave companionship, someone who can make them feel less alone, they aren’t quite sure if they’re capable of sharing their life with another. They’ve become so used to loneliness that even the pangs of despair are somewhat comforting – at least they know this feeling will pass. But sharing your life with someone else? That’s a big change. It’s the kind of change that both aren’t quite ready for.
The Kaurismäki diehards will be able to spot similarities to the Proletariat Trilogy that pop up here. Much like Shadows in Paradise, here too, both protagonists fall in love gradually and over time. Like Ariel’s male protagonist, Holappa, here is unable to hold on to his construction job and keeps getting caught up in absurd happenings that seem to follow him around. However, Fallen Leaves is perhaps closest in spirit to The Match Factory Girl, albeit with a less bleak outlook. Just like the female protagonist in the former film, you wonder for how long Ansa can – her name itself has two meanings: ‘virtue’ and ‘trap’ – keep soldiering on with her life as everything around her crumbles. Is it virtuous to continue living such a life where nothing goes in your favor?
While there are shades of the past, Fallen Leaves is very much a film of the present. The ongoing Russia-Ukraine war features prominently in the film, adding to the overall sense of foreboding and hopelessness. Living in an apartment furnished with just bare necessities – there’s only a plate, utensils, and cutlery that’s sufficient for one person – Ansa has a radio as her steadfast companion to her loneliness. In a cruel twisting-the-knife moment, rather than any uplifting songs playing on the frequency, Ansa is often greeted with harsh dispatches of the ongoing Russia-Ukraine war that further dampens her mood and plunges her into despair. It seems as if the entire world – not just Ansa’s – is battling for survival. “Bloody war!” rages Ansa at one point, standing up in anger to turn off the radio when she’s finally had enough and cannot bear to listen to the war dispatches anymore.
This is also a film that dares to ask – can we ever truly break the cycle of our addictions? Holappa won’t admit it, but he’s an alcoholic. So much so that his addiction repeatedly comes in the way of him trying to work – he can’t stop drinking while on the job, and anywhere else for that matter. In a deadpan circular conversation that’s peppered with black humor – a Kaurismäki staple – Holappa discusses the reason why he drinks so heavily with his only friend and confidante Huotari (Janne Hyytiäinen):
“Holappa: I’m depressed
Huotari: Why?
Holappa: Because I drink
Huotari: Why do you drink?
Holappa: Because I’m depressed.”
There are nods to older films and auteurs sprinkled throughout the film. Recurring chance encounters between our protagonists that involve the cinema is a hat tip to David Lean’s Brief Encounter (1945). The film that our two leads watch together during one of their early meetings is Jim Jarmusch’s The Dead Don’t Die (2019). Jarmusch, along with Wes Anderson (the deadpan style of delivery that Anderson’s characters employ in his films is an explicit homage to Kaurismäki), are two of the prominent directors who are influenced by Kaurismäki’s style and aesthetics. It was cute to see the great Finnish director reference Jarmusch as a form of mutual admiration.
To combat her loneliness, Ansa adopts a stray dog and names him ‘Chaplin’ (and true to his name, the dog gives a stellar performance, adding to an already envious number of great dog performances considering Kaurismäki’s filmography). However, the best and funniest reference has to be the throwaway one-liner that mentions both Jean-Luc Godard and Robert Bresson in the same breath, resulting in audible chuckles from the theatre.
Without a doubt, Fallen Leaves is a cinephile’s delight. Ardent film lovers will cherish repeated viewings as they parse the film for their favorite references. But this shouldn’t be taken as a nudge that this is a film just for cinephiles to enjoy. At an astoundingly economical runtime of only 81 minutes, the film never loses sight of its innate humanism despite taking little detours of self-referential escapades. Fallen Leaves is a film that lingers in the subconscious; a film that’s about how love can make you want to be a better version of yourself in a largely unforgiving world.
