Cafes, Houses, Containers: How Fallen Leaves Creates an Alternative World

In Fallen Leaves – the latest movie by the great Finnish director Aki Kaurismäki – there is a man and a woman interested in each other, and a fate that seems to do everything to keep them apart by making small or significant events happen. Interweaving circumstances that make them miss dates or compel them to truly wish to see each other again. An ordinary story made extraordinary by the places in which it unfolds – the kitchens, living rooms, and containers where these people live and move. As always in Kaurismäki’s movies the working class is central, neglected individuals who seem to have nothing in life, yet Fallen Leaves is not a drama but a comedy, at times hilarious, permeated with humor that has nothing to do with the usual ways movies make us laugh. The world of Aki Kaurismäki looks a lot like Finland, but it is also clear that it is not. His movies are set there, in those streets and cities, yet everything seems to take place at an indistinct point in time. The protagonists live as if in the 1950s, they have no television and listen to the radio (from which, however, current geopolitical news emerges, indicating that we are in the present). They maintain habits from the 1950s, yet attend contemporary movies, living and behaving as if they were in the past in every way – a lifestyle seemingly rooted in a bygone era. Perhaps, it is simply that they themselves are remnants of another time.

The best description of the characters that come to life in Fallen Leaves is perhaps the one the movie itself provides when it shows how the protagonist (Ansa) prepares to host the main character (Holappa) for dinner at her place: by going to the supermarket to buy a plate, a glass, and a fork. There is an uncommon melancholy within which black humor stirs, and then, surprisingly, a deep sentimentality emerges that would not seem possible amid all this pessimism. What holds together seemingly disparate elements and makes believable what would otherwise be a mishmash of different components are precisely the places that foreshadow what will happen, prepare the viewer, and create a visually fitting universe for this blend.

Screenplays and performances like those in Fallen Leaves would never be believable if inserted into the real world, in a faithful depiction of Finland or any other place. There would not be that strange form of immersion into another reality where one must accept the rules of behavior. Indeed, as we observe the peculiarities of the homes, the distinctiveness of the furnishings, and the retrograde nature of domestic technology, we enter a tone that allows the movie to roam freely. In other words, within those rooms, amidst those architectures and with those backgrounds, those characters and storylines are perfectly plausible.   
 

Moreover, we are unaware of a characteristic that the entire visual and aesthetic set-up announces, one that seems to be communicated to our subconscious before the movie truly reveals it: this is a world of common people, marginal characters who appear stripped to the bare essentials but are full of passion. We would not say this because everyone acts as if life has been sucked out of their bodies, striving to find absence in every line. It almost seems like the characters’ intention is not to reveal the slightest hint of emotion. Yet, this emotion is there. We notice it throughout Fallen Leaves, but it is these bare homes, these environments where only the essentials exist, that announced it. Even when it comes to a container, these homes have colored walls, carefully designed furniture, and vintage items, like radios. They are not neglected but exhibit a specific taste. It is a minimalist world but not a poor one. It is a basic world but not devoid of human touch. In fact, the colors are highly saturated, bold, even in the characters’ clothing.

It is yet another contradiction: making a film in which everyone pretends to have no feelings and yet is immersed in a world full of color. This is definitely Kaurismäki’s style, which oscillates between sadness and passion. He himself always presents as understated, cigarette in mouth, glass of beer or white wine in hand, expressing a sense of depression and continually talking about how everything is horrible. Yet, he is also the creator and animator of the Midnight Sun Film Festival. A festival that takes place right at midnight, during a time of the year when, in Finland (especially in the town of Sodankylä), the sun is still shining at that hour. It is one of the most entertaining festivals around, filled with music and movies. 

In over 40 years of filmmaking, Kaurismäki has invented and crafted stories where love always triumphs, saving everyone and tearing through exceptional moments within otherwise gray lives. In one of his most amusing movies, I Hired a Contract Killer (1991), a man is so desperate that he wants to commit suicide, but is unable to do so, and so decides to pay a hitman to kill him. However, he falls madly in love and attempts to cancel the contract. Yet, the seedy club where he met the criminals has collapsed, the entire building is a pile of rubble, leaving him with no choice but to survive his own killer. All for love. I Hired a Contract Killer is hilarious, and much like Fallen Leaves, it shows, through its settings, how people’s lives, in the most unexpected ways, can be tinged with emotions. Just knocking on a landlady’s door is enough to enter another almost movie, with different music, colors, another life, and therefore, other possibilities for a better tomorrow. 

For Kaurismäki, it is always the places that foreshadow what might happen, fictional, cinematic places invented and designed from scratch. They are so consistent throughout his filmography that they have created a parallel reality, not unlike the equally coordinated worlds of Wes Anderson’s movies or the fantastical and grotesque realm of Roy Andersson. A fictitious world spilled into reality when several years ago, Aki Kaurismäki (along with his brother Mika and other partners) created a venue resembling those in his films, with that decor, those lights, those colors, and that backdated idea of social gathering. Located in Helsinki, it was called Moskva and was part of a complex that included a cinema (called Andorra) and another café (Corona), closed in 2019 by the building owner. However, up until that point, it was a real-life version of that imaginary world, conceived by a director-designer.