Shadows in Paradise (1986) - Directed by Aki Kaurismaki





Finnish director Aki Kaurismaki made a series of three films from 1986-90, now known as the "proletariat trilogy" as packaged by Criterion. They are Shadows in Paradise (1986), Ariel (1988), and The Match Factory Girl (1990). I just watched all three of them on successive nights and had never seen any of them before. These are all films examining the lowest class of society in which the characters struggle to get above the poverty line, working blue-collar jobs if they have a job at all. Kaurismaki's script makes particular use of the potential humor found within this world where everyone feels like a cog in the wheel of life. These are all beaten down characters and life has become a series of habits and instincts. Kaurismaki throws in some very dark, dry humor into these films which lightens the mood considerably from the bleak surroundings, elevating all three films into something unique.



All three films are good in their own right, but Shadows in Paradise is the best of these three in my opinion. At its heart, this is the most uncharacteristic romantic comedy ever made. Nikander (Matti Pellonpaa) is a garbage man. This is not only his job, but it's his identity. He's single beyond all hope, but meets Ilona (Kati Outinen), a wallflower and cashier at a grocery store. They have an awkward, kindred moment together in the checkout line. From that point, their relationship (and the lack thereof at times) is what drives the film. Yet it's the brilliantly dry performances of the actors that makes this immensely watchable. Kati Outinen and Matti Pellonpaa truly embody these characters. They understand their quirks and what makes them tick. To say these are completely understated performances is an understatement in itself. You have never seen anyone so mopey on screen as these two, yet they are hopelessly romantic and you root for them even though they are so pathetic.

In a way, Wes Anderson shares quite a bit in common with Aki Kaurismaki. I wrote a review recently of Wes Anderson's The Royal Tenenbaums, discussing his use of dry, emotionless acting to add to the mood and comedy of his films.  Here I go again espousing this type of film. I mentioned Buster Keaton and how he perfected the stoic comedy. Aki Kaurimsaki, Wes Anderson, and even Jim Jarmusch in films like Dead Man (1995) and Ghost Dog (1999) make use of this dry humor with similarly rewarding results. Kaurismaki's genius script is sprinkled with little bits of slang and in-jokes that come across as hilarious. I'm not sure why I like this kind of movie, but I do find this very funny. I also find these types of films are a bit more intelligent, as far as comedies go. Even Kaurismaki's continued use of American Jazz and Blues music throughout the film adds to the odd and darkly comical tone of the film. 

Timo Salminen has continually been Kaurismaki's cinematographer over his career. His work here is nothing less than inventive. His greatest achievement is using the frame to enhance the developing romance or emphasize the divide between the characters as the camera observes their interactions. We always feel like we're privy to the quiet lives of Nikander and Ilona and the camera never gets in the way. Although really short at 76 minutes, Shadows in Paradise doesn't feel rushed at all. We watch the beginning of the relationship and it plays out in front of us: completely, slowly, cautiously. This is a brilliant little gem of a film from a director who is probably the greatest his country has ever produced.

Melville Double Feature (Pt. 2) - Le Deuxieme Souffle (1966) - Directed by Jean-Pierre Melville



In my previous post I talked about the early career and style of Jean-Pierre Melville in his film Le Doulos (1962). His 1966 feature Le Deuxieme Souffle is a great example of a filmmaker honing his craft and refining his themes. This is a natural progression. Melville here clearly changes his tone, compositions, and thematic elements to build upon the framework he set for himself with his earlier films like Le Doulos and Bob Le Flambeur (1956), all to an end that is at once more detached, yet filled with more feeling.

In this film, Lino Ventura plays Gu, an escaped convict who's hiding from the authorities while simultaneously planning his next heist. Inspector Blot (Paul Meurisse) plays the cat-and-mouse game to track Gu and arrest him. In plot, the scenarios play out in a way that we're fairly familiar with from all of the cop/gangster films that have come after it. It's the way that the film is put together, in the inimitable style of Melville that elevates the material.

In examining the evolution of Melville, we note the change in tone from his earlier films. No longer is there the sense of homage or playfullness. We don't have the Belmondos of the world bringing their own inherent trendiness. Instead there is a greater sense of existential dread. It's a much colder world. Stark. Death is more scary and omnipresent instead of a necessary means as before. In this change of tone, as a whole, the film seems to be more important and therefore filled with more pathos and feeling. Lino Ventura is the perfect actor choice and is partly responsible for this change of tone. A great article on his acting style and the screen presence he brought to Melville's later pictures is well worth a read. In Richard Porton's piece he writes, "Ventura's hardboiled gangsters were neither suave nor flamboyant. He specialized in burnt-out, doomed men". This is a perfect example of the way the actor adds to the tone of the film that the director is trying to pursue. Ventura went on the star in Melville's very cold, yet personal look at the French Resistance (of which Melville was a part of) in Army of Shadows (1969).

In his compositions, we notice that Melville is increasingly particular. Shots are artfully composed to a point where it becomes perfectionist. This is now a world where people are spaced just so and shots strung together creating a stark existence, one devoid of warm humanity. What a striking turn of events for Melville. In Le Doulos there was a kinetic sense of joy in the compositions. More of a warm homage to traditional film noir. Here we see death and gunfights play out more coldly and savagely. In this film's centerpiece we see a brilliantly staged armored-vehicle heist on some rocky cliffs, where we are treated to a basically wordless piece of filmmaking. Melville lets us watch as we see everything being set-up by the robbers and the entire act carried out with cold-blooded efficiency. It's a perfectly shot scene and emblematic of the way that Melville was creating this new type of haggard gangster film.  Faces are blank and world-weary. There's a point where we see Gu's girlfriend Manouche shed one small tear. It's a token really, but she's so empty and cold that it's a hopeless gesture in a moment of weariness. We're not even sure she's truly sad. Melville's next feature, Le Samourai takes the stark compositions and barren existence to a new level, albeit in color. It documents a lone hitman and his precise and exact world in which he lives. Jim Jarmusch's film Ghost Dog (1999) was a direct nod to Melville in Le Samourai.

Differences in thematic elements that are perhaps most apparent in Le Deuxieme Souffle from Le Doulos are the emphasis on the ethics of the gangster and the cop. Ratting out and cheating are at once dreadful and necessary depending on your place. Inspector Blot, as the chaser, does anything he can, even lying and using coercive tactics to get his man to talk. Gu fears that he has ratted-out his friends by mistake, which tears him apart. It's this extra emphasis on the morales and tactics that elevates the story from a mere homage to more epic proportions. Cheating and lying in Le Doulos are so prevalent that it's almost treated with a bit of humor. In Le Deuxieme Souffle, it's serious business. Apparently, even gangsters have feelings, cold as they may be. Melville went on to focus more on these ethical rules in Le Samourai, but they're clearly present here.

Melville would go on to make even more refinements to his craft in Le Samourai (1967), Army of Shadows (1969), and Le Cercle Rouge (1970), showing even more restaint and creating an ever-greater feeling of detachment and existential crises. His work is essential and worth viewing in succession in order to fully appreciate the director's craft.