THE MAN
WITHOUT A PAST
An unemployed man travels
to Helsinki in search of work and is robbed and brutally beaten soon
after stepping off the train. Unable to remember who he is or where
he came from, he must now depend on the kindness of strangers.
CAST:Markku Peltola, Kati Outinen, Juhani Niemela,
Kaija Pakarinen, Sakari Kuosmanen
DIRECTOR: Aki Kaurismaki

"The Man Without a Past has
a sly, controlled silliness that recalls Preston Sturges and a vision
of resilience and nobility in hard times that suggests Charlie Chaplin
without the sleeve-tugging sentimentality, or Frank Capra without
the weakness for speechifying. And like the great films of the 1930's
and early 40's, it is at once artful and unpretentious, sophisticated
and completely accessible, sure of its own authority and generous
toward characters and audience alikea movie whose intended
public is the human race." --A. O. Scott, The New York Times
"Amnesia as a plot device is certainly nothing new, but when
Finnish auteur Aki Kaurismaki funnels one man's memory loss through
his lens, the result is brilliantly idiosyncratic. Kaurismaki shuns
Hollywood bluster to construct a modest fable full of subtle grace
notes and deadpan wit, a survival story that gently uncurls to reveal
an affecting romance at its core
A love affair with a withdrawn
Salvation Army officer (Kati Outinen) begins almost mechanically
but flowers beautifully as they pick mushrooms in the countryside
and hold hands on the sofa
Using saturated colors reminiscent
of '50s Technicolor, Kaurismaki directs The Man Without a
Past--a nominee for Best Foreign Language Film at last month's
Oscars--with the assuredness of a master, letting his pearls of
whip-smart dialogue drop gently and reverberate. --Megan Lehmann,
The New York Post
"...a surprisingly touching and simple
story about human dignity in the most trying of circumstances: "Life
goes on, not backwards," as someone observes about the uselessness
of regret. The humor is deadpan and dry, but there is also a great
deal of heart in this deceptively low-key venture." --Marshall
Fine, The Journal News
"The Man Without a Past," Finnish filmmaker Aki
Kaurismäki's celebration of lower-depths esprit, is a deadpan
comic romance rendered as a series of poker-faced arabesques
The
movie's terrific opening sequence wherein the nameless hero
(Markku Peltola), identified in the credits only as M, arrives in
town and is almost immediately mugged, bludgeoned, and left for
dead in a park near the Helsinki train stationis as tense
and spare as any '50s B movie
The movie's sardonic tone is
increasingly muted by a Wenders-ish sentimentality manifest largely
in the filmmaker's propensity for lovable canines and gruff landlords
who turn out to be softies, as well as a maudlin, weary faith in
the redemptive power of rock and roll
Kaurismäki's temperament
may be sweeter than Fassbinder's, but his mode of address is no
less cool. His camera moves are precise; his blocking is impeccable;
his laconic sight gags are perfectly uninflected
This may not
be Kaurismäki's masterpiece, but it is a movie of sustained
stylistic integrityand it has the power to make you laugh."
--J. Hoberman, The Village Voice
"As Kaurismäki's protagonist ferrets out beauty and energy
in the midst of austerity and inertia, The Man Without a Past
becomes a gently seductive parable about the human impulse to make
flowers grow in cement. It's the most reluctant triumph- of-human-spirit
movie you are likely to see, since it refuses to wear its heart
on its sleeve, or anywhere else for that matter." --Jan Stuart,
Newsday
"With a dark forelock falling over his wide, bony features,
Peltola could be Liam Neesons long-lost Nordic cousin, and
hes morose and bearish enough to ward off pathos. Watch him
enter a café, order a cup of free hot water, then slowly
extract a dry, much used tea bag from a matchbox, ready for re-dunking.
Chaplin would have transformed the deed into a miniature ballet
of self-pity, whereas Peltolas air of resigned practicality
reminds you that Kaurismäki prefers to stake his comedy in
the glacial and the glum." --Anthony Lane, The New Yorker
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