Fallen Leaves

In an exploitative and cruel world, this shambling, quiet romance captures both the void of loneliness and the warmth of human touch.

By design, Fallen Leaves isn’t so much a romance as a series of gestures towards the idea of one. You can’t tell this kind of story any more, is the implication, but wouldn’t it be nice if you could?

This movie does follow that arc in its own way. It feels like there’s a big beating heart awaiting its moment.

This is a movie that could be gloomy so easily, but [Kaurismäki] somehow manages to find this level of whimsy and and optimism.

[It has] big laughs for a film that is so understated.

The leads deliver perfectly deadpan performances that never obscure their characters’ stirring hopes that, in each other, they might have found a way to end the loneliness and disappointment that’s defined their lives.

It’s a comedy and one of the romantic variety without any irony or cynicism.

33 years later, Aki Kaurismäki continues his Proletariat series with Fallen Leaves, a hilarious and winning deadpan delight.

Fallen Leaves has humorous and moving moments, but they are too few in number. In general, the self-consciously restrained style is irritating, not illuminating. It closes the film off to life, rather than opening it up.

The achievement here is dramatising such a simple, even unpromising story of everyday romance so coolly, and with so much charm.