review: Mies vailla menneisyyttä (The Man Without a Past) PDF Print E-mail
Written by Boyd van Hoeij   
Friday, 11 February 2005
Mies vailla menneisyyttä (The Man Without a Past) film reviewSome films take place in an enclosed universe that does not exist elsewhere but on the screen and in the filmmaker’s mind. Mies vailla menneisyyttä (The Man Without a Past) is such a film. Not only does the story take place in the Finnish capital that seems stuck somewhere undefined between the nineteen thirties and today, the characters and the delivery of their lines also seem to take a cue from their surroundings and would be laughable in any other film but this one, expertly directed and written by Aki Kaurismäki. He sees his Finland through a particular prism that shows both a naive and innocent country as well as a country where great truths about life are not buried deep inside people but seem right there below the surface, ready to pop out when needed.
 
Kaurismäki’s Finland is not a utopian version of reality, however, as we experience in the first scenes in which a man (Markku Peltola) is hit over the head, robbed and left for dead in a park. He is eventually taken to a hospital where he is treated for his severe head-injuries but is soon declared dead until he rises from his bed and wanders out of the hospital. If this sounds absurd written down, it all makes perfect sense in Kaurismäki’s world and even during the first minutes of his Finnish fable Kaurismäki has made it clear that the events portrayed are logical in the enclosed universe of this film.
 
The man, because of his head injuries, does not remember who he is. He is the "man without a past". This condition, a staple of many films, at first seems an obstacle to his functioning normally since he has no money, no home and no friends to fall back on, but the man is anything if not resourceful. He is helped by the underbelly of Finnish society; a group of people living in containers in a waste dump outside Helsinki. Despite their haggard appearances and quirky tics they do not have any inhibitions when it comes to helping an unknown, injured man.
 
One of the men -- an alcoholic, we later lean -- offers to buy him a beer. "You do drink beer, don’t you?" he asks cautiously, "or are you a teetotaller?" The man answers, shrugging his shoulders: "I don’t remember". He soon finds himself with some food, a home (well, a container, really), a job and an infatuation of epic proportions with a helpful lady from the Salvation Army (Kati Outinen).
 
What sets The Man Without a Past aside from many other quirky adventures is its internal coherence (both in terms of storytelling and visual style) as well as the humanity of its characters. The colour-scheme and lighting remind of the 1950s films while the music is also nostalgic "rhythm rock", as the main character calls it. Utterly delightful Finnish pop abounds as well (he even gets some members of the Salvation Army to play some) and it lends The Man Without a Past an authenticity that rivals Almodóvar’s use of Spanish music to create a sense of culture and place.

In Kaurismäki’s world there are no people that are purely evil nor are there people that are saintly good; everyone, even all of the minor characters, have moments that reveal their humanity. While the man without a past tries to get by without even knowing his own name, we all become a bit more hopeful simply by watching this man enjoy what he does know. It does not take a lot to be happy, according to the man without a past. If only we could never forget that.
 
 
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