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Miesten vuoro (2010)
Beautiful but unabashedly formulaic storytelling.
"Steam of Life" is a memorable documentary film about the human experience, and it's certainly worth a watch. Through stories told by sweating, naked men, I was reminded of the universality that connects our species. Love, truth, regret, determination, letting go – these important aspects of life are explored both in conversation and in silence.
Spending time wrapped in steam is an essential part of life in Finland, where there is an average of one sauna per household. The process has its health benefits: sweating clears out toxins while slaps from birch branches open pores and improve circulation. But the layer that this film aims to expose is not purely physical: through emotional vignettes, "Steam of Life" brings the vulnerability of Finnish men into focus. The stories that these men tell in the sauna cover a wide range of life experiences: from the joy of raising a child to the horror of botched custody rights, the transition from criminal to family-man, the unending love for an enormous sauna- fearing bear – yes, seriously – this film truly has it all. In order to display the full spectrum, directors Joonas Berghäll and Mika Hotakainen traveled around Finland to reach men of all shapes and sizes, dispositions and personal histories. Each episode is separated by beautiful still-shots of the Finnish countryside and a minimalistic piano-driven musical interlude that seems to reflect upon the past scene. These breaks add a lot to the film, giving the viewer a rest from the raw nude footage and heavy subject matter: smoke rises from a wood-burning stove buried in the dense forest, mists drift across lakes, heavy clouds reflect in calm waters – the film's title seems more influenced by its punctuation than by its hard-hitting content. In "Steam of Life," excellent cinematography continually shines through the cloudier aspects of production. Woody, blushed colors dominate close shots inside of the saunas, and there is a certain weight that seems lifted when Berghäll and Hotakainen release us into the gentle, swaying foliage outdoors. Light is harnessed to create interesting shadows on the inner sauna walls. Oftentimes the shots seemed so artistically crafted that I wondered whether or not this was a true documentary, or one that had been modified for aesthetic reasons. Maybe everything in Finland is just that beautiful.
"Steam of Life" clearly illustrates the therapeutic and remedial aspects of the sauna in Finland. While these men pour out their emotions and share their most intimate secrets with an unspecified audience, the camera tends to focus on the other faces in the sauna which are held in receptive poses – as if instructing the viewer to do the same. The active-listening skills on display in "Steam of Life" are telling of the sauna's powers: as men sweat out the week's grime, they can enjoy a less tangible (but arguably more important) emotional release with a sort of psychoanalytic feedback. A caring audience helps, and I believe that Berghäll and Hotakainen intended to model the importance of being a good listener.
While details vary from scene to scene, "Steam of Life" ultimately comes across as formulaic. More often than not, the men in this film speak about hardships that they have endured, followed by an explanation of their current situation and a final "moral-of-the-story" umbrella statement. Unfortunately, a chance for these men to self-reflect often turns into an ego-serving rant. I wanted to sympathize with each man on screen, but sometimes their over-explanations made me question the editing prowess and artistic intent of Berghäll and Hotakainen. And on the rare occasions when an emotional note struck home, I couldn't help but think that Finnish men would be absolutely blasted company. The balance of uplifting stories to downright depressing ones was tipped very noticeably towards the latter – and even happier moments seemed somehow nonchalant. In addition, almost every story told by these men revolved around a female character. For a film championing male connection, it came across as gossipy.
If you think too hard about the logistics of the movie, you might find yourself questioning its legitimacy as a documentary. Berghäll and Hotakainen, along with the camera and sound crews, were sitting just across the room from the men they filmed. I can't imagine telling such private, emotional, and often tear-jerking stories (as these men did) with a microphone dangling inches above my head. A documentary should be composed of raw content, certainly, but in "Steam of Life" it all felt romanticized. It was more like a hybrid between an art film and a Finnish tourism advertisement than anything else.
Låt den rätte komma in (2008)
A love story bound by blood.
A compelling tale of friendship and understanding beyond boundaries, Tomas Alfredson's 2008 film "Let the Right One In" is at once atmospherically chilling and positively heart- warming. Kåre Hedebrant stars as Oskar, a slender twelve-year-old boy living in a Stockholm apartment block with his emotionally distant mother. Oskar soon befriends Eli (Lina Leandersson), a strange young "girl" who lives across the hall. As the film progresses, Oskar is fed more and more clues about Eli's true nature – she is a vampire, and presumably has been for a very long time. The girl has her boundaries, though, and Oskar is never placed at immediate risk – not by Eli, at least. Besides a troubled family life, Oskar's biggest problems lie at school, where he is bullied for his intelligence and independence. Eli's friendship and unquenchable blood-thirst become the answer to Oskar's troubles.
"Let the Right One In" stands out in several ways: the acting, sound mixing, and cinematography are all spot-on. Kåre and Lina have a very obvious chemistry that shines through in each scene they have together. Director Tomas Alfredson claims that it took almost a year's work scouring the Swedish countryside to secure such talent. At the time of the film's release, the two young actors were only thirteen years old – not too far off from Oskar and Eli's scripted ages, in fact. The sound editing – or, as Alfredson calls it, "the soundscape" – in this film is equally phenomenal. Even the smallest, most intimate noises are delicately synced with their corresponding on-screen actions: the riffle of paper in a classroom, for example, or Eli's amplified stomach-grumblings and lip-smackings. When every single movement is documented in sound, the atmospheric effect (and a gut-wrenching feeling of inclusion and reality) is inescapable. Couple these soundscapes with Johan Söderqvist's award-winning score, and the aural elements of the film truly make their mark. Visually, the shots are carefully placed – often in order to emulate Oskar's solitude or to build suspense through careful lighting and shadow work.
It was a beautiful film to watch, and one that held my attention from start to finish. Thematically, it didn't sit quite so comfortably. Strange elements of vampire lore were tacked on to Eli's character without any real payoff – aside from arithmomania, since when do vampires like puzzles? And "Let the Right One In" had such a frequent, strong emphasis on mirrors and reflective window shots – but these never involved Eli! Maybe the special effects team reached their budget prematurely and couldn't erase the vampire's reflection, so they settled for a Rubik's cube instead. In any case, I was similarly baffled by Eli's moral tendencies. After draining the blood from her victims, the young vampire prefers to snap their necks (she even makes an interesting allusion to this fact while playing with the Rubik's cube). Maybe Eli is ashamed of her affliction and doesn't want to spread the curse to others – only one of Eli's victims, Ginia, actually becomes a vampire and then quickly commits suicide. But I was always under the impression that upon infection, vampires lose morality and humanity. So why did Eli act in this way? It just seems as though Alfredson couldn't quite paint a concrete image of the vampire due to its extensive lore – certainly, some factors are lost when crossing the cultural boundary to viewers in America. There were also a few dead- ends that I couldn't stop noticing: when hunting for blood, for example, Eli's "dad" preys exclusively on young men. I wonder if this was an attempt to make the audience fear for Oskar's life, but I never imagined the boy being at risk. Oskar's relationship with his own father was deceiving, too – it was explored briefly and confusingly. I thought Oskar's family life was hugely important to his development, and it should have received more attention in the film.
For all its great artistic intent, I feel as though the "message" to this movie is extremely hard to interpret. In particular, the film's conclusion left me wondering: "Is that all?" Oskar leaves his family to be with Eli, and I got the gut-wrenching feeling that the boy would eventually become a father figure to her, as he grows and she does not. It is young love at its finest, I suppose – with no thought of the future, only of the present moment – but it is very disturbing to imagine Oskar facing the same fate as Eli's past guardian. After all, when a vampire gets desperate, a meal is a meal – the film made that absolutely clear. "Let the Right One In" tells the beginning of a complicated relationship in a beautiful way. But the film opened too many doors without permission or explanation, and for that it bleeds.
Musta jää (2007)
Hard to watch, difficult to understand, impossible to believe.
I had never squinted my eyes in utter disbelief for more than an hour until I saw Black Ice. The plot lacked fluency, the pacing was completely off, and the delivery of the film's big punch line was like a glancing blow from a white-belt.
The premise of Black Ice is this: Saara (Outi Mäenpää) finds out that her husband, Leo (Martti Suosalo), is cheating on her. She seeks out Leo's mistress, who turns out to be one of his art students. Saara befriends the young woman, Tuuli (Ria Kataja), and grows close to her. The story follows Saara in her quest for revenge upon both parties.
The main thing I can commend Black Ice for is the acting. Outi Mäenpää was almost always excellent as Saara. Her expressive face and especially telling eyes caught my attention and held it, as I could always tell when she was plotting her next move but never knew what it would be. Outi certainly deserved her 2008 Jussi award for best actress, and the cinematographer did justice by focusing intently on her bust (sculpturally speaking, that is, from the shoulders up). Occasionally I felt that Outi slipped into stretches of overacting, where for a short period of time her facial expressions and eyebrow wiggles would make me rub my own brow in skepticism. And her clothed full-body shots were painful to watch, often featuring spastic dance moves and hurried, artificial blocking.
The musical score featured prominently, most likely because it was an original soundtrack composed by a member of Apocalyptica. I often caught myself wondering if Eicca Toppinen had written the music for a separate film – or perhaps there was a sound-mixing mistake. The music projected an intensity that was seldom there – Tuuli cuts and glues wood for an art assignment while viola riffs and upbeat Bond-esque percussion attempt to convince us that what we are seeing is actually important. There were times when the score was spot-on, like when Saara stalks Tuuli to the sound of haunting disharmonic cello notes, but these moments were few and far between.
Saara is shown to be a master manipulator and an extremely intelligent woman. She thinks several steps ahead of the game. For example, she hides Tuuli's bike after their first martial arts class in order to drive the girl home and get some information out of her. Saara later makes a call from Tuuli's phone that single-handedly accomplishes several important goals while adding to the film's general muck and confusion. But Saara drags extraneous factors into the story she attempts to weave, which leads to messy situations – Lea (Ilkka's wife), the woman whom Tuuli thinks is Leo's wife, is led to believe that her husband is cheating on her, when in reality Lea and Ilkka are not involved in any sort of sexual scandal
Got it? I sure hope so, because you'll only have a few seconds to comprehend what's going on before Black Ice launches into another giant complication.
There is an intensely close physical proximity between Saara and Tuuli, and the mediated violence of their taekwondo sessions is the pressure release valve for any building tension. When Saara first joins the martial arts class, she feels the need to study Tuuli and so keeps her eyes open and watchful during the post-training meditation. But not more than a few sessions later, Saara is shown with closed eyes and a comfortable smile, signaling her acceptance and understanding of Tuuli – and possibly the beginning of a growing sexual desire for the girl. Near the film's ending, after Tuuli learns she has been manipulated, Saara is the one closing her eyes and crying from fear while Tuuli stares her down murderously. It's interesting that Saara is a student of Tuuli's, and Tuuli a student of Leo's – is there a hierarchy? Does the order of teaching even make sense? I can't figure it out.
My favorite scene in the movie was the one where Saara says, "I've been thinking far too much about how to kill my ex's girlfriend. How I could hurt her
I want to cut her open. Destroy her" – while Tuuli, the very subject of this speech, massages Saara's shoulders! That dialogue actually foreshadows the movie's ending, when Saara literally cuts Tuuli open during an emergency surgery. And she has ultimately destroyed Tuuli, who wanted an abortion, but now must single-handedly raise her child while also completing her work as a student. It was the only satisfying connection that I could find in this scrambled mix-up of a film.
But ultimately, I just couldn't bring myself to believe many of the things that I saw – and this was certainly an attempt to tell a believable story. Several questions lingered in my fuddled mind while the credits rolled: Why didn't Leo follow the road back home, like Tuuli had suggested? How does Tuuli's developing baby survive multiple kicks and a Jackie-Chan-like fall down a flight of stairs? What did that tattoo mean? Most importantly, how on earth is Saara accepted into college parties? I'm probably reading into Black Ice too much, and finding only enough to further perturb my confused mind.
Hawaii, Oslo (2004)
A frenzied race between life and death.
Hawaii, Oslo is a frantic jumble of energy and movement that finally coalesces into something giant, magnetic, and powerful. A 2004 co-creation from director Erik Poppe and writer Harald Rosenløw-Eeg, this film shares ties with the popular American movie Crash of the same year, in which lives forcefully intersect and bond. It weaves a tale of the human experience, certainly, but it also attempts to define the human connection – a lengthy endeavor, especially for the broken relationships we find scattered throughout this boiling capitol city. Character development is huge; it is clear that Poppe strives for audience connection and empathy, but viewers might find it hard to follow the plot's incessant cuts if they only watch Hawaii, Oslo once.
The film speaks about love, fate, and family constantly, with these thematic elements connecting each set of characters through the plot breaks. Transitions are composed of kaleidoscopic waves of color and a sort of tingling, wavy sound – I wasn't entirely sure what to make of this, but perhaps it is Poppe's way of visually exploring the abstract blend of events that brings his characters together. After all, the effect is pretty cool – cool enough to be featured as the film's cover art, at least. Continuing with the artistic elements of Hawaii, Oslo, there were two colors in particular that stood out in almost every shot: red, and blue. We see red in Mikkel's spray paint, the floral shirts, and the gun bag; and we see blue in almost everyone's clothes and on Leon's wave-covered walls, among other things. The film's title exploits this contrast, too, by placing geographical opposites side-by-side. And Norway is usually cold, but the day that the film depicts is one of sweltering heat – bringing back images of red and blue. Finally, we see these colors together in the ambulance siren, the ultimate harbinger of both birth and death.
I see fate as one of the main driving forces of this movie – there is a lot of predestination and foreshadowing going on, but the whole film revolves around the reversal of a major event: Leon's death. Poppe keeps these devices subtle – most are only noticeable during the second or third viewing. For example, Leon feels nervous about meeting his girlfriend Åsa the next day and so he asks Vidar, "Can't you just take my place tomorrow?" Of course, Vidar does end up taking Leon's place when he surrenders to the ambulance hit, but it is usually the guardian angel himself who does the predicting. Another such instance can be seen when Frode, father of the dying infant, tells his banker that being refused a loan to secure his child's survival feels much like getting robbed – of course, a few scenes later, he is literally a victim of Trygve's bank heist. But in the end the money finds its way back to the well-intentioned Frode.
Life and death are placed on a delicate balance, as Leon and Jim-Aaron, the newborn, are fated to die on their birthdays, but life wins out for both. There are other clear-cut moments of contrast and reversal – the mail-girl's delivery of a death notice ends up saving Bobbie's life, for example, and there's the perpetual duality of escape versus acceptance: Leon always runs, even when he finally reunites with Åsa, and Trygve's attempt to escape to Hawaii ends with his arrest in an identically named Norwegian café. I was shocked when I realized how many of these sorts of situations appear throughout Hawaii, Oslo. It is truly a testament to Poppe's skill as a storyteller and his curiosity as someone concerned with the intricacies of destiny.
I didn't quite understand Vidar's only false prediction that plagued the first half of the film, which was that Åsa wouldn't show up for Leon's birthday. Perhaps this was Vidar's underestimation of true love – it's hard to say. But one thing seems certain: everyone in the film got what they deserved, except Vidar. Bobbi is reunited with her sons, Leon and Åsa are left to lead a happy life together, Trygve is sent back to the slammer, and (we hope) the newborn survives. I just keep asking myself, Was it Vidar's heaven-sent duty to protect Leon, and to bring all these people together at the film's close? To me, the collection of people that gathered around Vidar's crumpled body symbolize Hawaii itself – a grouping of individual islands and stories, ultimately finding themselves connected on a grander scale.