Fallen Leaves (2023)

Fallen Leaves is the kind of small, deceptively simple romance that sneaks up on you and leaves you feeling quietly restored—Aki Kaurismäki turns everyday hardship into something gently funny, humane, and oddly hopeful. In a Helsinki of neon karaoke bars and modest apartments, two lonely workers circle each other with deadpan charm, their connection carried as much by pauses and glances as by words, and Alma Pöysti and Jussi Vatanen make that restraint feel deeply romantic. The film’s humor is bone-dry but never cruel, and its social awareness sits in the background like weather—always there, shaping lives—while a stray dog adds a little Chaplin-esque warmth without tipping into cuteness. It won’t be for viewers who need big emotional speeches or glossy pacing, but if you like tender, grown-up love stories told with wit and compassion, this one is a minor miracle.

Fallen Leaves is trying to craft a small, tender romance about two working-class loners finding a sliver of hope in a bleak Helsinki, and it does so with Kaurismäki’s trademark deadpan humor and stripped-down style. The catch is that it’s deliberately slight: the story runs on missed connections and quiet pauses, so if you want big emotions, sharp plot momentum, or lots of laugh-out-loud comedy, you may feel like you’re waiting for a payoff that never really arrives. The heavy presence of alcoholism and constant smoking also gives the film a weary, resigned tone that can be more draining than “charming,” even with the sweet dog factor. If you enjoy minimalist cinema, dry wit, and gentle humanism, it’s a modest treat; if you need romance that sweeps you up, this likely won’t.