If you had the chance to recreate your life, would you be where you are now? The Man Without a Past, a Finnish film by writer and director, Aki Kaurismäki, allows one man to do just that— though not in the most ideal way. After being severely beaten by three heartless crooks, this man (Markku Peltola) wakes up on a beach inhabited by the homeless (and nearly homeless) without a single memory of his former life—not even his own name. This beach community of misfits, living on the Salvation Army soup kitchen, help nurse the nameless man back to health, and he begins his bewildering struggle to build an identity from nothing.
As the nameless man (let's call him M) becomes friends with a man named Nieminen (Juhani Niemela), we see just how poor the people living on this beach are. Nieminen, we discover, is an alcoholic who spends more money on beer than his own children's dinner. Director Kaurismäki, however, does not want the audience to pity this community, but rather, to laugh at it. The people's reaction to M's bizarre situation, for example, is so blasé that they themselves become the ridiculous. "Oh, that's bad," replies Nieminen's wife when M explains his complete memory loss. Well, yes. It is.
Though it seems strange to make light of homelessness, the humor is actually what allows the audience to see the characters as people instead of basket cases. When Nieminen says he will be offended if M refuses his offer to buy him a beer, we see that even though they are dreadfully poor, the people that live on this beach still have a deep sense of pride.
As M becomes more involved in the community, he travels to the unemployment office in search of a job, as he hopes to live amongst his new friends. Kaurismäki presents a grim view of the welfare system: because he cannot provide a name for the application, M is accused of fraud and is thrown out of the employment office with no help. Kaurismäki, who worked as a post-man, dishwasher, and many other not-so-glamorous jobs before becoming a director, is sending a clear message: dignity is not determined by social class, but rather, by kindness and respect.
Shortly after his run in at the employment office, M stumbles into a job at the Salvation Army when a worker named Irma (Katie Outinen) sees that he is highly capable. With his earnings he makes a home for himself in an old storage unit near Nieminen's trailer. Among his few possessions is an old jukebox that blasts 1950s rock 'n' roll music, its lively beat invigorating the slow-paced film. Now M's love interest, Irma—the shy, conservative employee at the Salvation Army who secretly listens to American hits before bed— is easily wooed by his taste in music and unabashed affection for her. Like in M's relationship with Irma, actor Peltola is able to subtly weave M's character into our hearts until, eventually, we realize we've been rooting for him all along.
Outinen too is a superb actress. Though she has few lines, when her character Irma is with M, her expression perfectly conveys both the discomfort of an unfamiliar situation and a desire to know what will happen next. Irma is not the only one who M brings out of their shell. M teaches The Salvation Army band, which previously knew only one song (which was, quite simply, a drag), about the glory that is rock 'n' roll. They soon put on a show with the director of the Salvation Army, a woman we learn who has wanted to be a singer her whole life, and the whole community comes together to listen.
Things take a turn for the worse for M, however, when he is a witness to a hilariously simple bank robbery: one man and his rifle. The bank clerk nonchalantly brings out the money while M just stands there obliviously. "I'm sorry I have to do this," the robber says, locking them in the vault, to which M replies that he understands given the situation at hand and not to worry about it. Like the idea of a man with severe brain damage waking up in a homeless village and starting a new life with no questions asked, it's the kind of hilarious that hits you three days later when you're brushing your teeth. Unfortunately for M, the police don't find it so funny. Kaurismäki again shows a distaste for state institutions as the police unlawfully detain M for not giving them his name. Irma comes to the rescue, sending M a lawyer who promptly gets M his freedom whose face, we discover, has been plastered across newspapers with the headline "Who is this man?"
On his way back to his new home, M is told that his wife contacted the police when she saw his picture in the paper and that he can go back home. But where is home, anyway? M can take back his name, and with it his old life, or he can choose to stay with Irma and his unconventional friends. At the end of this fantastically funny film, Kaurismäki presents a dramatic ultimatum that will change everything for M, as The Man Without a Past is now the man with two futures.
As the nameless man (let's call him M) becomes friends with a man named Nieminen (Juhani Niemela), we see just how poor the people living on this beach are. Nieminen, we discover, is an alcoholic who spends more money on beer than his own children's dinner. Director Kaurismäki, however, does not want the audience to pity this community, but rather, to laugh at it. The people's reaction to M's bizarre situation, for example, is so blasé that they themselves become the ridiculous. "Oh, that's bad," replies Nieminen's wife when M explains his complete memory loss. Well, yes. It is.
Though it seems strange to make light of homelessness, the humor is actually what allows the audience to see the characters as people instead of basket cases. When Nieminen says he will be offended if M refuses his offer to buy him a beer, we see that even though they are dreadfully poor, the people that live on this beach still have a deep sense of pride.
As M becomes more involved in the community, he travels to the unemployment office in search of a job, as he hopes to live amongst his new friends. Kaurismäki presents a grim view of the welfare system: because he cannot provide a name for the application, M is accused of fraud and is thrown out of the employment office with no help. Kaurismäki, who worked as a post-man, dishwasher, and many other not-so-glamorous jobs before becoming a director, is sending a clear message: dignity is not determined by social class, but rather, by kindness and respect.
Shortly after his run in at the employment office, M stumbles into a job at the Salvation Army when a worker named Irma (Katie Outinen) sees that he is highly capable. With his earnings he makes a home for himself in an old storage unit near Nieminen's trailer. Among his few possessions is an old jukebox that blasts 1950s rock 'n' roll music, its lively beat invigorating the slow-paced film. Now M's love interest, Irma—the shy, conservative employee at the Salvation Army who secretly listens to American hits before bed— is easily wooed by his taste in music and unabashed affection for her. Like in M's relationship with Irma, actor Peltola is able to subtly weave M's character into our hearts until, eventually, we realize we've been rooting for him all along.
Outinen too is a superb actress. Though she has few lines, when her character Irma is with M, her expression perfectly conveys both the discomfort of an unfamiliar situation and a desire to know what will happen next. Irma is not the only one who M brings out of their shell. M teaches The Salvation Army band, which previously knew only one song (which was, quite simply, a drag), about the glory that is rock 'n' roll. They soon put on a show with the director of the Salvation Army, a woman we learn who has wanted to be a singer her whole life, and the whole community comes together to listen.
Things take a turn for the worse for M, however, when he is a witness to a hilariously simple bank robbery: one man and his rifle. The bank clerk nonchalantly brings out the money while M just stands there obliviously. "I'm sorry I have to do this," the robber says, locking them in the vault, to which M replies that he understands given the situation at hand and not to worry about it. Like the idea of a man with severe brain damage waking up in a homeless village and starting a new life with no questions asked, it's the kind of hilarious that hits you three days later when you're brushing your teeth. Unfortunately for M, the police don't find it so funny. Kaurismäki again shows a distaste for state institutions as the police unlawfully detain M for not giving them his name. Irma comes to the rescue, sending M a lawyer who promptly gets M his freedom whose face, we discover, has been plastered across newspapers with the headline "Who is this man?"
On his way back to his new home, M is told that his wife contacted the police when she saw his picture in the paper and that he can go back home. But where is home, anyway? M can take back his name, and with it his old life, or he can choose to stay with Irma and his unconventional friends. At the end of this fantastically funny film, Kaurismäki presents a dramatic ultimatum that will change everything for M, as The Man Without a Past is now the man with two futures.