By Jonathan Monovich.
Vidak/Felce’s film serves as a meaningful exploration of the role that cinema and movie theaters play in our lives.”
Driving through the wooded roads of Karkkila, a small Finnish town, Emmanuelle Felce tells Veljko Vidak “I could live here. You can be in deep nature, beautiful nature. And then, in the evening, you can go out to watch a movie.” The scenic charm of Karkkila, though secluded, has always been around. The same cannot be said for the town’s movie theater—Kino Laika. In fact, it is Karkkila’s first and only. Such is the reason why Vidak and Felce, the creative forces behind Cinéma Laika (2023), are visiting. To commemorate Kino Laika’s historic opening, Vidak and Felce document the occasion with their documentary. Like Kino Laika’s founder, the beloved Aki Kaurismäki [(Fallen Leaves (2023), Drifting Clouds (1996), I Hired a Contract Killer (1990)], Vidak/Felce recognize that “sometimes silence speaks more loudly than dialogue.” Further channeling Kaurismäki, Cinéma Laika understands that “most great art is not about what you put in but what you remove.” A traditionalist documentary would begin Cinéma Laika with the theater’s opening and explore its impact, but like the forementioned quotes of Jim Jarmusch and Amy Taubin, who make an amiable appearance in the film, Vidak/Felce acknowledge that there is greater influence in studying the everydayness of Karkkila. Therefore, the focus becomes Karkkila’s people. In a true Kaurismäki fashion, Cinéma Laika is less than ninety minutes, minimalist, charming, ever so human, and equipped with a stellar music selection. Familiar to the worlds of Kaurismäki’s films, Karkkila is a factory town. Though Kaurismäki typically fixates on the bleakness of working-class life, his protagonist’s overcome their problems through the bond of human connection and the glory of love. Cinéma Laika similarly does not shy from the mundane aspects of life. However, Vidak/Felce avoid the humorously arduous buildups that Kaurismäki’s characters must face before finally finding happiness. Instead, Vidak/Felce focus on the beauty of community and the splendor of a life lived modestly. By doing so, Cinéma Laika ends up being much more than a documentary.
As tree branches blow in the wind and clouds drift by, smoke can be seen leaving Karkkila’s iron factory. It’s a picturesque setting worthy of a postcard. Inside the factory are the sights and sounds of machinery, fires burning, workers congregating, and the announcement of Kino Laika’s construction at a long abandoned foundry over a PA system. In addition to directing, Vidak is Cinéma Laika’s cinematographer. His aptitude for framing is impeccable, capturing that “everyone here is an artist in what they do.” No matter what Karkkila’s inhabitants are doing, whether it be smelting, playing chess, drinking with friends, having a lakeside phone call, or going for a drive, Vidak brings out this artistry with a still camera. This stillness evokes the work of Sven Nykvist/Yûharu Atsuta and their collaborations with Yasujirō Ozu/Ingmar Bergman. Strategically, Vidak also employs the ancient art of weaving, alternating back and forth between the townspeople and Kaurismäki’s Kino Laika crew. Vidak/Felce’s choice to treat both groups as leads, conveys that their unity is essential for the success of Kaurismäki’s vision. The true essence of a movie theater is in its audience and its communal aspect, and the sheer act of moviegoing with others is often just as powerful as what is on the screen (sometimes even more so). Throughout Cinéma Laika, there are several anecdotal accounts of this, including a screening of Bicycle Thieves (1948) made incomprehensible by Danish subtitles. The viewer found the experience more memorable than the film for its peculiarity. Someone else mentions how reactions to films such as Kaurismäki’s The Other Side of Hope (2017) change with age. Everything is done with intention in Cinéma Laika, and, as a result, Vidak/Felce’s film serves as a meaningful exploration of the role that cinema and movie theaters play in our lives. The approach is thoughtful and philosophical, evoking the curiosity of a film theorist.
Before opening Kino Laika to the public, Kaurismäki tirelessly works with his crew. During the day, he is seen on ladders with tape measures, supporting scaffolding to set up the screen, and installing lighting for the ticket booth. At night, Kaurismäki understands that “all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.” Thus, he can be found enjoying a game of pool at the local bar whilst the Beale Street Playboys perform a killer rock ‘n’ roll act. Again, it is a moment that feels strongly emblematic of Kaurismäki’s own films and their admiration for classic rock. When Kino Laika co-founder, Mika Lätti, takes in an emotional moment, Kaurismäki jokingly interjects “this is not a yacht club; get back to work.” Kaurismäki’s rationale for being so dedicated to the project is simple. He loves cinema, and he loves Karkkila. Or, in the inimitable words of Kaurismäki, he wants to “give something back because I like this hellhole. Before I leave this lousy world, I want to leave something for this village.” For those familiar with Kaurismäki’s films, defined by heartwarming/deadpan tales of self-improvement, this should come with little surprise.
As evidenced by Kaurismäki’s inimitable films, their plentiful references to his cinematic influences, and his creation of the Midnight Sun Film Festival, he is a devout cineaste in the truest sense. One of Cinéma Laika’s many highlights is in hearing Kaurismäki’s memories of running from film club to film club as a sixteen-year-old postman to see films like L’âge d’or (1930) and The Mother and the Whore (1973). Part of Cinéma Laika’s prowess is in its creators knowing that the history of filmic discourse began with cinema clubs. Karkkila’s civilians show they are ready to embrace Kino Laika as their very own cinema club. Great happiness comes from seeing the townspeople conversing with one another about Kaurismäki’s Le Havre (2011), Calamari Union (1985), and Ariel (1988).The passion of cinema clubs was later extended by outlets like Cahiers du Cinéma and Finland’s Filmihullu; Vidak/Felce are the real deal, and help extend that passion to the screen. In Cinéma Laika it is said that “in Karkkila, life prevails.” For as long as that happens, so will Kino Laiko. For those that carelessly claim cinema dead, let Kaurismäki and his community’s harmony be a reminder that it is indeed alive (especially in Karkkila).
Cinéma Laika is making its way around the world via The Match Factory.
Jonathan Monovich is a Chicago-based writer and a regular contributor for Film International. His writing has also been featured in Film Matters, Bright Lights Film Journal, and PopMatters.