Das Leben der Boheme

Aki Kaurismäki's third literary adaptation, Bohemian Life, may also be his best. Crime and Punishment was brilliantly made (and, remarkably, that was his directorial debut) and Juha is a masterful tragedy, not to mention a magnificent revival of the silent film. As for Hamlet Goes Business, the conclusion was a little overdone, but overall it remains an interesting version of Shakespeare's play. But it's in Bohemian Life, based on Henri Murger's story collection, that Kaurismäki's passion for the subject is felt the most. He always wanted to make this film, and when he finally did the result was wonderful.

Beautifully shot in black and white, the film explores the intertwined lives of three artists living in Paris: a French playwright, Marcel Marx (André Wilms), an Irish composer, Schaunard (Kari Väänänen), and an Albanian painter, Rodolfo (Matti Pellonpää). Together, they struggle to maintain a certain decency in their lives, whether that involves tricking their landlord or using a customer's (Jean-Pierre Léaud, grandiose as Rodolfo's portrait model) jacket for a couple of hours without the latter noticing anything. They don't demand much, in fact their friendship is more than enough to ensure life goes on fairly well.

At this point, a new character appears: Mimi (Evelyne Didi), a barmaid. Rodolfo falls in love with her, and from there on, things begin to change, and not for the best: the Albanian is sent back home, and when he returns, six months later, everything's different. Can old bonds be restored? Can the situation go back to the way it was? Kaurismäki takes his time to make us acquainted with his characters (hence the unusually long running time - most of his films run to 70 minutes, 80 tops; this one is 100 minutes long), and that's why the movie hits us hard when it has to: having followed their combined fates since the beginning, we have the feeling that we know them, a fact that contributes to making the sucker-punch epilogue even more devastating.

The three bohemians are humble but nice people: the simplicity of their lifestyle makes us connect with them on a visceral level, cheering for them when life's good and crying when it suddenly turns bad. Pellonpää, in particular, gives the performance of a lifetime (alongside Shadows in Paradise), his brooding yet incredibly sweet Rodolfo being the heart and soul of this movie (most unforgettable moment, upon being asked by Mimi to be an Albanian gentleman: "Gentleman, no. Albanian, yes").

Bohemian Life represents a successful transfer of Finnish mentality and attitudes to a timeless Paris: you never stop and think there's something that doesn't belong there. It's all so perfect, in its sad and happy moments, and Kaurismäki can be very proud of the film he considers to be his favorite.

La Vie de Bohéme is actually one of the most interesting films by Finnish director Aki Kaurismäki. Taking the characters and drawing inspiration from the libretto of Puccini's famous opera, La Bohéme, and the novel on which it was based "Scénes de la vie de bohéme" by Henri Murger, but often reminiscent of the lyrics of Charles Aznavour's famous homonymous song, written by Jacques Plante, in which the glamour of Parisian bohemian life turns out to be a sad misery, Kaurismäki builds a visually beautiful, ironically stimulating and essentially timeless work.

What sets this film apart from the Finnish director's work is the fact that, without ever losing the pathetic drama that characterizes it, there is a subtle and intelligent dose of black humor here (as in the song by Aznavour) that allows us to an almost amusing journey through the lives of these miserable failed artists who survive on the streets of a timeless Paris.

Mimi is the muse who inspires them and at the same time redeems their sins, sacrificing her life to the bohemian of those who refuse banality and prefer to live the dream, even if miserable and consumptive.

A French playwright, an Albanian painter, and an Irish composer, all living hand-to-mouth in Paris, devise various schemes to secure their next meal, or cheat the landlord, or help each other out of jams. Cynically witty and poignant by turns, La Vie de Boheme somehow manages to simultaneously embellish and skewer the old cliche about starving artists on the Left Bank.

This might almost be the film to show your son or daughter when they have declared that they want to become a novelist or painter and move to an exotic locale--except that, who knows, it might have the opposite of the intended effect.

I liked it quite a bit. Watch for the performance by the Irishman of his own piano piece for his friends, toward the end: hilarious!

'La vie de boheme' (1992) takes, like many other films by Aki Kaurismäki, a classic theme, including its story and characters, and transplants it to another historical period and another world - the Kaurismäki universe. In the case of this production, he takes two of his favorite actors from films made in Finland and brings them to Paris to film the location of the Parisian bohemian and the love between Mimi and Rodolfo. The starting point is the same novel published in the mid-19th century that inspired the opera "La Boheme" but the characters have insecurity and in-adaptation to the mercantile world that surrounds them specific to many of Kaurismäki's heroes. Nothing of the extroverted exuberance of the parties in Puccini's work reaches 'La vie de boheme', instead we have copious doses of Finnish melancholy. We do witness an opera scene or rather a scene the opera, because the camera is directed not to the stage but to the hall to capture two of the heroines of the story dreaming of an untouchable world in the supreme sounds of Mozart's music. As in the novel or the work inspired by it, love cannot overcome death.

The heroes of the film are three failed artists, perfect only in their incompatibility with the world around them. Marcel (André Wilms) is a writer who is not able to shorten his 21-chapter texts and adapt them to the tastes of contemporary readers. Schaunard (Kari Väänänen) is a composer whose strident works are not supported even by his friends. Rodolfo, the painter (Matti Pellonpää), is thrown out the door outside all the galleries to which he tries to place his paintings, but at least he has an admirer and buyer who provides for a while the three a thin source of income. Unfortunately, this Rodolfo is also an illegal immigrant (from Albania, from all places) and just when he found his love in the person of the bartender Mimi (Evelyne Didi) he is discovered by the police and deported. The plot follows somewhat the lines of the story we know from Puccini's opera, with social and personal details adapted to the Paris of the last decade of the 20th century. Each of the three men will live ephemeral love stories, united fby their friendship and their poverty in a world where their art has no chance to be appreciated and ensure their livelihood.

What does the Kaurismäki version of "La Boheme" bring new? It is noteworthy first of all the cynical and pessimistic view of the relations between artists and the surrounding society. It does not help, of course, that each of the three is lacking talent and is a failure in his own field. 'La vie de boheme' also captures the role of women in intrigue - they seem much more materialistic and down to earth than their lovers, and will leave them when they are convinced that they are no longer able to support them. Even Mimi is far from the soft image of Puccini's work, and the choice of an older and less attractive actress accentuates the effect. Kaurismäki does not give up melodrama, but seeks it elsewhere, creating an anti-romantic version of the story. Benefiting from the services of the extraordinary cinematographer Timo Salminen, he builds on the screen an almost timeless Paris, paying homage to the French filmmakers and the classic works of this film school. His "La Boheme" is not sung but narrated amid grunts of frustration. This special movie, like all Kaurismäki's movies, is not to be missed.

I wondered why I was actually laughing at a French film until I realized it was made by Finns. Reminded me a lot of Buster Keaton, except that the pratfalls are mostly cerebral. Deadpan comedy with style. The black dog was the Finnish Rin-Tin-Tin. I hope he got a nice bone for his efforts.