Pidä huivista kiinni, Tatjana

I have not seen a film like this one ever. While it doesn't stand out, Kaurismaeki's impressive tact kept my heart and funnybone peaked and suspended for the duration of the film with his classic understated, wry charm. Surf rock has, incidentally, never looked so good on a rocky northern coast.

To say the least, the film piqued an interest in Kaurismaeki that has led to my heart-melting and guffawing appreciation of others like the matchstick factory girl and (although to a bit lesser extent) The Man Without a Past.

While I could drop 50-cent movie reviews, chiches, and plot synopses here, I'll get to the point instead: Kaurismaki is intelligent, and seems to have no need for pretense. He has digested American images and music, and given us his own irresistible story of Finland in this dynamic. His aesthetic tact, pacing, use of light, and soundtracking are all par excellence.

This film is his best, in my opinion, and I hold him next to Julio Medem as the winner of this century's title for the most consistently gorgeous film-making.