– Too late, love is dead.
– But love never dies, it just leaves us. We are the ones who die.
Seldom has Finland seemed more drab – and strangely exotic! – than in this wayward Nordic Noir. There is no hesitating, only a calm and deliberately relentless drive from start to finish. Reveling in crime film cliches – sordid rundown surroundings and sad threadbare characters, petty smalltime crooks stumbling into something bigger than expected, worn-out trenchcoat and gun in the glove compartment, implausible coincidences, car chases, a couple with a hinted-at troubled history, the world-weary cynic with tender and righteous heart of gold.
– What is there between you?
– Only love.
– Nothing serious then.
Existentialist dialogue and ultra-conscious anti-style, all delivered in straight-faced deadpan manner with endearing streaks of lyrical kitchen sink realism. In my book of losers with more doubts than hope.
– You’re escaping from reality.
– No, reality’s escaping from me.
– Perhaps it’s not worth catching.
– That’s not good enough reason for existence.