This was the first film from idiosyncratic filmmaker Aki Kaurismäki, and already some of his more recognisable themes and preoccupations are being developed in preparation for the more iconic films still to come. I wouldn't go so far as to call this particular adaptation of Dostoevsky's landmark work a classic - as there are obviously a few rough edges and an overall feel of the generic European sensibilities familiar from television drama occasionally getting in the way of Kaurismäki's typically broad, deadpan approach to moments of drama and emotion - but I'd still recommend it as a worthy experience, especially to anyone familiar with Kaurismäki later work, as a chance to see how his unique and entirely personal style has developed and evolved.
In a particularly impressive stroke of direction, the film opens with a close-up shot of fly crawling across a blood-splattered plinth in some anonymous Helsinki slaughter house. A cleaver comes down and cuts the fly in two. Immediately, ominous music begins to play and we are subjected to an onslaught of emotionless, repetitive slaughter; as drab, impassive young men in overalls clean meat from bone, saw through sinew and hose down the pools of blood collected under a procession of strung-up pig carcasses. With this kind of introduction we see Kaurismäki setting up the images of cold-hearted murder and stark, unglamorous brutality that will follow on into the subsequent scene. It also works as a skillful introduction to our central character Rahikainen; a former lawyer turned butcher, still haunted by the loss of his fiancé some several years before. There's also a stark sense of humour being developed here too; with the juxtaposition of over-emotive, melodramatic music with the completely disengaging, repetitive use of action and design - and the robotic, soulless way in which it is carried out - all setting up the broader ironies of murder so central to Dostoevsky's original tome.
As with the book, Kaurismäki's interpretation of Crime and Punishment looks at the attempt made by the central character to "kill a principle", as well as the conflicting notions of righteousness and guilt. In this respect, the film calls to mind director Krzysztof Kieślowski's A Short Film About Killing (1988), which not only shares the same thematic preoccupations of the desire for murder and the psychological and spiritual complications that it can conjure up, but also a certain cold, peculiar approach to the direction, structure and actual mise-en-scene. This is obvious right from the start, with the scene in the slaughterhouse setting up the continual atmosphere and broader elements of interpretation found throughout. This means that by the time we finally see Rahikainen go to the office of a seemingly random, middle-aged business man and shoot him dead, the lack of emotion and cold robotic calculation present in his body language and personality is like an echo of the scene in which he killed the fly or carefully broke the ribcage from a slab of raw beef.
While Rahikainen sits in silent contemplation - thinking about his actions as his victim lies dead on the floor - a young woman enters the room and triggers a chain of events that will force the character to think more carefully about why he chose to commit such a crime, as well as casting elements of doubt on his notion of murder as being - once again - about the killing of a principal rather than a man. Obviously, there are much deeper shades of drama presented here, with the subtle notions of loss, loneliness, listless desperation, the desire to escape (not only from your circumstances but also from yourself) and the central, titular ruminations on crime and punishment and what they mean to the individual. These ideas are given further weight by the truly grand performances, with Markku Toikka creating a completely believable character whose true beliefs, feelings and intent remain vague and enigmatic, while Aino Seppo as the girl presents the more hopeful, tender aspect of the drab, grey and claustrophobic world that the character inhabits. There is also fine support from Kaurismäki regulars Esko Nikkari, Olli Tuominen and Matti Pellonpää, who here plays an early incarnation of a character he would develop further in the subsequent Shadows in Paradise (1986).
Though the cool irony and wry humour of Kaurismäki's later films is perhaps less formed than it would eventually become, there are still traces of it beginning to take shape. Regardless, this is still a fascinating insight into Kaurismäki's creative mind, his vision, and his sense of sardonic ambition in even attempting such an adaptation for his first feature film. It is perhaps worth watching first, before you see any of his subsequent films, and then returning to once again after having seen the extraordinary developments he made through films like Calamari Union (1985), Shadows in Paradise, Hamlet Goes Business (1987), Ariel (1988) and Leningrad Cowboys Go America (1989). Regardless, this is an impressive first film from an incredibly talented filmmaker.
In a particularly impressive stroke of direction, the film opens with a close-up shot of fly crawling across a blood-splattered plinth in some anonymous Helsinki slaughter house. A cleaver comes down and cuts the fly in two. Immediately, ominous music begins to play and we are subjected to an onslaught of emotionless, repetitive slaughter; as drab, impassive young men in overalls clean meat from bone, saw through sinew and hose down the pools of blood collected under a procession of strung-up pig carcasses. With this kind of introduction we see Kaurismäki setting up the images of cold-hearted murder and stark, unglamorous brutality that will follow on into the subsequent scene. It also works as a skillful introduction to our central character Rahikainen; a former lawyer turned butcher, still haunted by the loss of his fiancé some several years before. There's also a stark sense of humour being developed here too; with the juxtaposition of over-emotive, melodramatic music with the completely disengaging, repetitive use of action and design - and the robotic, soulless way in which it is carried out - all setting up the broader ironies of murder so central to Dostoevsky's original tome.
As with the book, Kaurismäki's interpretation of Crime and Punishment looks at the attempt made by the central character to "kill a principle", as well as the conflicting notions of righteousness and guilt. In this respect, the film calls to mind director Krzysztof Kieślowski's A Short Film About Killing (1988), which not only shares the same thematic preoccupations of the desire for murder and the psychological and spiritual complications that it can conjure up, but also a certain cold, peculiar approach to the direction, structure and actual mise-en-scene. This is obvious right from the start, with the scene in the slaughterhouse setting up the continual atmosphere and broader elements of interpretation found throughout. This means that by the time we finally see Rahikainen go to the office of a seemingly random, middle-aged business man and shoot him dead, the lack of emotion and cold robotic calculation present in his body language and personality is like an echo of the scene in which he killed the fly or carefully broke the ribcage from a slab of raw beef.
While Rahikainen sits in silent contemplation - thinking about his actions as his victim lies dead on the floor - a young woman enters the room and triggers a chain of events that will force the character to think more carefully about why he chose to commit such a crime, as well as casting elements of doubt on his notion of murder as being - once again - about the killing of a principal rather than a man. Obviously, there are much deeper shades of drama presented here, with the subtle notions of loss, loneliness, listless desperation, the desire to escape (not only from your circumstances but also from yourself) and the central, titular ruminations on crime and punishment and what they mean to the individual. These ideas are given further weight by the truly grand performances, with Markku Toikka creating a completely believable character whose true beliefs, feelings and intent remain vague and enigmatic, while Aino Seppo as the girl presents the more hopeful, tender aspect of the drab, grey and claustrophobic world that the character inhabits. There is also fine support from Kaurismäki regulars Esko Nikkari, Olli Tuominen and Matti Pellonpää, who here plays an early incarnation of a character he would develop further in the subsequent Shadows in Paradise (1986).
Though the cool irony and wry humour of Kaurismäki's later films is perhaps less formed than it would eventually become, there are still traces of it beginning to take shape. Regardless, this is still a fascinating insight into Kaurismäki's creative mind, his vision, and his sense of sardonic ambition in even attempting such an adaptation for his first feature film. It is perhaps worth watching first, before you see any of his subsequent films, and then returning to once again after having seen the extraordinary developments he made through films like Calamari Union (1985), Shadows in Paradise, Hamlet Goes Business (1987), Ariel (1988) and Leningrad Cowboys Go America (1989). Regardless, this is an impressive first film from an incredibly talented filmmaker.