Le Havre
Directed by: Aki Kaurismäki
With: André Wilms, Blondin Miguel, Jean-Pierre Darroussin
2011
Something magic seems to settle into the folds of this seemingly prosaic suburban story.
Marcel (André Wilms) is a shoeshine, struggling with the advent and popularity of running shoes. Arletty (Kati Outinen) is his wife, she looks after the (meagre) economy of the house, cooks dinner and irons her husband’s trousers while he is asleep. Then, one day, hidden in a forgotten cargo, a group of immigrants is found in Le Havre
At first Le Havre Le Havre
Yet, if realism is lightly mocked it is never fully dismissed. The characters are what catalyse this tension the best: they seem to act mechanically, in the hands of a puppeteer, but a hint from their past is enough to let real blood flush their cheeks with life. Marcel and Arletty seem at first to make a peculiar couple, ceremoniously respectful of each other, but also comically formal in their exchange. With a few distracted lines, however, we learn that their union is based on a mutual rescue: she saved him from the street, while he saved her from a violent husband. Similarly, behind the strict and caricature-like image of the dark policeman Monet (Jean-Pierre Darroussin) there is someone who has learnt from his past and is ready to risk his future. The only character unmistakably carrying the mask of the bad guy is a cameo with Jean-Pierre Léaud, interpreting a vicious whistleblower.
The collective quest Marcel and his neighbours embark on to save Idrissa happens instinctively, in absence of any discussion of morality or politics, almost as an inevitable consequence. But some of the scenes resonate quite strongly with the recent history of French politics: on TV we witness the forced removal of a camp of illegal immigrant by police forces and we follow Marcel in a detention centre for immigrants. Despite its engaged side, a sheen of naivety and simplicity is maintained in Le Havre
The film’s irony and self-consciously implausible moments successfully seduce the viewer from the very first scene and, by the end, one is ready to put realism and disillusionment aside to wholeheartedly embrace the film’s last sequence. Kaurismäki won his gamble over realism. But what he left us with is a double-edged blade: as you bite into this lightly told story of unconditioned fraternity in a small community you cannot but be reminded that this is not reality. Hence the miracle. Perhaps, it is a question of faith - in humanity -, rather than of belief.
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