Finnish director Aki Kaurismäki made The Man Without a Past (Mies vailla menneisyyttä) in 2002. This, strange as it may be, is my favourite film. I have watched it so often that I know the script practically by heart. (I have to admit, my taste in films is a bit odd. My second most favourite film is the 1964 musical My Fair Lady.) In 2002, when The Man Without a Past was released, I was living in Johannesburg, South Africa, continents and lifetimes removed from Finland. I had only been overseas a few times, and never to Finland. I saw the film the first time on what was then a subscription channel for art films, with English subtitles.
It’s not a conventionally romantic film, nor funny – since the humour is sarcastic, nor exciting, nor filled with good-looking actors. It is relentlessly realistic. There is hardly any action, and what there is, is grimy and sad.
But I finally analyzed why it is so memorable, and why I return to it time and again.
The Man Without a Past (2002), written, directed and produced by Aki Kaurismäki
A contradiction that works
It is a contradiction: on the one hand it is dry, understated, simple, and minimalist. On the other hand, it is very moving. It is proof of the principle that less is more. Since there is less of everything – colour, settings, action, sound, and dialogue – it means that the viewer’s mind is fiercely concentrated on what is there. This form of emptiness extends to the lead character. He has lost everything – including his memory. There is something developing, a tender feeling between him and a Salvation Army worker. But everything around him, and his past, seem to be threatening this hopeful development.
I had never before seen this type of poverty depicted in a film, nor, of course, this side of Finnish society. For instance, the peculiarly Finnish way of dealing with down-and-outs; the social systems that sometimes work against them, sometimes for them; the strangely haunting music; the Russian-influenced, but also industrialized architecture; the strange, watery landscapes; the brusque way of speaking.
The antithesis of a Hollywood production
For the first few years after we moved to Canada, I commuted every day by train to Vancouver, and I often sat in the same carriage as heavily tattooed, bearded, black-leather-and-chains man. He had a limp and walked with a cane. He was barrel-chested and had biceps like wrought-iron. He looked like he had been a Hell’s Angel all his life. It turned out that he worked for the Salvation Army. He looked like a criminal, but behaved like a Good Samaritan, with faultless manners.
The same sort of people are depicted in The Man Without a Past. I had no idea what the Salvation Army was, when I saw it the first time. The lead character, the man without a past, starts to rebuild his life when he takes a menial job with a local branch of the Salvation Army.
What makes a character appealing?
What’s interesting is that in Fiction and Film writing, the reader and viewer has to recognize the traits in the character in themselves, in order to feel empathy, and that empathy then leads them to vicariously experiencing and enjoying the story. The book becomes un-put-down-able, the film becomes popular. If the character is a robot, or an animal, or a person who is just a façade or poorly depicted, then the reader and viewer should, under the normal rules for writing, feel nothing for them, and will not like the story.
M wakes up as a blank slate. (Image: MUBI)
In this film, Kaurismäki created a man who, from the outset, is almost entirely without character, without depth, without credentials or status, and without a past. However, the tension arises from the slow reveal of who he really is, one tiny detail at a time. Kaurismäki put in just enough details to make the viewer feel increasing empathy with the character.
A straightforward story
The story is fairly simple. After a brutal beating in a park in Helsinki, a middle-aged man, played by Markku Peltola, is left in a coma. This character is simply called “M”, or “you” or “he” throughout the film. He has no name, no ID, nothing but the clothes on his back. When he regains consciousness in hospital, he cannot recollect a single detail about his life. Unable to provide information to the authorities, M has no legal way to start over.
He walks out of the hospital, finds a community of homeless people, and moves into an unused shipping container. On the street, standing in line for a bowl of soup, he meets “Irma” (played by Kati Outinen), a Salvation Army worker, and they hesitantly begin a sort of relationship. Does he regain his memory? Who is he really? Does it matter? That’s for you to find out.
Peltola and Kati OutinenPeltola (left) and director Aki Kaurismäki (right)Images: IMDB
Markku Peltola, who died in 2007, is a man who could be described as both ugly and attractive – like my Mum says of Harvey Keitel. Peltola was an actor, director, and Art-Rock bassist and singer. He had a face that was all jutting out bones, hard lines, thin, mean lips, and gimlet black eyes. In the film, he smokes constantly and sullenly, and walks like a bear emerging from a cave, all hunched-up and stalking. Peltola acted in three other Kaurismäki films, Juha; Take Care of your Scarf, Tatiana; and Drifting Clouds.
In the film, Kati Outinen, 63 years old in 2024, is sometimes attractive in a fragile, Nordic kind of way, but can also look as though she has spent a lifetime on the streets, with no dental or health care.
What happy ending?
None of the characters in this movie are pretty. They look like well-worn people. But goodness, do you ever end up rooting for them! You want so much for his story to have a happy ending. Though you do end up asking yourself, what would a happy ending be? A clue is in this quote from the screenplay, which comes at the end of the film:
Anttila: Where are you going? M: Home.
“M” wearing clothes from the Salvation Army’s donation bins. (Image: IMDB)
Moments to remember
There are so many unforgettable moments in the film. One is this: Irma goes home to her simple, single-room accommodation in an apartment building. She fastidiously takes off her uniform. She puts away her shoes. She puts on an old, flannel dressing-gown. Without the armour of her uniform, she is a very plain-looking woman. Then, she switches on a tape recorder – and the most unexpected music comes out: Finnish Rock ‘n’ Roll. She closes her eyes and loses herself in the music.
Another one: M finds a place to sleep on the outskirts of Helsinki in an empty shipping container. He stands outside the door and looks his muddy hands. He has planted a potato, and now he has harvested a handful of potatoes. His neighbour tries, with humour so dry that it’s dusty, to trade him for a potato. If you have very little, a simple potato means a lot:
Nieminen: Rather small potatoes. M: The weather was bad. But they will make a soup. Nieminen: When did you plan to make it? M: Why so interested? Nieminen: I have an onion. You need it for the soup. M: I've got eight potatoes. I must save three for winter and at least two as seed potatoes. We farmers must think of the coming years, too. We only eat what is left over. There is not enough for three. I want to invite Irma to dinner. Nieminen: So none for me? M: Right. Nieminen: You're selfish. M: I am a realist. You city people are children of the moment.
Date night in a shipping container
And then there is M’s first date with Irma in his repurposed container: peas heated up in a can. Well-charred chops. A polite, timid dog that he has adopted and that’s named, ironically, “Hannibal”. A jukebox that he found on a dump and repaired.
Irma: [Watching the dinner getting burned] Are you sure I can't help you? M: I think it's ruined already.
M: I went to the moon yesterday. Irma: I see. How was it? M: Peaceful. Irma: Meet anyone? M: Not really; it was a Sunday.
M: Shall we sit on the couch and listen to some music? Irma:...[Gives a small nod]
The date scene (Sourced from IMDB)
Outstanding, including the soundtrack
I’m not the only one to think that this film is outstanding. It was nominated for the Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film in 2002 – a first for a Finnish film – and won the Grand Prix at the 2002 Cannes Film Festival. The list of awards and nominations is long. The soundtrack of Finnish songs is quite unusual.
I’d never heard anything like it before. It led me to discover Finnish bands and music, Finnish authors, Finnish poetry, and more Finnish films. (And, in 2017, I finally did get to go to Finland. And Helsinki was just like in the film, as if time had stood still.)
The songs featured on the soundtrack range from Rock, to Blues, Traditional, Folk, and Country. The standout performances are by Marko Haavisto and Poutahaukat (one of his bands). They have a sound you would not expect – amped up by the gritty Finnish vocals. (Finnish is a language of the Uralic language family, that has its roots in the Ural Mountains in Eurasia. It’s not Germanic, and has no relationship with other Scandinavian languages, or English.)
In the trailer, below, the song on the soundtrack is Paha Vaanii(translated as “Evil Lurks”), performed by Marko Haavisto and Poutahaukat.
Nostalgic Finnish Rock and Folk
The song in the film that got stuck in my head is “Do You Remember Monrepos?” The song’s lyrics are about the Monrepos park area in Vyborg, Finland, which Finland lost to the Soviet Union, and which is today a Russian Cultural Heritage Site.
In the film, the famous Finnish singer, Annikki Tähti, accompanied by the Poutahaukat band, performs it. In that club scene, she sings in a slightly croaky, shaky voice. She was then in her early 70s. The band members hardly move. So the focus is totally on the wrinkled, enigmatic face of Annikki Tähti, with her skew teeth.
But the people sitting in the club are no pictures of glamour either. Her voice perfectly suits the moment. She died in 2017, aged 87 years. In the clip below, she is at the peak of her career, beautiful, with that strong, attention-grabbing voice, singing the same song which was a massive hit in Finland.
“Muistatko monrepos’n” (Do You Remember Monrepos?) Performed by Annikki Tähti; written by Annikki Tähti & Erik Lindström; lyrics: Aili Runne
“Do You Remember Monrepos” lyrics (extract)
I remember the most beautiful park Muistan puiston kaunehimman
the most wonderful Monrepos ihanimman Monrepos'n
I often walk in my dreams usein haaveissani kuljen
to the linden grove I happened upon satumaani lehmustohon
The most beautiful arched bridges Kaunehimmat kaarisillat
the most wonderful moonlit nights ihanimmat kuudanyöt
I've seen it in the park nähnyt puiston katveessa oon
Monrepos'n Monrepos'n
See it for yourself
I’ll leave you to discover the film for yourself. As I get older, I seem to like restrained, understated, subtle films more and more. When a film is as quiet as The Man Without a Past, you have to watch and listen carefully to find and appreciate the beauty in it.
SEVEN CIRCUMSTANCES 
Finnish director Aki Kaurismäki made The Man Without a Past (Mies vailla menneisyyttä) in 2002. This, strange as it may be, is my favourite film. I have watched it so often that I know the script practically by heart. (I have to admit, my taste in films is a bit odd. My second most favourite film is the 1964 musical My Fair Lady.) In 2002, when The Man Without a Past was released, I was living in Johannesburg, South Africa, continents and lifetimes removed from Finland. I had only been overseas a few times, and never to Finland. I saw the film the first time on what was then a subscription channel for art films, with English subtitles.
It’s not a conventionally romantic film, nor funny – since the humour is sarcastic, nor exciting, nor filled with good-looking actors. It is relentlessly realistic. There is hardly any action, and what there is, is grimy and sad.
But I finally analyzed why it is so memorable, and why I return to it time and again.
A contradiction that works
It is a contradiction: on the one hand it is dry, understated, simple, and minimalist. On the other hand, it is very moving. It is proof of the principle that less is more. Since there is less of everything – colour, settings, action, sound, and dialogue – it means that the viewer’s mind is fiercely concentrated on what is there. This form of emptiness extends to the lead character. He has lost everything – including his memory. There is something developing, a tender feeling between him and a Salvation Army worker. But everything around him, and his past, seem to be threatening this hopeful development.
I had never before seen this type of poverty depicted in a film, nor, of course, this side of Finnish society. For instance, the peculiarly Finnish way of dealing with down-and-outs; the social systems that sometimes work against them, sometimes for them; the strangely haunting music; the Russian-influenced, but also industrialized architecture; the strange, watery landscapes; the brusque way of speaking.
The antithesis of a Hollywood production
For the first few years after we moved to Canada, I commuted every day by train to Vancouver, and I often sat in the same carriage as heavily tattooed, bearded, black-leather-and-chains man. He had a limp and walked with a cane. He was barrel-chested and had biceps like wrought-iron. He looked like he had been a Hell’s Angel all his life. It turned out that he worked for the Salvation Army. He looked like a criminal, but behaved like a Good Samaritan, with faultless manners.
The same sort of people are depicted in The Man Without a Past. I had no idea what the Salvation Army was, when I saw it the first time. The lead character, the man without a past, starts to rebuild his life when he takes a menial job with a local branch of the Salvation Army.
What makes a character appealing?
What’s interesting is that in Fiction and Film writing, the reader and viewer has to recognize the traits in the character in themselves, in order to feel empathy, and that empathy then leads them to vicariously experiencing and enjoying the story. The book becomes un-put-down-able, the film becomes popular. If the character is a robot, or an animal, or a person who is just a façade or poorly depicted, then the reader and viewer should, under the normal rules for writing, feel nothing for them, and will not like the story.
In this film, Kaurismäki created a man who, from the outset, is almost entirely without character, without depth, without credentials or status, and without a past. However, the tension arises from the slow reveal of who he really is, one tiny detail at a time. Kaurismäki put in just enough details to make the viewer feel increasing empathy with the character.
A straightforward story
The story is fairly simple. After a brutal beating in a park in Helsinki, a middle-aged man, played by Markku Peltola, is left in a coma. This character is simply called “M”, or “you” or “he” throughout the film. He has no name, no ID, nothing but the clothes on his back. When he regains consciousness in hospital, he cannot recollect a single detail about his life. Unable to provide information to the authorities, M has no legal way to start over.
He walks out of the hospital, finds a community of homeless people, and moves into an unused shipping container. On the street, standing in line for a bowl of soup, he meets “Irma” (played by Kati Outinen), a Salvation Army worker, and they hesitantly begin a sort of relationship. Does he regain his memory? Who is he really? Does it matter? That’s for you to find out.
Markku Peltola, who died in 2007, is a man who could be described as both ugly and attractive – like my Mum says of Harvey Keitel. Peltola was an actor, director, and Art-Rock bassist and singer. He had a face that was all jutting out bones, hard lines, thin, mean lips, and gimlet black eyes. In the film, he smokes constantly and sullenly, and walks like a bear emerging from a cave, all hunched-up and stalking. Peltola acted in three other Kaurismäki films, Juha; Take Care of your Scarf, Tatiana; and Drifting Clouds.
In the film, Kati Outinen, 63 years old in 2024, is sometimes attractive in a fragile, Nordic kind of way, but can also look as though she has spent a lifetime on the streets, with no dental or health care.
What happy ending?
None of the characters in this movie are pretty. They look like well-worn people. But goodness, do you ever end up rooting for them! You want so much for his story to have a happy ending. Though you do end up asking yourself, what would a happy ending be? A clue is in this quote from the screenplay, which comes at the end of the film:
Moments to remember
There are so many unforgettable moments in the film. One is this: Irma goes home to her simple, single-room accommodation in an apartment building. She fastidiously takes off her uniform. She puts away her shoes. She puts on an old, flannel dressing-gown. Without the armour of her uniform, she is a very plain-looking woman. Then, she switches on a tape recorder – and the most unexpected music comes out: Finnish Rock ‘n’ Roll. She closes her eyes and loses herself in the music.
Another one: M finds a place to sleep on the outskirts of Helsinki in an empty shipping container. He stands outside the door and looks his muddy hands. He has planted a potato, and now he has harvested a handful of potatoes. His neighbour tries, with humour so dry that it’s dusty, to trade him for a potato. If you have very little, a simple potato means a lot:
Date night in a shipping container
And then there is M’s first date with Irma in his repurposed container: peas heated up in a can. Well-charred chops. A polite, timid dog that he has adopted and that’s named, ironically, “Hannibal”. A jukebox that he found on a dump and repaired.
Outstanding, including the soundtrack
I’m not the only one to think that this film is outstanding. It was nominated for the Academy Award for Best Foreign Language Film in 2002 – a first for a Finnish film – and won the Grand Prix at the 2002 Cannes Film Festival. The list of awards and nominations is long. The soundtrack of Finnish songs is quite unusual.
I’d never heard anything like it before. It led me to discover Finnish bands and music, Finnish authors, Finnish poetry, and more Finnish films. (And, in 2017, I finally did get to go to Finland. And Helsinki was just like in the film, as if time had stood still.)
The songs featured on the soundtrack range from Rock, to Blues, Traditional, Folk, and Country. The standout performances are by Marko Haavisto and Poutahaukat (one of his bands). They have a sound you would not expect – amped up by the gritty Finnish vocals. (Finnish is a language of the Uralic language family, that has its roots in the Ural Mountains in Eurasia. It’s not Germanic, and has no relationship with other Scandinavian languages, or English.)
In the trailer, below, the song on the soundtrack is Paha Vaanii (translated as “Evil Lurks”), performed by Marko Haavisto and Poutahaukat.
Nostalgic Finnish Rock and Folk
The song in the film that got stuck in my head is “Do You Remember Monrepos?” The song’s lyrics are about the Monrepos park area in Vyborg, Finland, which Finland lost to the Soviet Union, and which is today a Russian Cultural Heritage Site.
In the film, the famous Finnish singer, Annikki Tähti, accompanied by the Poutahaukat band, performs it. In that club scene, she sings in a slightly croaky, shaky voice. She was then in her early 70s. The band members hardly move. So the focus is totally on the wrinkled, enigmatic face of Annikki Tähti, with her skew teeth.
But the people sitting in the club are no pictures of glamour either. Her voice perfectly suits the moment. She died in 2017, aged 87 years. In the clip below, she is at the peak of her career, beautiful, with that strong, attention-grabbing voice, singing the same song which was a massive hit in Finland.
“Do You Remember Monrepos” lyrics (extract)
See it for yourself
I’ll leave you to discover the film for yourself. As I get older, I seem to like restrained, understated, subtle films more and more. When a film is as quiet as The Man Without a Past, you have to watch and listen carefully to find and appreciate the beauty in it.
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