‘The Other Side of Hope’ or — Mercy Street?

If I was to describe to you the basic plot of Aki Kaurismäki’s ‘The Other Side of Hope’ (2017) you’d possibly think it was unwatchably bleak.

A refugee, Khaled, from Aleppo seeks asylum in Helsinki after his entire family is killed in a missile strike. His only surviving relative his is sister, whom he is determined to bring from Syria to Finland to start a new life as he has heard Finnish people are good and decent. Meanwhile a local businessman, Waldemar, leaves his wife to start a new life. He heads to an illegal gambling den to win enough cash so he can buy a restaurant. He hopes this will bring him even a small sense of satisfaction. The restaurant might not be totally legit. But he is a Finnish citizen so has some control over his life.

Yet when the authorities decide that it is safe for Khaled to return to Syria, even though it obviously isn’t, Khaled and Waldemar’s lives intersect and the question of whether or not the Finnish people are decent or not is put to the test, along with the question — what is on the other side of hope?

This sort of subject matter is typical Kaurismäki yet, fortunately, what’s also typical Kaurismäki is his sense of humour, warmth, humanism, distinct colour palette, uplifting music, economic narrative and light touch. The result is not only far from depressing but is intensely moving and, very often, unbelievably funny.

There is no sentimentality or emotional histrionics at play here. When Waldemar leaves his wife it is wordless, a wedding ring in an ashtray saying everything that isn’t (and possibly more). Melodrama is also gone but not only does Kaurismäki strip the film of melodrama he also strips it of a lot of actual drama itself. At one point Khaled asks to borrow someone’s mobile phone and our expectation (and one a less subtle and conventional director would’ve went for for the easy and lazy conflict) is that the guy will be pissed off. Instead, not only does the guy happily lend Khaled his phone but is pissed off at Khaled for even being afraid to ask in the first place. This is a clue to what is on the other side of hope.

This apparently spartan approach allows for a wide range of contrasts, specifically when it comes to the humour and boy, when Kaurismäki’s jokes land they land so hard they pound you into the fucking ground. There’s a moment (which I won’t spoil) when a decision must be made on a plan to bring in more customers into the restaurant and when the plan is revealed I almost choked to death I was laughing so hard. Not only that but Kaurismäki brings it all round again to the central idea of how we respect people from other cultures and then twists it back again, later, into another hilarious gag.

Then there’s Kaurismäki’s visual style which is as striking (seemingly effortlessly so) as usual. And how is he able to shoot cargo ships, dockyards and cranes so beautifully?! These visuals are linked by a typically excellent soundtrack, a song played by a busker on a corner or a pub band transporting us between locations with ease and reminding us that we are, for all the social issues at play, existing in cinematic space.

If you know Kaurismäki you’ll know what to expect but his distinct style never threatens to feel overplayed or tiresome and by the end you’ll feel yourself aching with a sensation that comes very close to that of love. When the end comes Kaurismäki leaves everything hanging in a state of ambiguity, leaving us room to project what we think might happen, that it’s down to us to decide if this is tragedy or not. Personally I feel Kaurismäki leaves too many trails prodding us in the direction of hope and allowing us to discover what is on the other side and, for me, it’s very clear what that is. It’s called “mercy”.