Criterion Collection: Eclipse Series 29: Aki Kaurismäki’s Leningrad Cowboys [Blu-ray] | DVD Review

Nestled roughly between his Proletariat and Finland trilogies, eclectic minimalist Aki Kaurismaki created a series of delightfully goofy films about a fictional rock and roll band from an exceptionally isolated part of Siberia. These profoundly rural, and quite possibly inbred, rockers shared not only a drive for musical success, but a genetic disposition towards outrageous, rhinoceros horn pompadours and a passion for long, pointy, black leather brogues. Calling themselves The Leningrad Cowboys, these rough-hewn Soviet song stylists left their clanging tractors and beloved –in all senses of the word– livestock behind to embark on a worldwide quest for fame and fortune.

Thanks to Criterion’s Eclipse series, viewers can now relive the band’s misadventures with Aki Kaurismäki’s Leningrad Cowboys, a splendid new boxed set featuring a trio of DVDs. While starkly arid humor has always been a Kaurismaki hallmark, these films lean more toward the realm of straight-forward comedy, while retaining the director’s patented edge of laconic bleakness. Filled with visual – and occasional aural – absurdity, this collection is an entertaining immersion in all manner of culture shock, as our intrepid troubadours make their way from Russia to New York to Mexico and back, playing just about every filthy dive and low rent wedding reception along the way.

Leningrad Cowboys go America (1989) leads off the set, and is your basic non-stop delight. Here we see the genesis of the voyage, as the approximately seven musicians – the exact number of the band’s membership fluctuates wildly from scene to scene – led by their sleazy manager Vladimir (Kaurismaki regular Matti Pellonpää), are advised that true stardom can only be found in America, and are given the name of a club owner in New York. Soon, the scruffy combo find themselves in Manhattan, where an audition in an equally scruffy nightclub – the iconic CBGB’s – awaits. But the Cowboy’s nonstop repertoire of polkas leaves the club owner (Richard Boes), less than impressed, and he suggests the group travel to Mexico, where some relatives are looking for a band to play at an upcoming wedding.

The Cowboys pool their last remaining shekels and purchase a battered Cadillac land yacht and set out on a circuitous route to Mexico. Watch for Jim Jarmusch in a cameo role as the car salesman (he and Kaurimaki have shared a mutual admiration society for years, and have even set up an informal actor exchange program). Meanwhile, one of the Cowboys has shed his earthly coil, and his crude shipping crate casket – with cutouts to allow for his pompadour, bass guitar and pointy shoes – is dutifully and hilariously strapped to the roof of the Caddy.

Secretly pursuing the band is their top fan Igor (Kari Väänänen) a Siberian village idiot whose balding pate will not allow him to grow one of those groovy pompadours; a fact that causes him endless remorse. As the group makes their way to Mexico, with stops in Memphis, New Orleans, Mississippi, Galveston and a host of other geographically indirect spots, they manage to pick up a few gigs at cramped venues that haven’t been visited by a sanitation inspector for decades. But the boys show a remarkable musical adaptability, playing every style from the funkiest brand of delta blues in Louisiana to rousing hillbilly anthems for adoring crowds of Houston shitkickers.

As their North American idyll draws to conclusion, having dealt with irate policemen, car vandals, corruption in their ranks, and occasional homesickness – the sight of a farm tractor still brings them to tears – the Leningrad Cowboys find themselves embraced by a new culture they couldn’t have dreamed of a few weeks before. And, having shared every quirkily engaging moment, the sense of joy extends to the viewer as well. Leningrad Cowboys go America earns a high recommendation, and ranks as one of this reviewer’s all time favorite comedies.

The Leningrad Cowboys Meet Moses, Kaurismaki’s sequel from 1994, finds the Cowboys five years later, down on their luck in the Mexican wilderness, their ranks severely depleted by demon tequila. The remaining band members have thoroughly gone native; their distinctive pointy hairdos accompanied by thick, bandito-style mustaches. Pellonpää reprises his role as band manager. One dark night he appears by the campfire declaring that he’s been struck by a religious epiphany, and has come to realize that he is actually Moses. And, like his biblical counterpart, he’s been charged to lead the erstwhile musicians back to the promised land of Siberia.

This second installment has a lot less of the innocent charm found in the first, favoring instead a plethora of absurd subplots and comedic biblical allusions. But it’s still basically a road picture, with sojourns in New York, France, Germany and Poland as our heroes make their way home. Along the way, the surviving members are reunited with a new generation of Cowboys, with the same outrageous hair and shoes, but clad in spit-and-polish Russian army uniforms. The merged musical group looks – and sounds – like a strange amalgam of Sgt. Pepper and mariachi, but their chops remain righteous, entertaining befuddled crowds in some of Europe’s oddest venues.

There’s some silliness involving The Statue of Liberty’s nose and a rather confused CIA agent (Andre Wilms), who displays surprising Elvis-esque moves when he’s pressed into service as a singer during a gig in France. As Pellonpää recreates a few biblical miracles with the aid of hardware store gadgets, the Cowboys eventually revel in the green splendor of a Siberian spring. While this sequel lacks the magical, wide-eyed wonder of the original, Kaurismaki manages to imbue The Leningrad Cowboys Meet Moses with enough abnormal atmospherics to deliver a fascinating, and quite amusing, romp.

Total Balalaika Show completes the set, documenting a live performance by the Leningrad Cowboys at Helsinki’s Senate Square in 1993. Joined by the Alexandrov Red Army Chorus and Dance Ensemble, the spectacular affair drew a mammoth and highly enthusiastic crowd. The musical selections range from the pastoral Finlandia by Sibelius to a rousing version of Sweet Home Alabama that creates a near frenzy. The show includes many references to the films’ iconography, with a tractor serving as a drum platform, and traditional Russian dances performed in long pointed loafers. In all, Total Balalaika Show is a perfect companion piece that also works as highly enjoyable stand alone concert film.

Also included are five Leningrad Cowboy music videos directed by Kaurismaki, and generally the pieces are more like elaborate short films than performance captures. The best of the lot, a cover of Nancy Sinatra’s classic These Boots, is a witty tome to Finnish rural life in the 1950s, while Those Were the Days concerns the difficulty of getting a good seat for you, and your donkey, in a fashionable Paris restaurant. These rarely seen videos are real gems, and must viewing for Kaurismaki completeists.

While Kaurismäki is not necessarily known for visual splendor, the wealth of locations gives the Leningrad Cowboys series a distinct aesthetic within his filmography. The feature films, presented in 1.85:1, retain the slightly murky hues of the original theatrical prints. The Cowboys’ sleazier venues reverberate with funk, and the transfer faithfully captures the overall downscale patina of grit and grime. The concert film, with a proportion of 1.66:1, looks just fine for a multicamera remote, with gamma and timing consistent with the two features. Sharpness and shadow detail are good in all the offerings, with minimal instances of dirt.

All the editions feature punchy stereo mixes that work well with the raucous retro musical selections. Individual instruments occasionally get a bit lost during Total Balalaika Show, but the distraction is minor and not surprising for an outdoor concert of such complexity.

Part rockabilly hipster fantasy, part bohemian flavored National Lampoon Vacation series, Aki Kaurismäki’s Leningrad Cowboys is an idiosyncratic kaleidoscope of wonderment and charm. Through sheer, unrelenting eccentricity, these films create a cultural mashup that not only entertains, but offers a happily skewed portrait of the human family and its struggles to connect. With this superb set, the fertile, slightly warped, imagination of Aki Kaurismäki treats the viewer to an offbeat meditation on the universality of music, and presents a motley group of pompadoured Russian peasants as mankind’s best hope for world peace. And amazingly enough, we believe him.

Reviewed by David Anderson

Movie rating – 5

Disc Rating – 4