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Helsinki on luonnollisesti toiminut lukemattomien suomalaisten elokuvien näyttämönä. Joissakin elokuvissa, hyvänä esimerkkinä Matti Kassilan Palmu-elokuvat, Helsinki tarjoaa erinomaisia näyttämöitä vaikkapa rikostarinan kohtauksille. Joskus kysymys kaupunkiarkkitehtuurista ja sen muutoksista on kohonnut tärkeäksi teemaksi. Näin on esimerkiksi Risto Jarvan hieman Antonionivaikutteisessa
Onnenpelissä
(1965), jonka reportteri-päähenkilö Jussi valmistelee artikkelia
Helsingissä meneillään olevasta muutoksesta. Hänen vaeltelujensa myötä kamera on tallentanut kiehtovia kuvia muun muassa tulevan asematunnelin työmaasta. Jussin haastattelu- ja kuvausmatkojen kautta kaupunkia tulee esille varsin paljon. Hämmästyttävän paljon löytyy myös kuvakulmia, joista katsottuna vain automallit näyttävät muuttuneen.
Joskus Helsinki on redusoitunut anonyymiksi ’suurkaupungiksi’. Paljon elokuvia on kuvattu
Helsingin lähiöissä ja kantakaupungissakin, mutta tapahtumapaikka on harvemmin määrittynyt edes pääkaupungiksi tai millään muullakaan lailla erityiseksi miljööksi – jopa päinvastoin. Jarvan elokuvan Mies, joka ei osannut sanoa ei (1975) tapahtumapaikka on kyllä tunnistettavissa
Helsingiksi, vaikka päänäyttämö onkin kuvitteellinen Kivimäki (Puu-Vallila loistoroolissaan).
Kivimäki kontrastoituu rakenteilla olevan korostetun anonyymiin elementtikaupunginosaan (Itä-
Pasila). Helsinki on naamioitu pikkukaupungiksi, jonka asukkaiden onnelle ja elämisen laadulle kasvu suurkaupungiksi muodostaa pelottavan uhan. Kivimäkeen kohdistuvassa purku-uhassa dramatisoituvat 1960–1970-lukujen suomalaiseen kiihkeään uudisrakentamiseen liittyvät yhteiskunnalliset ja elämänlaadulliset jännitteet. Tosin vastaavan asetelman olisi voinut kuvata monessa muussakin, vielä pahemmin runnotussa suomalaisessa kaupungissa.
Nykyohjaajien joukossa omaperäisin Helsingin hahmottaja on Aki Kaurismäki. Kaikkein kaurismäkiläisimpänä Helsinki näyttäytyy
Calamari Unionissa (1985). Siinä seurataan seitsemäntoista Frankin ja yhden Pekan odysseiaa Kallion surkeudesta (”Kaikki tietävät olosuhteet, joissa olemme joutuneet viettämään lapsuutemme ja nuoruutemme. Ahtaus, tietämättömyys, nälkä.
Puhumattakaan linja-autojen huonosta ilmanvaihdosta, niiden aikataulujen epäsäännöllisyydestä ...
Tässä kaupunginosassa on enemmän mäkiä kuin missään muualla maailmassa ...”) kohti myyttistä
Eiraa (”Olemme kaikki kuulleet lapsena isovanhempiemme, vanhempiemme puhuvan kaupungin toisella puolen olevasta Eirasta. Alueesta, joka on kuuluisa tasaisista, leveistä kaduistaan ja raikkaasta ilmastaan.”). Frankit hajaantuvat kolmeksi ryhmäksi, jotka eri reittejä pitkin lähtevät vaaroja uhmaten vaikealle matkalle. Helsinki eksistentialistisena tilana päihittää heidät. Keskinäiset riidat, kohtalokkaat naiset ja moninaiset heikkoudet koituvat heidän tuhokseen. Vain kaksi yltää perille, hekin vain todetakseen Eiran todellisuuden yhtä lohduttomaksi kuin koko muunkin kaupungin. He lähtevät jollalla kohti Eestiä, kohti parempaa kaupunkiarkkitehtuuria.
New Approaches
Filmmakers have always exercised considerable dramatic license in using real cities as the sets of their films. Usually this is done either for dramatic purposes, visual effects or simply due to the needs of smooth editing. In order to create maximum dramatic impact or impressive sequences of images, the actual geography of cities has often been suppressed. It is not unusual to see a character in a film turn round a corner and enter another part of the town in the next shot. The audience, even if familiar with the city in which the events are supposed to take place, is expected to ignore these discrepancies rather than assume that the characters inhabit anything else than the real city.

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Obviously this is by no means a clear-cut distinction. A Helsinki audience of the last episode of Jim
Jarmusch’s
Night on Earth (1991) might be amused at the madcap route of the taxi driven by the
Matti Pellonpää character – others are not likely to notice anything out of ordinary. As the choice of shooting locations does not produce any noticeable visual effect or make any dramatic point, the meandering route of the melancholy taxi driver may well be ignored, or taken just as an inside joke.
However, there are also films in which the image of the city is transformed in various ways so as to produce considered artistic effects.
Though in some sense the city might still stand for itself, i.e. it is not used as backdrop to create the illusion of another existing city (say, Helsinki as Leningrad) or an imaginary city (Paris as
Alphaville), it may for various reasons be captured on film with the intension of creating a deliberately alienating effect. The city may, for example, be presented in a way which expresses how the characters are alienated from the society or the culture which the city embodies. Or, an existential displacement may take place which makes exact spatial and temporal coordinates more or less blurred, possibly even irrelevant. Two films located mainly in what is still identifiable as
Helsinki despite deforming cinematic styles (as formalist would say), Jarmo Lampela’s
Freekin’
Beautiful World (1997) and Aki Kaurismäki’s Drifting Clouds (1998), exemplify in two different but equally telling fashion these two approaches.
Film is often thought to posses a privileged relationship to reality because of the indexical relation it has to the phenomenal world. Yet, as the Russian formalists proposed, art truly refines our understanding of the real world only when it breaks our habitual patterns of perception which limit what we see and hear. At its most obvious this might be just a question of a film drawing our attention to details of our familiar environment which we have not noticed before. A film might offer us a fresh view of our familiar surroundings - a new point of view, possibly both in the literal and a metaphorical sense of the word. At its most subtle, when cinematic means are employed to make the milieu captured in the image appear somehow alien, deformed, a film may evoke a vision of how a familiar environment can function as the ground of a wholly different kind of experience than most of us are familiar with.
The possibility of such refreshing of perception and understanding emerges from the simultaneously excessively objective and subjective aspect of the cinematic image, the way it on the one hand by virtue of the photomechanical (or photo electronic in the case of video equipment) nature of the cinematic apparatus connects with the phenomenal world, and how it on the other hand can function as an expression of the subjectivity of people inhabiting a given environment. Also the dialectics of the individual and the society is crucially involved. As the subjectivity of the various characters relate to a constructed environment, questions of power emerge: an individual’s relationship to different spaces in the city is determined by his or her role and status in the society.
Freekin’ beautiful Helsinki
Apart from a sequence which takes place on a ferry sailing between Helsinki and Stockholm and a sequence which may or may not have been shot in Stockholm (there are shots from the Wasa museum but the characters do not appear in them), most of the outdoor sequences of Lampela’s
Freekin’ Beautiful World
(hereafter: FBW) have been shot mainly on location in the sunny, summery Helsinki, either in fairly easily identifiable public places or representative suburbs.
However, throughout the film audiovisual style in terms of framing, camera angles, tilting, camera movement, overexposure, filters, colour processing, editing and sound editing have been used as a powerful deforming device. Without any kind of fantasy material being used the effect verges on

3 the psychedelic. Apparently, for most of the scenes shot in the centre of Helsinki, very little miseen-scène has been used to produce the strange effects. In some night scenes located in the suburbs or interiors, coloured lighting has been used to give a blue hue in the face of the characters or to colour the street garish violet and green.
There are two obvious ways of responding to the visual style of FBW. One is to think that although the imagery derives from the real world it is if filtered through a mind or minds which strongly
‘colour’ perceptual data in terms of internal experience. The other is simply to enjoy the delightful play of perceptual data, the ingenious camera work and the often fantastic colour effects. A more interesting approach emerges when these two positions are set in dialogue with one another. This can be achieved by combining ecological and cognitive film theory with a phenomenological and hermeneutical approach to filmic experience.
One of the basic tenets of so called ecological film theory as well as of the cognitive approach to film narration is that the way we perceive the cinematic image as well as much of classical film style, is to a significant degree based on the same schemata which guide our mental construction of the real world. First of all, cognitive psychology has demonstrated that no substantial distinction can be made between the perception of features such as movement, depth and colour in the real world and on the screen.
Arguably, also most cinematic devices of the classical style such as point of view shots, shotcounter shot patterns, the 180 degrees rule – in fact, most of the devices used to cue the spectator in constructing narrative space, time and causality – derive from and even mime our bodily orientation into the world. For example, a point of view shot provides an analogy with the situation in which we turn our head to see what has suddenly caught someone’s visual attention.
Phenomenological film theory in turn suggests that we should think of film as an expression as an expression of the vision of an “anonymous other”, whose perception is offered to us as a certain hold on the diegetic world. This may or may not coincide with the perception of the characters, but in any case it may be used to represent a certain orientation into the world. Even classical film style as defined in textbooks since the teens exemplifies this as it centres so strongly on individuals, their moving in the diegetic world, their perception and their interest focus.
Yet, by means of style it is possible to go much deeper into character subjectivity. Pier Paolo
Pasolini in his extraordinary semiotics of the cinema advocated what he termed poetry of cinema, where filmic style is used to expresses subjectivity, a certain style of being-in the-world. A crucial element of this is that the distinction between objective and subjective is blurred. It may be impossible to define whether a given shot is subjective or objective, whether it exemplifies character focalization or whether it renders a detached narrative point of view.
Avant-garde film has traditionally sought to go against classical film style by constructing film styles which go against our normal patterns of perception. Often this has involved eliminating the entire notion of a diegetic space together with characters, plots and other such basic elements of fiction. In his FBW Lampela does something quite different. His characters live in the mid nineties
Helsinki. However, as the film proceeds they are to varying degrees submerged in their own existential experience which involves the use of drugs. At points Lampela uses subjective shots in which a colour effect is motivated by the character using tinted glasses, but for the most part no such excuses are offered for the stylistic excesses.
There is an objective aspect to the images as on-location shooting in fairly identifiable places

4 anchors the events to a certain geographical reality. The time when the events are supposed to take place can be approximately determined by indicators such as fashion and models of standard equipment being used. Also, according to snips of dialogue Finland has already joined the European
Union but the currency is still the Finnish mark. However, the audiovisual style together with the extremely limited social connections the three protagonists appear to have created a strange tension between the physical environment and the intensive lived experienced of these misfits.
All this may be taken as analogous if not exactly the same as what in literary theory has been termed metaphorical tension. Paul Ricoeur discusses metaphor as a form of redescription and expands this notion to fiction: "[i]n service to the poetic function, metaphor is that strategy of discourse by which language divests itself of its function of direct description in order to reach the mythic level where its function of discovery is set free". By means of metaphor a tension can be created between a familiar notion and an imaginative redescription which by actually going against direct description opens up new ways of perceiving and experiencing the familiar. The crucial feature about Ricoeur's theory of metaphor is his analysis of the verb 'to be' as s part of a metaphorical construction. Here the copula has the same tension as literal vs. metaphorical interpretations. The impossibility of the literal interpretation causes a tension between 'is' and 'is not'. According to Ricoeur, "the key to the notion of metaphorical truth" can be formulated as the question: "does not the tension that affects the copula in its relational function also affect the copula in its existential function?" In the same way as the metaphorical sense not only abolishes but simultaneously preserves the literal sense, the metaphorical reference maintains the ordinary vision in tension with the new one it suggests. Appreciating this requires the ability which W. Bedell
Stanford has labelled “stereoscopic vision”, namely the ability to entertain two different points of view at the same time.
Ricoeur discusses metaphor only as a linguistic device, but the basic idea can be used to account for certain uses of the cinematic image. Whether these can be taken as instances of cinematic metaphors remains somewhat debatable. Thus, arguably, the metaphorical tension in Lampela’s
FBW derives from the way it on the one level displays a familiar geographical environment (the
‘is’) yet does this in a way which contradicts our everyday perception of this environment (the ‘is not’). This discrepancy cannot be explained in terms of character subjectivity of classical film narration, where what we see and hear is often motivated by being presented as what a doped character sees and hears (as in a typical main stream film about drug abuse).
A scene about halfway through the film exemplifies well Lampela’s aesthetic strategy. Ippe and
Mia are on the terrace in front of the Uspensky Cathedral. The Cathedral itself is not shown, but from the terrace there opens a splendid view over the classical centre of Helsinki. The image is tinted slightly yellow. In an earlier scene Ippe has worn yellow sunglasses (and in the scene immediately preceding this one, violet glasses), but now his eyes are bare. Lampela repeats this pattern several times: indications of character subjectivity leak into shots which otherwise appear to be independent of character focalization.
The scene begins with the camera moving from high above in a large airy arch toward the terrace.
In this shot Mia and Ippe are far apart on different sides of the terrace, leaning against the railings.
In the next shot Mia is seen coming to Ippe from the opposite direction than we would expect on the basis of the previous shot. As she hits Ippe on the head a strange metallic sound is heard which may be taken to stand for how Ippe (who for the most of the time looks as if he was having a hang-over) experiences the blow. The effect is further strengthened by yellow tinting momentarily darkening.
As she hits him the second time the sound is only an exaggeration of what one might expect to hear standing next to them. As they talk the camera moves round them so that they remain still at the

5 centre of the image while the view of Helsinki moves behind them. The city appears in these images, as at many other points in this film, strangely, even sickly beautiful. This effect crystallizes the metaphorical tension which emerges from the way the city has been captured on the film. As with any metaphor worthy of the name the effect defies paraphrase. At most we can say that the cinematic style stands for a style of being in this world in this day and age, of inhabiting the city of
Helsinki.
Drifting Helsinki
Aki Kaurismäki has shot several of his films fairly close to the centre of Helsinki. Yet while many locations are fairly easily identifiable, the urban environment of these films remains strangely anonymous. This is particularly evident in Drifting Clouds . The name of the city is never spelled out and no landmarks are to be seen, but many of the buildings and streets are likely to be fairly familiar to anyone who has walked about the near centre of the city with an eye to his or her surroundings. Kaurismäki avoids establishing shots that would ease recognition of the exact locations. The camerawork is emphatically stationary, and correspondingly so much less of the city is seen. Most outdoor scenes consist of a single, fairly tightly framed shot. As editing is not used in the customary way to create diegetic space, there is a sense of spatial disjunction. Gradually an uncanny feeling emerges. Because of the quasi anonymity of the city in which the story takes place
Helsinki appears somehow displaced. The city is merely an urban space which has precious little prospects of becoming a place to which the characters could feel they belong.
As the film begins the two main characters, Ilona and Lauri, still have at least some hold on the centre of the city. The restaurant Dubrovnik appears to be on the corner of Yrjönkatu and Bulevardi.
As Ilona leaves for home, she is seen catching a tram. This could possibly on Bulevardi (on which tram nr. 6 runs), but it is night and only one building is briefly seen. It might well be Tehtaankatu.
In any case, they are moving close to the centre of Helsinki (there are no trams anywhere else in
Finland). But then Dubrovnik has to fold up, and soon after Lauri loses his job as a tram driver.
Lauri has happened to draw the three of clubs when a representative of the tramline announces that three drivers have to be sacked – the way to decline of public transport is discussed and personnel matters are handled suggests that this is not HKL, the Helsinki Municipal Transport Company.
Many scenes in Drifting Clouds take place in Ilona’s and Lauri’s home but the location of the flat is practically concealed as they are seen entering the building only once in a brief shot and they are never seen leaving the building. The lack of outdoor scenes soon creates a sense of claustrophobia.
It is as if when being laid unemployed they had been ousted from the public sphere as well as from the society as a whole. This applies also to many other locations, e.g. the anonymous bar – the sign outside simply states “baari” – in which Ilona tries to make a living. Here the point about lying outside regular society is emphasized by the fact that the proprietor hasn’t even bothered to deduct tax from Ilona’s pay. As Ilona and Lauri succeed in making a new start in the form of a new restaurant, the location is again fairly close to the centre (corner of Tehtaankatu and
Perämiehenkatu in Eira) and is, once again, fairly recognizable.
The relationships to historical time develop on similar lines. In some sense the story takes place at the time the film was made, i.e. mid nineties. Much of the set design, however, has the appearance of the seventies, perhaps even the sixties and fifties – inasmuch as it does not appear to be lifted slightly above any real historical period. Musical references expand the time span fight into the fifties – not counting Tchaikovsky, of course. Also most of the vehicles seen – with the exception of the Metro in which Ilona is briefly seen –are from those past decades. The tram Lauri drives is the

6 oldest model still in operation in Helsinki. Furthermore, a similar structure of meaning emerges in relation to the social world. The film appears to relate to the historical economical situation in the mid nineties, but the way social acts such as sacking from a tram drivers job or refusal of a bank loan are laconically announced are a pretty far cry from plausibility – in terms of surface realism, that is. In view of this aspect of the environment, the static camera work serves to enhance the sense of stagnation.
All in all, if any social development has taken place between the seventies and the nineties, or, even the fifties and the nineties, it has been lost on protagonists of this film. But then again, these characters are not types in the sense of Georg Lukács’ understanding of realistic historical fiction – as with certain extension of the definition the characters of FBW may be seen as socially representative types. Kaurismäki’s poetics stands aloof of such obvious realism. Its veracity is in the way it depicts a human situation, the anxiety of two individuals which is deeply rooted in the dry soil of a society which prefers to ignore the fate of its outcasts.
The nonchalant way in which social problems are dealt with together with deadpan reactions of the characters further enhances the sense of displacement. Nevertheless, fundamental human issues are being addressed, and so the quasi anonymous Helsinki functions as a setting of an existential drama.
The only way the characters can relate to this environment is by participating in its strangeness, by accepting that sense of displacement as a basic mode of life. Here, too, Helsinki milieu is metaphorically related to the real capital city. That is, in a certain sense the diegetic environment both is and is not that city.
Although the cinematic style is much simpler, austere in fact, the metaphorical tension is even stronger than in the case of FBW. On the one hand the city appears much more anonymous than in
FBW, although it remains at least barely identifiable. Correspondingly, the metaphorical tension is much stronger. Interestingly enough in view of the quasi anonymity of the environment, the immediacy of social concerns is much stronger. Whereas the juveniles in
Freekin’ Beautiful World could pretty well ignore the society they live in, the characters of Drifting Clouds can ill afford such luxury. To them being outcasts is a denial of their very right to fully exist.
Films studied
Sairaan kaunis maailma / Freekin’ Beautiful World (1997). Producer: Mika Ritalahti. Director:
Jarmo Lampela. Script: Jarmo Lampela. Production design: Anne Karttunen. Cinematography:
Harri Räty. Sound design: Pekka Karjalainen. Film editor: Kimmo Taavila. Principal characters:
Joonas Bragge (Ippe), Arttu Kapulainen (Papu), Pihla Penttinen (Mia), Ilkka Koivula (Kalle), Kati
Outinen (Tarja). 94 min.
Kauas PiIvet karkaavat /Drifting Clouds (1998). Producer: Aki Kaurismäki. Director: Aki
Kaurismäki. Script: Aki Kaurismäki. Production Design: Markku Pätilä, Jukka Salmi.
Cinematography: Timo Salminen. Sound design: Jouko Lumme. Film editor: Aki Kaurismäki.
Principal characters: Kati Outinen (Ilona), Kari Väänänen (Lauri), Elina Salo (Mrs. Sjöholm),
Sakari Kuosmanen (Melartin), Markku Peltola Lajunen), Matti Onnismaa (Forsström).