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Leningrad Cowboys Go America

Inhalt & Kritik

Das skurrile Roadmovie von Aki Kaurismäki ist die finnische Antwort auf die legendären "Blues Brothers".
Schluß mit dem öden Herumgeklampfe in abgewrackten Scheunen im bitterkalten Sibirien! Gut gestylt ist halb gewonnen, denken sich die Leningrad Cowboys und folgen dem Rat eines schrägen Managers (M. Pellonpää): "Geht nach Amerika, da schlucken sie jeden Mist!"
Dummerweise findet die Combo ihren Bassisten auch noch erfroren auf dem Feld. Damit der auch etwas von der Reise hat, packen sie ihn kurzerhand in einen Sarg und nehmen ihn mit.
Die geplante Amerika-Tournee entpuppt sich als Auftritt auf einer Hochzeit un Mexico. Also lassen sich die spitzbeschuhten Cowboys mit der Sprungbrettolle von einem dubiosen Autoverkäufer (J. Jarmusch) einen standesgemäßen Cadillac andrehen, kaufen ein Songbook, um von finnischer Polka und russischer Männerchorliedern auf Rock'n'Roll umzusatteln und machen sich schließlich auf den Weg Richtung Süden...
"Es ist wirklich der schlechteste Film in der Geschichte des Kinos. Das ist alles was ich kann", bemerkte Aki Kaurismaki selbst über seinen Film. Offensichtlich ist das finnische Bescheidenheit. "Leningrad Cowboys Go America" ist eine skurrile Eulenspiegelei und blendende Farcs, vermischt mit melancholischen Grübeleien über das Dasein im Diesseits.

TV-Spielfilm

Ein schräges Road-Movie, in dem Aki Kaurismäki eine mit Haartolle, spitzen Schnabelschuhen und schwarzer Kleidung perfekt gestylte Musikband aus dem tiefsten Nordeuropa auf Entdeckung der "neuen Welt" schickt. Viele witzige Szenen, viele Einfälle, aber wenig konsequent durchgezogen, so daß der Film allmählich zu langweilen beginnt.

Zoom

Der Film von Aki Kaurismäki ist sein jüngstes und wirkliches piece of junk. Der Film ist ziemlich schlecht, aber er macht Spaß. Die "Leningrad Cowboys" sind eine miserable Rock'n'Roll-Band, aber da Amerika das Land ist, in dem auch der größte "Shit" seine Chance bekommt, macht man sich auf die lange Wanderschaft zum nächsten Flughafen.

Doja Hacker, tip

Kaurismäki's cowboys take an entertaining journey
Aki Kaurismäki's entertaining film portrays the Leningrad Cowboys (a real-life Finnish rock band) as a down and out Russian rock band under the tutelage of a corrupt Russian manager (Matti Pelonpää) who takes them on a journey to America in search of success and money.
Along the way the band hits all sorts of bumps in the road which often places them in ridiculous situations. Kaurismäki films in dark and tired looking locations and draws from American jazz traditions.
The film is really a Finnish parody of the Soviet Union and the tired and stolid bureaucracy which dominated it. Take note of the proliferation of tractors in the opening scenes, suppossedly a symbol of the power and triumph of the workers state.
Don't look for an overriding political message in the film however. It's best to sit back and enjoy the unusual style of Finnish humor and Kaurismäki's subtle approach to story-telling.

Barry Liimakka (IMDB-User)

Watching Aki Kaurismaki's surreally deadpan comedy "Lenigrad Cowboys Go America," you get the feeling that the Finnish writer-director would rather die than crack a smile. This is both a sign of cool and an expression of comic principles. Kaurismaki's gags aren't designed to make us laugh; that would require far too much comic energy. His movies are wildly farcical, but their rhythms are glacial and they are suffused with a quality of weightless melancholy. The gags float into your head, and when they register, there's no release, no kick. They're meant to make you nod, slowly, in recognition. Or perhaps blink.
Not that his subjects are subdued. The featured players here -- the Leningrad Cowboys -- are a band from somewhere in the vast nowhere of Finland. Their sound is standard Finnish folk; their look is another matter altogether and in no way standard. Let's start with the hair. Imagine a '60s-style black beehive that's been cracked forward from behind by a stiff wind so that it juts out over the forehead like the prow of a ship.
The oddest thing about this hair is that it isn't simply a show-biz affectation; everyone wears his hair this way, even the dog and the tiny infant sleeping in its cradle. The band's outfits, particularly their shoes -- which are like shiny black leather fairy slippers that curl up at the ends into two-foot-long points -- and their straight-arrow dark suits and ties, may be a more conscious attempt to cultivate a "look."
The picture begins with an audition for an agent, who tells the group's manager (Matti Pellonpaa) they might have better luck in America. "They'll put up with anything there," he says. Taking him at his word, the bunch packs up their gear -- including the coffin containing their bass player, who's frozen solid from a night out on the tundra -- and heads for New York, where a booker sees them headlining at Madison Square Garden or Yankee Stadium but can only manage to get them a gig playing for his cousin's wedding in Mexico. To get there, they buy a second-hand Cadillac -- from director Jim Jarmusch, who cameos as a used-car salesman -- strap the coffin and drums on the roofs, stuff a couple of armchairs in the trunk (for the band members who can't fit inside) and hit the road.
The remainder of the film is dedicated to the band's misadventures in the American South. Skipping from town to town, playing for small change in sleazy dives, existing primarily on a diet of beer and raw onions, the boys, who favor wraparound shades and rarely change expression -- think of the patients in "Awakenings" before L-dopa -- work their way through Dixie. Though hopelessly thick, they are nothing if not willing. Told that rock-and-roll is what sells, they transform themselves into a rock band; later, when country music is called for, they throw themselves wholeheartedly into their "yee haws."
Kaurismaki himself is not nearly so versatile. While it's something of a feat to sustain the movie's blank meter, you keep hoping for some variation in its low kilowattage, some break in the affectless monotony. Kaurismaki is a droll master of the off-speed punch line, and what's genuinely delightful is his way of tossing ideas at us from unexpected angles. But though a great many of the jokes are funny, too many of them hit the same spot on the target, and just as many trail off without hitting anything at all. Also, his observations about the America of cheap joints and forgotten towns is hopelessly generic; nothing is freshly seen. As compensation, we're given Kaurismaki's patented brand of hip irony. And in this case, it's like taking the gas.

Hal Hinson, Washington Post

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