Regardless of how much work is done by psychologists and analysts, understanding the criminal mind will never be something we will be truly able to do, especially since there isn’t any singular motivation that impels someone to commit a crime, whether petty or major, which makes efforts to curb criminal behaviour from the start a fool’s errand. Aki Kaurismäki, inarguably Finland’s greatest and most important filmmaker, decides to tackle this subject in his wildly ambitious directorial debut, Crime and Punishment (Finnish: ), which he loosely adapts from the celebrated novel by Fyodor Dostoevsky, which is often considered one of the most poignant examinations of society and its relationship with criminal behaviour ever published, and a novel that continues to be extremely influential to the present day. Shifting the story from 19th century Russia and situating it in contemporary Helsinki, the film follows the main character, a mild-mannered butcher who decides that he is going to take revenge on the wealthy man responsible for the death of his wife in a hit-and-run accident, and while the murder plot does transpire without too many obstacles (and he even momentarily manages to get away with the crime), our protagonist soon discovers that he is on the verge of spiralling psychologically, especially through the presence of a young woman who witnessed the murder, but somehow finds herself aligned with his disdain for the upper class, this crime being viewed as an essential warning to those in positions of power and influence. A dense, complex character study that represents a stunning debut for one of Europe’s greatest directors, this adaptation of Crime and Punishment is absolutely remarkable. Quiet and resilient, but also profoundly moving in ways that can be surprising for those who are not prepared to be this disarmed by a seemingly simple drama, Kaurismäki crafts a poignant drama that is as heartfelt as it is unsettling, which leads to quite a daring and provocative experiment that is nonetheless wonderfully compelling and exceptionally layered.

There are many admirable qualities about Kaurismäki’s work, but his refusal to follow conventions, and instead his constant desire to push boundaries, whether in terms of form or content, has been one of the primary reasons he has come to be seen as so highly influential within the industry. At a cursory glance, you would believe Crime and Punishment to be a more more faithful adaptation, the plot just being transposed from the era when the novel was written, to a more familiar milieu. However, the director’s intentions are not entirely to pay tribute to Dostoevsky or his timeless novel, but rather take that text and extract its most vivid and evocative ideas, which he then blends with his philosophical quandaries, creating a much deeper and more complex film that isn’t a direct adaptation, but rather heavily influenced, both in terms of narrative and tone, by the existing work. There are many layers with which the director is working here, and we find that the majority of the film is focused not on exploring identical themes to other adaptations, but rather looking at themes such as social structure and the circumstances that lead to someone adopting a life of crime, whether it’s for revenge or desperation (or in the case of our protagonist, both to an extent), and how their lives can be entirely derailed by one small choice. Kaurismäki’s greatest strength as a storyteller has been his ability to explore complex themes in a way that is quiet and steadfast, as well as being philosophically sound and meaningful, which is not always available in more dense films that tackle similar ideas. Throughout Crime and Punishment, the director is spending his time examining the trials and tribulations of a man who commits a crime and has to endure the aftermath, especially in that ambigious space between committing the crime and being caught, focusing on every psychological detail as he falls into a state of guilt, all the while trying to justify his actions as being for the greater good. Morality is central to a lot of what Dostoevsky intended to explore with his novel, and this is perhaps the closest the film comes to being directly referential to the source material, while still going in its own direction for the most part. This allows Crime and Punishment to take its own route to the harrowing conclusion without needing to pander to the novel, instead using it as a rough guideline on how to explore such a challenging set of ideas.

One of the most defining qualities of Kaurismäki’s work is his tendency towards a very distinct visual style. Interestingly, he seemed to only develop this specific approach slightly later in his career, since it is almost entirely absent from Crime and Punishment, which is a much more straightforward drama, lacking the idiosyncratic staging and colours, as well as being presented in a manner that is far more natural than the majority of what the director would do later in his career. However, this doesn’t mean to imply that this is in any way a lesser film, nor one that lacks substance. Instead, it’s a well-made film that is inspired quite heavily by social realism, a movement that many Scandinavian filmmakers flirted with in the past, before forming their own broad style that defined the region for years to come. Crime and Punishment is a gritty social realist fable that uses muted colours and jagged angles to buttress the bleakness of the story. Very rarely have we seen a city as enchanting and beautiful as Helsinki look this dull and lifeless, which seems to be an intentional choice on the part of the director, who wishes to reiterate the harsh reality these characters have to face. Not even his later films about the plight of the working class tended to be this harrowing in style, so it is curious to try and imagine where Kaurismäki’s penchant for quirkiness came from, since it is entirely absent here, replaced instead by quite an austere, unsettling series of moments that are woven together into this sombre, downbeat exploration of a man derailing his life solely for the sake of getting revenge, and in the process begins to question his own moral foundation. The director still finds space to make some intriguing stylistic decisions, and despite the bleakness of the story, Crime and Punishment is still visually quite arresting, with the attention to every intricate detail creating a bold and beautifully complex film that presents a distinct image of a beautiful city, particularly paying attention to its sordid underbelly and the people who reside within it, doing whatever they can to make it to another day, even if it means committing crimes that will eventually catch up with them.

Crime and Punishment is anchored by two exceptional performances, coming on behalf of Markku Toikka and Aino Seppo, two absolutely wonderful Finnish actors that have since gone on to have solid careers as entertainers, this film being a fantastic showcase for their talents. Kaurismäki has a knack for extracting excellent performances from his actors, and this is not an exception. In fact, it could be argued that this film required even more from its actors, since it is a far more unfurnished, bare-boned character study, and therefore there wasn’t any way for the film to conceal deficiencies in the performances. From beginning to end, the film is a showcase for Toikka, whose performance is absolutely one of the best of the decade – he occupies a strange space in between sympathetic and disconcerting, almost as if the director is trying to confuse the viewer not knowing whether we should feel pity or hatred towards this individual and his actions. There is a tendency for stories that focus on criminals, especially those whose crimes are supposedly justified by circumstance or some broader motive, to make them too overtly sympathetic as a means to get the audience on their side, at least momentarily. Crime and Punishment refuses to do this – the protagonist is guilty, and he never once tries to justify his actions as being anything but cold-blooded murder. The heroism of the fugitive evading law, a common trope with these kinds of films, is immediately dismissed in favour of a more harsh and unforgiving depiction of his descent into self-inflicted madness, caused by the festering guilt and realization that he cannot get away with a crime, both due to the diligent authorities that are close on his trail, and because the morality behind it is not ever subjected to  reasonable explanation. It may be somewhat reductive (and it’s doubtful that any viewer needs to be told that murder is profoundly wrong), but it does lead to some truly fascinating ideas that the film spends a lot of time dealing with throughout the narrative, the two central performances being truly wonderful and bringing all these ideas together beautifully.

As we often find in situations where we venture to the start of an acclaimed filmmaker’s career, there are some understandable flaws, which are common in nearly every debut and are easily excused based on the fact that some kind of artistic growing pains can be expected. Kaurismäki didn’t emerge as an entirely fully-formed, acclaimed filmmaker, and he was still quite young when he set out to make Crime and Punishment, which is an ambitious concept but one that ultimately doesn’t contain too much of his later work, outside of being an attentive and intricately-woven depiction of the trials and tribulations of the Finnish working-class over the years. Any young artist who chooses to make an adaptation of a novel as dense and historically significant as this Dostoevsky classic is already viewed as wildly audacious, and Kaurismäki proves his mettle from the first haunting moments. The filmmaking may be slightly unpolished and rough around the edges, but is still strikingly beautiful and genuinely very moving, particularly in how the narrative factors alongside the sometimes bleak and unforgiving images presented throughout. It’s not the best work Kaurismäki has ever done, nor is it the one that he is going to be remembered for – even by modern standards, it is slightly obscure, not having received much attention over the years (with the focus being placed more on subsequent films like Shadows in Paradise and Leningrad Cowboys Go America, which resemble his later style much more), but yet it is still a beautiful, poetic and deeply meaningful film, anchored by tremendous performances and driven by a genuine sense of curiosity that plunges us deep into the life of the main character as he comes to terms with the impending consequences of his actions. It’s bold and powerful and features some of the most unsettling conversations the director has ever had, which coalesce into this striking, complex drama that is both a tremendous character study and a meaningful social realist fable that challenges the viewer to think critically about the subject and come to our own conclusion, which allows us to form a much closer connection to this material, making the entire experience so much more enriching and effective, a quality this film uses as its entire foundation.