Reseñas de la crítica

I really like how Aki Kaurismäki manages to create in the viewer such a strong sense of warmth and emotional involvement by subtracting the classical elements that one would associate with that expression of feeling. He manages to capture mankind in a brilliant way with just one shot or one gesture that opens an entire backstory of a character.

The camel-colored coat Marcel wears is also the color of his wooden shine-box, and of his dog, Laika. Though simple and damaged, and worn over tattered trousers and boots, it nevertheless makes him look striking; it gives him dignity and even a certain style.

If the fusion is so expert, so unassuming in its cohesion, that he risks translating his message to more casual viewers, then the inherent power of the filmmaking carries that much more potential to quietly stun those attuned to its utopian underpinnings and universal displays of humanity.

Kaurismäki uses cinema to envision a world in which the love of humanity overcomes borders, even the one between life and death.

In his '60s, Kaurismäki is, unexpectedly, becoming the reigning master of feel-good movies that don't coast on unearned sentiment. Wilms' brisk, unflappable good cheer sets the tone for Le Havre.