Okay, VHS Heaven crew, gather 'round. Remember those Friday nights browsing the aisles, the sheer weight of possibility in your hands? Sometimes you grabbed the guaranteed Stallone explosion-fest, other times... you took a chance. You saw a cover so bizarre, so utterly out of left field, you just had to know. For me, one of those glorious gambles was a tape featuring a band with impossibly pointy shoes, gravity-defying quiffs, and the dead-serious name: Leningrad Cowboys. And the movie? Aki Kaurismäki's 1989 masterpiece of minimalist weirdness, Leningrad Cowboys Go America.
### From Siberia with Sunglasses
Picture this: the "worst rock and roll band in the world," hailing from the bleak tundra of Siberia, gets told by their local promoter they're hopeless... but maybe, just maybe, they could find work in America, "because they'll listen to anything there." Led by their perpetually scheming, vodka-swilling manager Vladimir (Matti Pellonpää, a Kaurismäki regular delivering deadpan perfection), the band packs their meagre gear, their frozen, non-English-speaking cousin Igor (who thawed out en route), and somehow procures a giant, beat-up Cadillac. Their mission: conquer America, one polka-infused rock cover at a time, destination: a wedding gig in Mexico. What follows is less a triumphant tour and more a meandering, melancholic, and often hilarious crawl across the underbelly of the USA.
### The Sound of Silence (and Polka-Rock)
If you're expecting high-octane chases or explosive set pieces, you might initially feel like you grabbed the wrong tape. But Leningrad Cowboys Go America possesses its own unique, relentless energy. Aki Kaurismäki, the Finnish master of melancholic minimalism (who also gave us gems like The Man Without a Past (2002) much later), directs with his signature style: static camera shots, sparse dialogue that makes every utterance count, and an atmosphere thick with unspoken longing and quiet absurdity. The "action" here is the sheer, stubborn persistence of this ridiculous quest.
The band itself, initially a fictional creation built around the Finnish satirical rock group Sleepy Sleepers, embodies this perfectly. They barely speak, communicating mostly through weary nods and their surprisingly energetic, if bizarre, musical performances. Remember hearing their versions of "Sweet Home Alabama" or "Born to Be Wild" filtered through a strange, Eastern European sensibility? It's both funny and strangely poignant. Their unwavering commitment to the absurd look – those shoes! that hair! – is a visual running gag that never gets old. They are aliens navigating a landscape that seems just as strange to them as they do to it.
### An American Odyssey, Kaurismäki Style
The journey itself feels remarkably tangible, almost like a documentary capturing a lost tribe. Forget flashy montages; Kaurismäki shows us the miles grinding by, the cheap motels, the dive bars, the vast, indifferent American landscapes. This isn't the Hollywood version of a road trip; it's gritty, sometimes bleak, but always authentic. They travel in a hulking black Cadillac hearse, a detail that adds another layer of dark humor. A fun bit of trivia: the eagle hood ornament was reportedly 'borrowed' by the production team. The filming took them through genuine locations like Memphis and New Orleans, adding a layer of lived-in reality to the surreal proceedings. Keep an eye out for a cameo by fellow minimalist indie director Jim Jarmusch (Down by Law (1986)) as a decidedly unimpressed New York car salesman – a cool little nod between kindred cinematic spirits.
Central to the film's strange heart is Matti Pellonpää as Vladimir. He's exploitative, constantly dipping into the band's meagre earnings for beer, yet there's a weird sense of shared destiny about them. Pellonpää, a truly brilliant actor who tragically passed away far too young in 1995, was Kaurismäki's muse, and his performance here anchors the absurdity with a weary soulfulness. He is the spirit of the film: bleakly funny, desperately clinging to a nonsensical dream.
### More Than Just Pointy Shoes
Upon release, Leningrad Cowboys Go America wasn't exactly setting box office records alight, but it swiftly found its audience on the festival circuit and, crucially for us here at VHS Heaven, in discerning video stores. It became a definitive cult classic. The sheer oddity was its strength. The band, initially fictional, proved so popular they became a real touring and recording entity, releasing albums and performing massive concerts (like the legendary Total Balalaika Show in Helsinki with the Red Army Choir). They even returned for a sequel, Leningrad Cowboys Meet Moses, in 1994. This film didn't just capture lightning in a bottle; it somehow created the lightning.
This movie is a testament to the power of a singular vision. It's dry, it's weird, it's unexpectedly touching. It takes the American road movie and filters it through a distinctly Finnish, deadpan lens, creating something utterly unique. The humour isn't slapstick; it’s situational, born from the clash of cultures and the band's stoic endurance in the face of constant setbacks and Vladimir’s mismanagement.
---
VHS Heaven Rating: 8.5 / 10
Justification: This rating reflects the film's absolute originality, its status as a beloved cult classic, Kaurismäki's masterful minimalist direction, Pellonpää's iconic performance, and its enduringly strange charm. It loses a fraction for being potentially too minimalist or slow for some, but for those attuned to its unique wavelength, it’s near perfect.
Final Word: Leningrad Cowboys Go America is the kind of glorious oddity that made late-night VHS hunting so rewarding – a deadpan, vodka-fueled, polka-rock road trip that's unlike anything else you've ever seen, or likely ever will. Still wonderfully weird after all these years.