The debate over blind faith and the critique of alternative medicine resurfaces in the debate around Jessica Hausner’s latest film, Club Zero. The work opens with the arrival of a young teacher at a private institution who introduces a course titled Conscious Eating and swiftly convinces a small cohort of students of its benefits for sustainability, the global economy, and public health. The instructor argues that limiting food intake can help protect the planet while supposedly empowering individuals to reclaim moral authority over their bodies.
As followers of a flat earth-inspired ethos, the students embrace the guru’s guidance, and little is needed to predict where the narrative will go. Rather than advancing, the film circles back on itself, revisiting familiar concerns and echoing the satire on subjects like mindful consumption, dietary extremism, environmental zeal, elite schooling, and the fortunes of the wealthy. Yet Hausner’s perspective sometimes misses the target, leaving the critique feeling unfocused rather than sharpened.
Falling Leaves, presented as a feature in the same competition slate, arrives with predictable tonal consistency. Aki Kaurismäki’s cinema is unmistakable—clipped, deadpan, and quietly melancholic—so this work reads as a continuation of a larger artistic project rather than a standalone novelty. The humor sits between caustic wit and poignant weariness, drawing influence from voices like Robert Bresson and Jim Jarmusch while maintaining a distinct Finnish sensibility. Innovation takes a back seat, but the craft remains precise, and that continuity carries weight for audiences familiar with his approach.
The storyline follows a man and a woman wrestling with loneliness in a stubbornly inhospitable Helsinki. He has lost work due to struggles with sobriety, and he lives with a stark practicality that even dinnerware must be planned and purchased before inviting someone to share a meal. The setup tests connection in a world that feels chilly and indifferent, highlighting how small acts of kindness can pierce routine detachment.
Kaurismäki offers the couple a path to better understanding, inviting them to watch a Jarmusch film, endure a disastrously imperfect dinner, and take a chance on each other. The director’s method remains unaltered, yet the results feel earned, convincing viewers that even amid a war in eastern Europe and a landscape crowded with detachment, a dog named Chaplin and a soulmate can appear to ease the sense of isolation. The film rewards patience, enriching the viewer’s sense of companionship and shared humanity though its quiet, deliberate tempo.