Sometimes small miracles appear in the form of movies. This is a type of mysticism even more radical than your random saintly phenomenon, like stigmata or the blocking of the sun, because movies are always commerce: they cost money to make and to see, which should exempt them from all spiritually euphoric experience. Yet sometimes a movie reaches the unreachable in us, not because it’s a grand masterpiece but because it’s as quiet and intimate as air. Sometimes all it takes to turn your world around, for a few hours at least, is a small Finnish movie about a woman unjustly fired from her job, a stubborn drunk guy who knows when he’s hit the wall, and a preternaturally expressive yell
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