Year: 2023

Runtime: 122 minutes

Written and directed by: Selma Vilhunen

Starring: Alma Pöysti, Eero Milonoff, Oona Airola, Pietu Wikström

By Sarah Manvel

On the one hand, the fact that two of the main characters are public figures makes a loud point about the importance of enabling people to be their best and true selves. On the other hand, public figures in non-conventional relationships have a great deal more to lose, especially when there are children involved. The decision to have the plot of “Four Little Adults” play out under that microscope is both its greatest strength and greatest weakness, not least because for non-Finnish audiences it’s difficult to know how much Finnish societal mores come into this. It’s one thing to notice everyone’s front door opens outward instead of inward. It’s quite another to accept that the choices shown within might need so little discussion.

We first see Juulia (Alma Pöysti, who delighted the world last year in “Fallen Leaves”) and Matias (Eero Milonoff) doing poppers in bed, so it’s only later that we realise she is a member of Finland’s parliament, he is a priest, and they are married with a nine-year-old son. Matias is also having an long-term affair with one of his parishioners, the anxious Enni (Oona Airola). (For one of their date nights, Matias suggests cocaine and karaoke, which he and Enni do dancing around her living room after her toddler is asleep. This boringly normal, middle-aged, middle-class, and consequence-free drug use is the movie’s most bold achievement.) But Enni is indiscreet and Juulia finds out. Matias allows the storm of Juulia’s anger to wash over him, and through his passivity makes clear how serious he is about Enni. Eventually Juulia invites Enni over for a coffee, at which Matias is also present, and proposes they all begin what she calls a polyamorous relationship. She and Matias will remain together, but Matias can continue seeing Enni without needing to sneak around anymore. At least not with her. Enni is so overwhelmed with gratitude she bursts into tears, but Matias grinds his teeth and makes some choice comments about Juulia having him right where she wants him.

Now. Strictly speaking this isn’t polyamory, because Matias and Enni’s relationship began without Juulia’s knowledge or consent. The fact that Matias gets mad when Juulia decides to give her blessing is a whole can of worms that Selma Vilhunen’s script just kind of ignores. This can of worms gets even larger when Juulia goes with a friend to a new cabaret bar – the kind where the performers sing about their exes while wearing multiple sex toys strapped to their person – and meets Mirka (Pietu Wikström), a pediatric nurse who uses they/them pronouns. Mirka recognises Juulia from social media, admires her policy work, and is so charming that Juulia confides in them about her personal life. Fortunately they are polyamorous too, with a long-distance primary partner, a man who lives in Stockholm. But when Juulia tells Matias about Mirka, Matias explodes with anger and makes some cruel comments about the fact they haven’t slept together yet. Which of course they shouldn’t have, because Matias didn’t know about it.

But quickly Juulia and Mirka become as serious as Matias and Enni, so Juulia and Matias make the decision to bring their son into the loop. His shrugging indifference due to his focus on his pet guinea pigs is delightful, but this is very, very messy, and the mess only gets bigger from there. Sattva-Hanna Toivainen’s production design does a great job of delineating character through apartment decor, Juice Huhtala’s cinematography is mellow and friendly, and Ms Pöysti especially makes palpable the impact of a person’s personal life in how they move through the world. But the people in whom they confide – Matias chooses another priest, Juulia chooses her mother-in-law – are not supportive, not least because they must remind Matias and Juulia that they both stand to lose everything should a tabloid newspaper catch wind of this, or someone in the diocese makes a formal complaint. 

These are some pretty valid threats, and yet Ms Vilhunen chose to ignore those risks to focus on the interpersonal dynamic between the four. Enni feels neglected because she’s the only one with one partner. Mirka feels upset that Juulia must keep them hidden thanks to her job and ashamed of being upset. Juulia feels jealous of Enni’s youth and beauty, and Matias rolls his eyes and shows how exhausted he is with all these feelings. If Matias was, say, a social worker and Juulia a middle manager, the stakes would have felt more relatably realistic, but as it is there’s a sword hanging over everybody’s heads that nobody but the audience is paying attention to, a choice too distancing to ignore. 

The thing is that the judgements of the other priest and the mother-in-law have a lot of validity, especially when it comes to the major plot twist. Love is not a pie, but the needs of little kids cannot be compromised in the way that those of adults can. And while it speaks very highly of all the adults involved that they fully understand that, none of them have apparently ever heard of reaping the whirlwind. A movie about how great it is to have multiple partners shouldn’t bog down in how distressing it is when multiple partners don’t meet your needs. All of this means “Four Little Adults” is thought-provoking, but not in a good way. There’s a lot of discussion about bravery and how marvelous it is when people are true to themselves, but none at all about the importance of not making messes for other people to clean up. Then again, the whole point of being middle-aged and middle-class is that your privilege usually allows you to behave as you please, consequence-free, whether or not you’re in the public eye. A braver movie would have remembered to examine that public privilege along with its private ones.