Aki Kaurismäki is one of Europe’s most acclaimed directors and yet the Finn doesn’t enjoy the same stature in the States as contemporaries like Pedro Almodóvar or Paolo Sorrentino. Only one of his movies has been nominated for an Academy Award, “The Man Without a Past,” in 2002, though his films have won numerous awards at festivals and events across the pond. 

One of the reasons for this disparity may be the very specific, consistent tone of his movies: Each one employs a deadpan style that tellingly pinpoints Finland’s geography, positioned as it is between Swedish despair and Russian dark comedy. With slight variation, Mr. Kaurismäki’s characters go through life (or their individual plotlines) sullenly and sardonically. Yet this uniform temper of impassivity works wonders when contrasted with a formal approach that includes pictorial beauty and emotive music.

His latest, “Fallen Leaves,” centers its narrative around two lonely people, Ansa and Holappa, who first exchange glances at a bar during karaoke night as a man sings a Schubert lied. (If only all karaoke nights featured at least one person singing a classical song.) They don’t actually meet that night, though the individual friends they came with do, yet one gets a feeling the two share a shy, forlorn, complementary sensibility. 

It’s the beginning of a halting, nearly scuttled, ultimately hopeful romance that makes it a perfect date night movie for budding sweethearts, married couples, and platonic lovers of film alike.

For those who’ve seen one or two Kaurismäki films, attributable signifiers appear almost instantly, despite the movie’s start in a cluttered big-box store. We get modest sets with clean lines and costume design hailing from the mid-20th century, despite the modern-day setting. 

In terms of characterization, closeups of the protagonists imply minds turning over the same thoughts, the usual worries, while medium and long shots situate them as distant from their surroundings and fellow man. Some viewers may titter at the tacky tapestry in an otherwise spare apartment, while others may sympathize with the minimal dialogue and melancholy, and that’s Mr. Kaurismaki’s trick.

Those unfamiliar with the director’s oeuvre, though, are in for a particular treat, as cinematographer Timo Salminen’s craft reaches an even higher level than his consummate work in the director’s other films. Every shot resembles a precisely composed, visually stimulating color photograph, whether indoors or out, akin to Eggleston works. Key overhead lighting and sometimes natural light stress various palettes of primary and complementary colors that stir the eyes with their vibrancy.

It wouldn’t be a Kaurismäki film without his dreamy and yet practical use of music, too. Multiple pop songs — sung in Finnish, Italian, Spanish, etc. — comment on what the characters are thinking and feeling when they themselves do not. At times in his movies, whole scenes are given over to performances in bars, and “Fallen Leaves” has one by the Finnish duo Maustetytöt that’s not only sadly stirring but also compels Holappa to hauntingly reconsider his hard-drinking life.

The issue of alcoholism gives the film an added dramatic weight, expanding it beyond a tentative romance. Other topics come up as well, such the Ukraine war, food waste, economic instability, and worker solidarity. Mr. Kaurismäki’s focus in all his pictures on service workers, factory workers, builders, and the like affirms his sympathies with the proletariat populace, while also aligning him with past directors such as Rainer Werner Fassbinder. 

There’s also cinematic affinity between the director and an American indie auteur, Jim Jarmusch, especially in how both artists apply dry irony and a studied detachment to their narratives. His latest even features a scene from Mr. Jamusch’s last movie, 2019’s “The Dead Don’t Die.”

“Fallen Leaves” owes much of its success — more than some of his other films — to its simple look at two people trying their best in everyday life, earning its airy moments of longing. In this way it harkens back to Mr. Kaurismäki’s marvelous “Drifting Clouds” from 1996, in which a married couple navigates layoffs, new job opportunities, financial woes, and more.

Of course, Mr. Kaurismäki tropes, like jukeboxes, dogs, and dry quips, can be found in these two films as in nearly all of his work. What separates them is the sense that their characters are not tragicomic cogs in a colorful-yet-hostile world but droll souls recognizable from one’s own life. In their quiet company, we take refuge and, upon leaving them, wish them well. Until we meet again — in a movie theater or a bar, on the street or in Helsinki.

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Correction: “The Man Without a Past” was released in 2002. An earlier version misstated the year.