A sweet story of tolerance, casually dressed in film-noir trappings, Aki Kaurismäki's "Le Havre" blends moody cigarette smoke and storybook endings with ease. The Finnish filmmaker, here working in France, brings deadpan humor to his tale of a kind shoeshine man named Marcel Marx (André Wilms), who finds himself sheltering a refugee boy from Africa (Blondin Miguel). The boy, Idrissa, drops into Marcel's life during a difficult time: His adoring wife Arletty (Kaurismäki regular Kati Outinen) has been hospitalized for a mysterious illness, and their sparsely furnished home seems particularly empty without her.

There's a timeless quality to "Le Havre," set in the weathered French coastal town of its title and featuring a cast of characters who seem like they could drop out of any era: the shoeshine man, the woman who tends the corner bar, the grocer, the doctor, the detective (played by Jean-Pierre Darroussin as a grim fellow who wears a fedora and isn't above drinking in the bar while on duty). All of them become part of Marcel and Idrissa's story, with many joining in to help Marcel conceal the boy from authorities; all are played by actors with marvelous faces, rewarding Kaurismäki's square-on close shots.

You almost become a citizen of Le Havre, watching this film and rejoicing at the end as two newfound, unexpected friends share a drink. And the dialogue, quirky and spare, is a joy. "The dark side of my job is that people don't like us," says the detective, without smiling. "It doesn't bother me, because I don't much like people." Marcel, in winning contrast, notes that he's a shoeshine man because "besides shepherds, it's closest to people."

Moira Macdonald: 206-464-2725 or mmacdonald@seattletimes.com