Leningrad Cowboys Meet Moses

The Cowboys have fallen on hard times, down on their luck and stricken, forsaken, filiblustered.

They were once one of Mexico's most exhilarating acts, but after duelling with tequila incontestably, collapsed upon destitute ruin.

The band still exists however even if several of its members did not survive, those remaining somewhat revitalized after an invitation to play in New York.

But they've been tricked, hoodwinked, bamboozled, as they learn shortly after arrival, for Vladimir (Matti Pellonpää) their once loathsome manager turns out to have set up a ruse.

He seeks to once again rule them and lead them back to northern realms, and has awoken as a scandalous prophet who refers to himself as Moses.

The band is weary, downtrodden, aghast, and succumb to his ironclad will, which supplies a rickety motorboat for their journey across the Atlantic.

Meanwhile, he stays behind to chisel off spry Liberty's nose, before hitching a ride clasped and wingéd to the lonesome European coast.

They're reunited without much delay and are even joined by old school band members, and set off merrymaking homeward bound through less inhospitable continental climes.

But Vladimir hasn't failed to make headlines and he's become a wanted man.

And the law avails in hot pursuit as they actively gig hot damn.

Leningrad Cowboys Meet Moses adds significant layers and depth, to a narrative eclectically posturing with unyielding jocose inhibition.

A collection of wry self-reliant ideas intermittently staked uniformity notwithstanding, the story appealing to subsequent nodes which elucidate demonstrative beacon.

Sometimes the plot's surely secondary to verbose improvised momentum, providing adhesive broadened outlines which embrace reformed asymmetry.

For 'tis not argument Kaurismäki covets but rather offbeat ironic declension, messages bridled to slam dunk transparency as they softly sway in complement willow.

Enlivening inherent dimension through spatiotemporal interplay, it highlights disembodied ascension with aeronautic grassroots unconveyed.

A break from paramount logic resets and recasts judicious responsibility, inasmuch as too steady a jet stream cloys wise recourse clad indubitably.

Meet Moses takes its time to let loose but then settles to bewilder anew.

The Leningrad Cowboys are a real band apparently.

And still perform to this very day.