Review by Jilliean Sioson
Directed by Celine Song | English-Korean
There is a conversation that takes place in Men Without Women (2014) written by Haruki Murakami that goes like this:
“But Mr. Kafuku, can any of us ever perfectly understand another person? However much we may love them?”
“We lived together for nearly twenty years…As man and wife, but also as trusted friends…But maybe it wasn’t really like that. Perhaps – how should I put this? – I had what amounted to a fatal blind spot”.
Though not as cynical and scandalous, Past Lives (2023) can be neatly summarised in this thought-provoking exchange between Kafuku’s wife’s lover and Kafuku himself.
After migrating abruptly to Canada, Nora (Greta Lee) and childhood sweetheart Hae-Sung (Tae-Yoo) reconnect through Facebook out of Nora’s curiosity. To her surprise, Hae-Sung reciprocates, and the two embark on a seven-year-long relationship – though never explicitly defined. That is until Nora makes the tough decision to take a break from Hae-Sung to focus on her career, and seeing each other becomes more and more implausible. Nora furthers her writing career, marries fellow playwright Arthur (John Magaro), and moves to New York. However, twelve years into their marriage, Hae-Sung finally decides to visit America, where he reunites with Nora.
Past Lives yields itself to conversations about fate, free will, and the Asian-immigrant experience while simultaneously serving as a meta-commentary on the tropes and cliches of love stories. Taking inspiration from director Celine Song’s own experiences, Past Lives makes for an exceptional directorial debut.
In the midst of our current cinematic milieu that has steadily encouraged the decline of audience attention span, Song is not afraid to let each scene and conversation linger. When Arthur confronts Nora about Hae-Sung, it doesn’t end with a snarky one-liner. Instead, the couple’s conversation plays out realistically, with tense pauses and subtle facial reactions. Nothing about the script or action is extravagant, dramatic, or even physically intimate. Yet the silent yearnings of Hae-Sung and Nora during each Skype call and the quick glances during a train ride spoke volumes. Song also provides the audience with enough room to understand Nora and Hae-Sung’s undefined but growing relationship – something that becomes Nora’s crux later on.
Composer Christoper Bear’s playful combination of strings and xylophone, harkens to the protagonists’ curiosity, oscillating between past and present, lovers and friends, while resembling Skype’s ringtone. Indeed, no score, action or word is wasted. Everything is done purposefully, no matter how still or banal the scenes may come across.
Nonetheless, for me, it wasn’t the ‘will they won’t they?’, or the 8000 layers of “inyung” that got me. It’s one understated character.
Much like the film’s subtle screenplay, Arthur, Nora’s husband, is introduced as shy and awkward, and although he embraces Nora’s Korean heritage, he is ultimately an outsider. But it’s also Arthur’s dormant demeanour that provides tension. For Arthur, his biggest insecurity is feeling like he and Nora are together purely due to circumstance, leaving him to doubt Nora’s love for him. And yet, instead of having a big love triangle showdown – as most films tend to do (especially with the implications of casting two Asian leads) – the drama derives from the crucial balance between Arthur’s marital jealousy and tender compassion towards his Korean-American wife. Despite his fears, Arthur continues to hold Nora’s hand as she unpacks her complicated emotions for Hae-Sung and seeks closure. In addition, the cultural differences between the couple prevent Arthur from ever knowing and relating to Nora the way Hae-Sung does.
The film’s quiet build-up culminates in an unexpectedly mature and heart-wrenching realization by Nora. Bear’s ‘See You’ bittersweetly ushers the audience to feel the weight of the moment and process Nora’s feelings along with her.
Past Lives is a modern yet tender romance, with choice and acceptance lying in its beautiful epicentre. But don’t let its gentle delivery and A24 branding catch you off guard. Its story, while charming, is brutally grounded. You could be quietly rooting for a forbidden romance one moment and bittersweetly humbled the next. Or, like me, walk out of the cinema questioning my twenty-five years of romantic existence.
| For more short, quippy reviews, visit my Letterbox @NotATrustedUser.