By the Stream (Suyoocheon)

 

Writer/director Hong Sang-soo

Kim Min-hee with the director

The director shooting on location

BY THE STREAM (Suyoocheon)     B                                                                                     South Korea  (111 mi)  2024  d: Hong Sang-soo

Are you a commie?                                                                                                                       —Professor Jeong (Cho Yun-hee)

Proving that he’s something of a one-man band, Hong Sang-soo writes, directs, films, edits, produces, and composes the few frames of music for this film, all but confirming that perhaps as much as he is a filmmaker, Hong Sang-soo is also a prolific playwright, creating a cinema that constantly relies on the power of conversation, like variations on similar themes, often linked to each other in near subliminal fashion, becoming theatrical compositions of his own internal expression.  An astonishingly prolific filmmaker, with forty film credits since the late 90’s, his films are largely inaccessible, with no screening or streaming options available to most persons, seemingly existing in their own universe, yet he’s an extremely conscientious artist, working with such regularity, churning out a variety of small-scale chamber dramas that are immediately recognizable, yet despite the similarities, somehow each new film is a revelation, like new chapters of an infinite novel, as he’s exploring territory that no one else working anywhere in the world today is making films about.  Told in a barebones, naturalistic style, ignored by the commercial masses, where you wouldn’t think any of this would matter to an ever-changing world that spits out such grandiose mega-hits designed for the Cineplex, apparently to take our minds off of the cruel realities that exist all around us, yet somehow Hong Sang-soo finds a way to articulate the small details that continue to matter, like opening up cracks in our existence.  For the last four years, Hong has presented two films each year at major film festivals, registering somewhere between comedy and tragedy, exploring themes of infidelity, artistic aspirations, and communication breakdowns, this latest film reunites Hong with actress Kim Min-hee for their fifteenth film together, while this is the eleventh film working with actor Kwon Hae-hyo.  These familiar faces provide a level of comfort in Hong films, like a reunion of old friends, as if we know what to expect, where they provide a sense of reassurance to viewers with their intelligence, curiosity, and emotional restraint.  Hong typically avoids heavy planning and pre-production, scouting locations just a week or so ahead of time, preferring to withhold handing his actors a full script, instead writing the dialogue for each day’s shoot in the morning, allowing his actors only an hour or so before shooting begins, freeing up his actors to make more spontaneous choices in the moment, using an editing process that rarely takes more than a day, where Hong’s directional style relies upon authenticity and observation, accentuated by his use of long single takes, where this film, notable for its autumnal color, may have the shortest end-credits in memory. 

Like all of Hong’s works, the film is stripped of all artifice and is largely character-driven, where the performances are always elevated, as the director is never afraid to examine the small, often overlooked details of daily living, like hidden detours along the way, where he finds a way to delve into the complexities of life through loneliness, isolation, and fleeting connections.  Finding inspiration in nature, the reclusive Jeon-im (Kim Min-hee), an arts professor at Duksung University, a small private women’s college in Seoul, spends her free time on the banks of a local stream of the Han River sketching the changing patterns in her notebook, as she captures the changing colors of a pastoral autumn landscape of a stream running toward a bridge, and then weaves those patterns into tapestries on her loom later, creating larger works of art.  When she’s not creating her own textile art, she’s teaching a small group of performance art students, where the sleepy rhythms of this university campus are rocked by the startling revelations of a budding sex scandal, as a male student director from another university has been accused of an abuse of power by sleeping with three of the seven actors (who all dropped out simultaneously) just ten days before a play is scheduled to be performed at the university’s annual skit contest, leaving them in emergency mode trying to find a replacement director.  Desperate to find a solution, Jeon-im turns to her Uncle Chu Si-eon (Kwon Hae-hyo) to step in, a bookstore owner leading a quiet yet comfortable life by the sea, a man she hasn’t spoken to in ten years, but he was also a widely celebrated stage actor and theater director, hoping he can write a new script and finish directing the project.  Much to her surprise, he accepts the challenge, bringing him into the fold, where he arrives with ideas already in mind, hoping to provide the last-minute saving grace.  Jeon-im’s boss, Professor Jeong (Cho Yun-hee), has been extremely supportive and is largely responsible for securing her position at the university, yet she’s also intrigued by the presence of Chu, as she followed his career on television and in the theater, and has always wondered what happened to him, as he simply disappeared from having any public presence.  As it turns out, Chu’s bookstore is largely an excuse for him to appear busy when, in reality, there are very few customers who frequent the store, so the idea of resuscitating his creative juices is like a needed jolt of adrenaline.  The academic setting is a return to the director’s early films, where he was such a subtle and distinctly original force in the industry, making quiet, low-budget cinema, often featuring the inappropriate actions of brooding, self-absorbed men who tend to drown their sorrows in alcohol, social awkwardness, and meaningless sex, shining a light on human fallibility and the everyday idiosyncrasies of personal relationships.      

While there’s plenty of eating and drinking, always the centerpiece of Hong’s dramas, as these interactions drive the central questions of the film, where pauses for smoking cigarettes overlooking a picturesque stream offer Zen moments of melancholic reflection, perhaps the biggest surprise is Jeong’s infatuation and sudden interest in Chu, which is a startling development, especially as it leads to a romantic affair, with Jeon-im utterly dismayed at watching it blossom before her eyes, discovering her uncle is not the man she believed him to be.  Autobiographical elements are interspersed throughout, with Chu, a stand-in for the director, acknowledging at one point that he’s no longer with his wife of many years, that she finally agreed to a divorce after a decade of separation (Hong’s own wife refuses to divorce him so that he could marry Kim, where the scandalous public revelation of their affair all but killed Kim’s career outside of Hong’s work), and that he hasn’t spoken to his own sister (Jeon-im’s mother) since she accused him of being a “commie,” so this new romance is like a fresh start in life, but it leaves Jeon-im more than a little perplexed at finding herself in such a precarious position, relying upon her uncle not to spoil the good thing she has going at this university.  Making matters worse, she runs into the guy she fired (Ha Seong-guk), only to learn he hasn’t left the university grounds and shows no remorse for his actions, believing he did nothing wrong, but his presence alone is like a stalker in their midst, adding a creepy element that lies under the surface at an otherwise safe haven.  Where it all leads is to an understated dramatic skit that includes the women eating the last of their dwindling ramen supply, vowing to conserve their goods in a nod to socialism, overshadowed by a blaring industrial roar, which is poorly received while also creating some controversy, where this snippet of a live performance is not like anything in Hong’s films that we’ve seen before.  Celebrating with his cast afterwards in a restaurant, apparently fascinated by this youth generation, Chu asks “What kind of person do you want to be?,” turning into a somewhat improvised poetry session performed by the students speaking their inner thoughts, voicing their hopes and fears about the future, which are tinged in sadness, as they’re not particularly optimistic, while remaining very ambiguous about what the skit is actually about, yet the four women (Kang So-yi, Park Han-bit-na-ra, Oh Yoon-soo, and Park Mi-so) are like a Greek chorus standing in unison against an established male patriarchy, as the disgraced director’s actions mirror an incident in Chu’s youth where his shameful treatment of a female student at this same school still haunts him to this day.  We also learn that Chu made some rude comments about a famous actor he worked with that got him blacklisted from the business, and that 40 years ago he staged a radical theater piece at this same university that caused a scandal, perhaps an allusion to Kwon’s offscreen leftist activism ([Feature] An actor turned activist, later in life).  The unspoken theme is that art requires taking risks, potentially alienating one’s audience, as Hong is an artist who has faced his own public condemnation for his extramarital affair with Kim, and is viewed as a fiercely independent, minimalist artist standing outside traditional avenues, where the haiku-like simplicity of his work is something many critics just don’t get.         

Kicking and Screaming

Director Noah Baumbach

KICKING AND SCREAMING                               A-                   

USA  (96 mi)  1995  d:  Noah Baumbach   

Max: I’m too nostalgic. I’ll admit it.

Skippy: We graduated four months ago. What can you possibly be nostalgic for?

Max: I’m nostalgic for conversations I had yesterday. I’ve begun reminiscing events before they even occur. I’m reminiscing this right now. I can’t go to the bar because I’ve already looked back on it in my memory… and I didn’t have a good time.

All of Baumbach’s films seem to evoke “white privilege,” though perhaps inadvertently, as this is a hilariously written comedy about a group of white college graduates who refuse to leave the nest, who have grown so comfortable with the protected circumstances of life around the college campus that leaving to get on with their lives seems so uninviting and a waste of time, like they’ll never have it so good, as if these are the best years of their lives.  In the manner of Hal Hartley and others, the film is effused with smart aleck comments and highly observant situation comedy, defined by a mad pace of dialogue that recalls an era of screwball comedy, where you wonder if anybody actually speaks this way, as the cleverness is off the charts.  Influenced by Richard Linklater’s SLACKER (1990) or Dazed and Confused (1993), this ensemble work provides the essence of indie filmmaking, relying upon comic wit and laser-like writing skills, with Baumbach (who worked as an intern for The New Yorker) passing the baton from Generation X to young Millennials, one of the better films to suggest the attainment of a college education leads you absolutely nowhere.  Thrust into a cement mixer of a college liberal arts education, what do all these kids have in common?  No ambition whatsoever, and no clue what they want to do with their lives.  While not exactly slackers, what’s missing is even a hint of practicality, as these lives have never been challenged by dire circumstances, social unrest, or financial need, as everything’s pretty much been handed to them their entire lives, where they’ve never had to choose their own pathways, as it was already chosen for them since kindergarten or even pre-school.  Following only what was expected of them, it lead here, to this place and this moment, overly reluctant to chart their own course and start taking responsibility for their own decisions.  So rather than make that momentous choice, these kids just hang around biding their time, stuck in a state of inertia, doing what college kids have always done, even though they’ve stopped going to classes or taking exams, as they’re no longer college kids.  One of the beauties of the film is the built-in hierarchy, where there is a school ranking system for lowly freshmen and sophomores, defined by their own naïveté, while seniors believe they’ve earned their place at the top of the food chain, becoming sharks in the water, preying on younger more unsuspecting students, basically having their way simply because they can.  Having worked so hard to get into that advantageous position, they don’t want to leave it, as they reap all the benefits without having to do a stitch of work.  So as the title suggests, they’re not easily giving it up, as it’s come to define who they are, even if they’re having trouble figuring out just exactly what that is.  

At the heart of the picture is Grover (Josh Hamilton), an English literature major with a flair for writing (a stand-in for the writer/director), who thinks he’s got it all going until challenged one day in class by another girl, Jane (Olivia D’Abo, a revelation), who succinctly minimizes his efforts as trivial and depressing, chopping him down to size in the process, so, of course, he falls madly in love.  While they are the centerpiece, their story is told backwards in time while the rest of the film progresses, where unlike Grover, she actually asserts herself after graduation and is off to study in Prague on a fellowship.  Clearly hurt and brokenhearted by her decision, Grover sits around and frets about it, refusing to even listen to messages left on the answering machine, always shutting it off before she has a chance to say what’s on her mind.  In this way, he’s the authority on lost love, though flashbacks reoccur in black and white throughout the picture, leading to a spectacular finale that is pitch perfect and utterly amazing, catching that first spark of love.  It’s truly inspired, where the rest of the film isn’t nearly so heartfelt and poignant, content to explore the comic absurdity in their lives.  While much of this was shot at Occidental College in Los Angeles, it has the close-knit feel of a preppy East coast university set in a small town, much like Poughkeepsie, New York, home of Vassar College, Baumbach’s alma mater.  Using chapter headings that actually follow a typical school year, this post-college year is spent on the periphery of college life, still meeting at the same hang-outs and drinking holes, we’re introduced to Grover’s partners in crime, including Max (Chris Eigeman), who worries about his future, ducking from the loathsome “Cookie Man” at the door, and spends nearly all his time doing crossword puzzles and banging underclass girls like Cara Buono as Kate, while Otis (Carlos Jacott) couldn’t be more uncomfortable in his own skin, thinking he’s too small for his size, heading off to graduate school in Milwaukee only to return within a week or so, as indecisive as ever, and ends up working at a video store, or Skippy (Jason Wiles), who audits classes he doesn’t even attend, the kid they all like to pick on, contributing to his dire outlook.  While it’s mostly a boy’s club, a network of similar, like-minded guys who all sound the same, playing the same word games and trivia contests, a test of their dumbfounding awareness of cultural references, mixed in somewhere is the effervescent presence of Parker Posey as Miami, as funny and upbeat as ever, sleeping around with most of the guys.  The odd man out is Eric Stoltz as Chet, a professional student, the local bartender who’s been around for a dozen graduations, walking around like he owns the place, complete with guru philosophical acumen and literary quotation skills that make him a fixture anywhere, as he’s probably the most studious and well-read among them.  Early in the film he’s actually mistaken for an “adult.” 

Delightfully entertaining, creating an insular environment of easy laughs about aimlessly going nowhere, Grover has long telephone conversations with his father (Elliot Gould) that inevitably involve the Knicks, later seen arriving on campus to announce the messy breakup of his marriage to his mother, where the graphic details of his challenged new sex life become much too disturbing for Grover to hear.  Yet this typifies the all-too changing world around them, where they have no safety net to fall back upon (though his father does offer a Greenwich Village apartment in the city that he’ll eventually have to sell as part of the divorce, but Grover can’t make up his mind), where they’re expected to plunge into the unexpected with renewed vigor, each graduating class offering something new, yet Grover continually vacillates over his future, derailed by Jane’s long-distance absence, thinking they could have built a future together somewhere in Brooklyn, “And not just Brooklyn, A-list Brooklyn.  Park Slope.  Division 2 Manhattan.”  None of that was enough to lure Jane, who’s truly out on her own with little support.  Instead Grover develops a sarcastic sneer for all things Prague.  “Oh, I’ve been to Prague.  Well, I haven’t been-to-Prague been to Prague, but I know that thing, I know that stop-shaving-your-armpits, read-The Unbearable Lightness Of Being, fall-in-love-with-a-sculptor, now-I-realize-how-bad-American-coffee-is thing.”  But that snarling contempt is tempered by romantic flashback scenes of their initial meetings, with Jane endearingly taking out her retainer for dramatic effect, where it’s clear they’re happy, at least for the moment. However, paralyzed by this oncoming rush of freedom, the gang does little more than worry about the future, obsess over the past, and trade barbs and witticisms that show increasing signs of irritability, as what once held them all together seems ever more strained and empty.  Perhaps caught off-guard by his own developing detachment, Grover senses a moment, triggered by a small airport that advertises connections to international flights.  At first walking away, paying it no mind, he returns, invigorated by his newfound spontaneity, where he launches into one of the best monologues in recent memory, pouring his heart out for a ticket to Prague to the airline ticket agent (Jessica Hecht, the lesbian lover from Friends, who is marvelous), who tells him flights are all filled up, which only emboldens him to offer a surge of renewed stream-of-conscious romanticism that simply streams out of his mouth, gushing uncontrollably, where it all leads to a miraculous heart-stopping crescendo of hope that simply can’t be denied, where the agent catches a whiff of his wavelength, offering him a lifeline, as love is literally rising into the air, yet like a house of cards, the inevitable happens, a pause like no other, when the realization hits that he hasn’t exactly thought this through.  It’s an incredible sequence, followed by an even more inspired moment, creating a killer ending, so precise, making a major breakthrough onto the American indie landscape, showing such effortless grace and poetic subtlety, bringing this filmmaker and his first fledgling work into prominence.