In Water (Mul-an-e-seo)

 

Writer/director Hong Sang-soo

principal cast

IN WATER (Mul-an-e-seo)                B                                                                                   South Korea  (61 mo)  2023  d: Hong Sang-soo

Do you know the man from a faraway land who swam out to sea?

He’s a man who’s never properly known love.

Rather than see his beautiful heart go bad from being lonely so long…

Do you know such a man who swam far out to sea?

—song at the end written by filmmaker Seong-mo (Shin Seok-ho)

For the past three decades, Hong Sang-Soo has carved out his own unique corner of the world cinema landscape, making films that only he could make, usually consisting of minimalist portraits of artists, film directors, actors, painters, novelists, and poets navigating the relationships between their personal lives and their art, generating curiosities due to a particular type of cinema that has not yet been fully understood or embraced by viewing audiences, despite academic essays and texts at festivals.  His style, characterized by the use of a static camera and frequent zoom shots, shootings at specific environments, or a focus on the realism of everyday life, is expressed through the naturalism of conversational dialogue, frequently associated with ritualized scenes of drinking and eating, as well as awkward misunderstandings.  However, each film must be absorbed as a singular experience, part of a regular pattern in his works, where artists are going through a creative or moral crisis, developing ideas surrounding the experience of artistic invention.  A character in the previous film, WALK UP (2022), dreamed of shooting a film on Jeju Island, Korea’s southernmost territory, and a frequent vacation destination, so it’s only appropriate that’s where we find ourselves for this film, one of the few in the entire Hong output that features only young people.  And while it’s short, only 61 minutes in length, it’s also intentionally shot out of focus, much like the intentionally blurry art from Alexandre Koberidze’s Dry Leaf (2025), which alters how we view what we see onscreen, perhaps a reflection of Hong’s deteriorating eyesight over the years, but more likely a still-in-development, youthful mindset of a coming-of-age film that resembles a water color painting.  The movie was made with little money, shot in just six days and edited in one, as a trio of friends wanders to the rocky shores of the windswept island to shoot a short film together, summoned by the director, Seong-mo (Shin Seok-ho), who recently gave up acting to become a film director, financing it himself for only $3000, renting a vacation home for a week, accompanied by his former university classmate Sang-guk (Ha Seong-guk) as the cameraman, who has a more extensive background in filmmaking, and actress Nam-hee (Kim Seung-yun).  Still an inexperienced, self-questioning artist, Seong-mo is ambivalent about his plans, with only a rough idea in his head of what he wants to do, as he doesn’t want to write a screenplay in advance, preferring to wait for inspiration to strike and then create the film almost spontaneously, a minimalist style that resembles the director’s own.  Hoping to find a connection with the landscape, as all around them is a striking amount of beauty, they take walks and scout locations, with exquisitely composed vignettes of the coast, seen discussing various ideas, while devouring local take-out food.  There is no real conflict between them, but Seong-mo seems to be more isolated and distant, in a world by himself, while the other two grow friendlier as time goes on. 

A tale of three friends who wander around a quaint seaside village and otherwise do absolutely nothing, opening with gentle guitar strums with shots of the sea, these musical riffs are heard throughout the film at various interludes, in water (2023) OST — Hong Sang-soo YouTube (1:19).  And while the outside shots are out of focus, with the cast admitting they didn’t know the film would be out of focus until they saw the completed film in theaters, the inside shots of the three of them eating are mostly in focus, showing a noticeable contrast in mood and texture, exposing the blurred boundaries between art and life.  When they go for a walk, they discover an alleyway composed of stone walls and ponder the ways they can make use of its curvature for maximum emotional effect, wondering whether it could be used as a location, lending a certain mystique to the island, which they amusingly describe as an “isle of rocks.”  As they eat sandwiches overlooking the sea, they question what kind of film Seong-mo wants to make, and while he’s ambiguous about details, he dreams of making an original film instead of copying others, where he wants the setting to dictate what he films, drawing from the everyday life and reality around them.  While his partners are a little apprehensive at working without a script, they are nonetheless aligned with his thinking that it needs to be original.  Back at the house, Seong-mo steps outside to view the plentiful fish in a nearby stream, seemingly existing in perfect harmony with nature.  As they discuss how they will spend their day, Nam-hee mentions she was awake in the middle of the night when she heard a screaming voice call out, “Snap out of it!”  Shocked at what she heard, unable to identify the source, she felt it was a ghost condemning her for her sins, followed by a heavy dose of guilt, something inexplicable still weighing on her conscience the next morning.  Like some kind of foreshadowing warning sign, the three of them plod ahead on their project, with Seong-mo indicating the story is so simple there is no need to write anything.  They walk to a cliff overlooking the beach and the sea beyond, occasionally seen wearing masks, where the landscape is spectacular as Seong-mo decides to climb down the rocks and politely inquires why a woman is cleaning up the beach on her own.  Claiming she lives nearby, with tourists continually leaving refuse everywhere, she is selflessly dedicating her life to cleaning up after them.  Simple as it is, this becomes part of a story he was searching for.  Easily Hong’s most experimental work, an impressionist tableaux of the tangled relationships between art and life, hinting at mysterious realms lurking below the surface of everyday reality, this is one of Hong’s darkest films, along with Hotel by the River (Gangbyeon Hotel) (2018) and In Front of Your Face (Dangsin-eolgul-apeseo) (2021), which may be a kind of director’s manifesto, a statement on why his own films deviate so substantially from the mainstream, often overlooked by Korean audiences, and difficult to find around the world except at film festivals.   

As they set the tripod up for the shoot, Seong-mo describes what he wants to film, which is clear enough to them, adding a little personal touch that he wants to add a song he composed for a former girlfriend on her birthday, gaining permission from her (Kim Min-hee) to use in the film, as he has it stored on his phone, which he can add to the recording function as they are filming.  What stands out is the ambiguous circumstances of the shoot, the frustrating psychology, while also tapping into the unknown realms of a creative artist, where it’s more about his inner self than anything else.  As much as any film he’s ever made, this reveals the blueprint for how Hong makes films, where his job is to make what’s unclear clear, or to make the inaccessible accessible.  In this way, the unusual circumstances mirror the simplicity of Hong’s creative process with each and every film, where you never know what you’re going to discover, or how it will evolve, but the journey of the artist is the most important thing, as essentially his films are about how he himself makes movies in his own peculiar way.  Scenes of drinking and talking are the true essence of a Hong Sang-soo film, as true feelings and social façades intersect, revealing the complex psychology of the characters.  “Why does life have to be so hard?” the young director asks towards the end.  A film about a young filmmaker struggling through his creative process, where the lack of focus may symbolize just how unclear the creative process can be, as there is no conventional cause-and-effect shape of the narrative, and no action sequences that follow a traditional dramatic pattern, Hong instead sketches the vague contours of a love triangle, with the implication that the overly reserved Seong-mo has planned the film shoot largely as a means of getting closer to Nam-hee, who remains polite but guarded around him.  As Seong-mo becomes increasingly consumed by his creative process, Nam-hee and Sang-guk, who are left alone with nothing to do, spark a connection.  All of this remains under the surface, however, as no character makes an open romantic gesture toward another.  Literally blurring the boundary between reality and fiction, the stunning finale is mystifying to experience, with references to Edward Yang’s That Day, On the Beach (Hai tan de yi tian) (1983), and even Niki Caro's WHALE RIDER (2002), as it’s profoundly introspective and deeply affecting, unlike anything else Hong has ever done, becoming imprinted in the deep recesses of our subconscious.  Hong does not ask the viewer to evaluate the value of the final images produced by Seoung-mo (we never see his film) so much as he invites us to reflect on the methods through which he crafts his vision, concluding with a haunting final shot accompanied by the unseen voice of Kim Min-hee (who also plays the masked woman cleaning up on the beach) singing the sad song that the filmmaker wrote, the same song we’ve heard bits and pieces of earlier, offering poetic undertones.  All we’re left with is the sound of the waves quietly lapping against the shore, with the brief end credits also appearing out of focus.    

The Novelist's Film (So-seol-ga-ui yeong-hwa)

 

Writer/Director Hong Sang-soo

director on the set

Production Manager Kim Min-hee with actress Lee Hye-young

Hong Sang-soo at Berlin

Hong Sang-soo with Kim Min-hee

THE NOVELIST’S FILM (So-seol-ga-ui yeong-hwa)                      A-                                 South Korea  (92 mo)  2022  d: Hong Sang-soo

Everyone wants to realize their life in their own way.                                                                    —Jun-hee (Lee Hye-young)

Shot in two weeks in Hanam outside Seoul in 2021, the place where the director now resides (Actor Kim Min-hee and director Hong Sang-soo welcome ...), made during COVID restrictions, with plenty of masks worn onscreen, this film was the Silver Bear Grand Jury Prize winner (2nd Place) at the 2022 Berlin Film Festival.  Working with a minimal number of actors, Hong was in charge of writing/directing/producing/editing/cinematography/sound design, while also composing the wonderfully affecting orchestral music that plays near the end.  While there are many instances of adapting a novel into a film, this flips the script and instead portrays a novelist making a film, shining a light on the role of the artist, holding a mirror up to Hong himself, and in the process asks “What is art?”  Films where encounters and random occurrences are deliberately incorporated into the narrative often correspond to the works of Krzysztof Kieślowski, but this film is a manifesto for Hong himself and his entire body of work, beautifully capturing the intimacy of the theatrical space between the characters and the audience through the art of cinema, where the free-flowing, exploratory conversations that comprise his 27th feature evolve into what may be the sweetest and most majestical ending in the entire output of his career, with the high contrast black and white film suddenly erupting into full-blown color, much like Tarkovsky’s film ANDREI RUBLEV (1966).  Hong Sang-soo may be the Mike Leigh of South Korea, continually writing new screenplays with a familiar stable of actors that understand his dialogue-driven, understated style.  Lee Hye-young, from In Front of Your Face (Dangsin-eolgul-apeseo) (2021), one of the most prominent South Korean actresses in the 1980’s, plays the novelist Jun-hee, seen mingling outside a small bookstore after hearing some harsh words spoken inside, only to be greeted warmly by the bookshop owner Sewon (Seo Young-hwa), a former colleague and estranged friend who has fallen out of touch and stopped writing altogether, preferring to choose what she wants to read instead of what she feels forced to read, placing her in a much better place, assisted by a much younger neighborhood helper in the store, Hyun-woo (Park Mi-so).  While both claim to have read her latest book, like many others that follow, strangely no one offers any personal comments or feedback about it.  Invited inside, Jun-hee grows curious about the young assistant, Hyun-woo, who stopped acting to work in sign language, which immediately perks her interest, quickly learning how to recite poetry in sign language, which makes her almost gleeful, like a little kid with a brand new toy, literally opening up new worlds.  Sign language, like film, is a pictorial, movement-based representation of words, elevating the beauty of the everyday, where we could almost call it silent cinema.

There is a good deal of repetition and déjà vu in Hong’s films, much like Cézanne’s repeated use of painting apples, with reiterations of familiar themes, where we’re simply picking up from where we left off in the long continuum of life.  Literature is very present in the film, filled with current and former writers, while Hong is himself a writer and a filmmaker, where only his very first film was a literary adaptation, as all the rest have been written by Hong, with scenes unraveling like new chapters.  Through the duration of the day, Jun-hee meets people old and new, including a director that she’s known and had a falling out with and his wife, a well-known actress and her husband’s film-student nephew, as well as a poet friend from her days of youth.  While Hong’s previous film In Front of Your Face (Dangsin-eolgul-apeseo) starring the same actress showed a preoccupation with mortality, much like Hotel by the River (Gangbyeon Hotel) (2018), which are two of Hong’s better films, here she is faced with the potential terminal nature of her talent as she can’t seem to write anymore, confessing a growing weariness over needing to inflate “small things into something meaningful” in her writing, fearing her writer’s block might be permanent, yet she still has a joyful and creative spirit, where this film is about finding inspiration and happiness in the smallest of things.  Dropping her off at the Hanam Union Tower, a prominent landmark in the area with floor-to ceiling glass windows and its distinct observation deck with a telescope offering expansive, panoramic views of the Han River, Paldang Dam, and the surrounding park.  It’s here she bumps into Yang-joo (Cho Yun-hee, who first appeared in THE DAY AFTER in 2017) and her husband, a successful filmmaker Director Park (frequent collaborator Kwon Hae-hyo since working on In Another Country (Da-reun na-ra-e-seo) with Isabelle Huppert in 2012).  As they retreat for coffee with a view overlooking the Han River, old business festers, as Park was unable to make a film about one of her novels, claiming financing fell through, but she thinks he sold out to commercialism, something they both regret, where the impact is exacerbated by awkward and uncomfortable silences, revealing hurt and anger beneath the underlying tension, but the moment is saved when he pulls out powerful binoculars that resemble a director's viewfinder, offering intensely close, Zoom-lens views of the expansive park below, which seems to fascinate the novelist, wanting to check out the walking paths herself, where they decide, with signs of spring in the air, that it’s a perfect day to be walking outside.   

When they step outside, by sheer coincidence, they run into a famous actress, Gil-soo (Kim Min-hee, who is also credited as Production Manager), who has been absent a while in Hong’s films, altogether missing in the prior film, with just a small part in the one before that, so it’s a pleasure to see her again, as she is the real star of this film, where the warmth of her personality just permeates every frame, in stark contrast to the other characters, who aren’t nearly so interesting, something the novelist picks up on right away, The Novelist's Film | Exclusive Clip YouTube (1:36), becoming immediately fascinated by her, especially when learning she’s not acting anymore, purely by choice, which seems to endear her to Jun-hee, who is facing the same sort of career dilemma.  While Gil-soo has already been walking for an hour, working up a sweat, things get even more heated when Director Park makes a flippant comment that it’s ”a waste” she’s not using her acting talents anymore, as there are so many directors who would want to work with her.  Taking offense to the remark, the novelist berates the director in the same manner that Gi Ju-bong brings the soju-fueled wrath on budding young actor Shin Seok-ho in Introduction (Inteurodeoksyeon) (2021), finding his attitude selfishly paternalistic, as if she’s not capable of making her own choices and deciding what’s best for her, as it’s not always about commercial success.  This seems out of character for the novelist, but perfectly in sync with Hong’s movies, as there’s always some passionate argument to be made that crosses the line, going too far in a cringeworthy moment that stands out in a film otherwise comprised of casual moments.  When the novelist and the actress go out to eat afterwards, there’s a jovial moment when a young child on the sidewalk stares through the window at the actress, where her face hovering there is like a ghostly specter, apparently moved by what she sees.  Not everybody gets this director, yet those that do believe he’s never made a bad film, combining literary ambitions with cinematic art, where his simplistic, naturalistic style stands in stark contrast with what passes for movies nowadays at the local Cineplex.  Not playing in normal channels, you have to intentionally seek out Hong’s films, most of which attract fewer than 100,000 customers in Korea, with only TURNING GATE (2002) at 120,000, WOMAN IS THE FUTURE OF MAN (2004) at 280,000, and WOMAN ON THE BEACH (2006) at 230,000 surpassing that figure, though more recently it’s less than 10,000, yet his films play regularly on the festival circuit, where this is the third year in a row he has won an award at the Berlin Film Festival.   

Introduction (Inteurodeoksyeon) works as a prelude to this film, with the old actor Gi Ju-bong returning as an older poet friend for another drink-filled table session, consuming makgeolli this time, adding his own arrogant and condescending views, insisting that “a storyteller needs a story” when making a movie, which defies the novelist’s intent, while also adding humor, as Hong’s films essentially have no story to speak of.  Yet this seems to be the spark that draws the novelist to the young actress, suddenly inspired to make a realist-oriented short film together, something that could be done in just a day or two, as she’s always been curious about making a film, and this could be her opportunity.  Intentionally female-focused, the men’s views tend to be outdated and derivative, typically exhibiting a form of male privilege, while the women show the courage to change the direction of their lives in search for something new, where artistic freedom seems to matter the most.  Gil-soo introduces the novelist to her husband’s nephew (Ha Seong-guk), who is in film school, but thoroughly capable of using a camera, leading to a simply fascinating ending that screens the short film in an empty theater attended only by the actress herself, sitting all alone, exactly as she did in On the Beach at Night Alone (Bamui haebyun-eoseo honja) (2017).  While we never see the film other than brief excerpts, Hong goes completely experimental on us with an extremely happy Kim Min-hee gathering flowers for a bouquet, and then marching towards the camera as she hums the here comes the bride wedding song, an internalized reflection of her relationship with Hong, making this achingly real, a wishful-thinking moment that is also raw and tender.  The nation of South Korea won’t allow his divorce when his former wife refuses, so he remains married to an uncooperative partner who successfully prevents any new marriage.  Kim also lost endorsement deals and even her management company because of the scandal, and has since then only acted in Hong’s works.  Exchanging words of love with the director behind the camera, the black and white explodes briefly into color, like a true fantasia, completely capturing the sheer joy on her luminously expressive face, with a gorgeously written orchestral interlude that underscores the revelatory nature of this special occasion, unlike anything ever seen in any other Hong film.  Like John Cassavetes and Gena Rowlands, or Jia Zhang-ke and Zhao Tao, this may be the definitive love letter from a director to his leading actress, as she is literally the driving force behind the filmmaker’s evolution to more female-sympathetic viewpoints, to his growth as an artist, and a rejuvenated joy and sense of purpose in his life.  The film continues with a short aftermath following the brief end credit sequence, making this one of the director’s most clever films, a film with a preoccupation on art and the lives of artists, existentially examining the profoundly personal, individually unique struggles they face.