Running On Empty

 

River Phoenix with director Sidney Lumet

River Phoenix with Martha Plimpton

RUNNING ON EMPTY          B                                                                                                 USA  (116 mi)  1988  d: Sidney Lumet

I’ve done three movies, Daniel, Running on Empty, and Family Business, that are thematically the same thing—the cost that others pay for one’s passions—and I only recognized this afterwards…. Any deep emotional commitment on the part of the parents is going to cost something… not just to the parents but also almost always to the children.                       —Sidney Lumet

A film that takes us back to the fallout from the Vietnam War of the 60’s, revealing the ominous implications still reverberating decades later from the aftermath of that momentous event, recalling the paranoia of 70’s films, yet made a decade later, with the passage of time having a decidedly toned down effect on the subject matter, which is fictitiously portrayed.  Largely shaped by the Great Depression, Lumet began his career at the height of McCarthyism, brought up in New York City with a Jewish, left-wing background, claiming there’s no real left-wing in America anymore, like there is in Europe, so political ramifications may be something he intrinsically understands, as it’s in his blood.  What’s unique about the 60’s generation is the tireless effort extended to bring about the end of the Vietnam War, with kids going against their parent’s generation, causing plenty of family strife, but this was largely a young person’s crusade that successfully ended the war, something unprecedented in American history, yet with Nixon re-elected with his racistly repressive law and order campaign, still targeting all the 60’s radicals, it wasn’t the result they wanted, so they grew weary and exhausted and simply ran out of gas, thus, the title, something they never recovered from, abandoning earlier alliances with blacks and chucking their ideals for monetary gain, with many of those same kids growing up and voting for Reagan.  Revisiting the era of the Weather Underground, a radical left-wing offshoot of the Students for a Democratic Society in the 60’s, a student activist counterculture movement that attempted to stop the war in Vietnam, which splintered from a disagreement in tactics, with the radically inspired Weather Undergound taking on a targeted bombing campaign meant to disrupt the machinations of the war effort, committing strategic acts of sabotage against the government by carrying out bombings of the United States Capitol, the Pentagon, the State Department, Bank of America, Army bases, as well as the New York City police department, yet slowly disbanded by the mid 70’s.  By the mid 80’s, they were essentially history, yet several fugitives from justice were able to successfully hide themselves for decades under assumed identities, eventually emerging quietly by turning themselves in, often pleading to lesser charges, as the government’s case against them was compromised by the 1971 exposure of the FBI’s questionable and even unlawful methods of domestic surveillance under the COINTELPRO program, which quickly evolved from a legitimate effort to protect the national security from foreign threats of Communism into an effort to suppress a wide range of domestic activism (that included Martin Luther King and other Civil Rights leaders) through an array of dirty tricks, including illegal wiretaps, warrantless searches, planted media lies, and much more.  Recalling earlier films like Hal Ashby’s COMING HOME (1978), John Sayle’s RETURN OF THE SECAUSCUS SEVEN (1980), Lawrence Kasdan’s THE BIG CHILL (1983), or Oliver Stone’s PLATOON (1986), and a latter crop of Bill Siegel’s THE WEATHER UNDERGROUND (2002), Robert Redford’s The Company You Keep (2013), or Kelly Reichardt’s Night Moves (2013), most of it is watered down revisionism that screws up 60’s politics, often looking back nostalgically with a sense of guilt, while regretting past mistakes.  An extension of his earlier film DANIEL (1983), which examines the generational consequences of the Rosenberg spy trial (The Rosenberg Case), resulting in the execution of both parents, specifically exploring the trauma suffered by the children, where the sins of the parents are hoisted upon the backs of the children, a strong burden to carry, where Lumet’s primary interest is not the politics, but the emotional costs, while in this film crimes of consciousness and acts of terror are largely indistinguishable in the eyes of the law, where an overriding theme is that actions, no matter how nobly intended, have consequences.  The obvious reference is Bill Ayers and Bernadette Dohrn, leaders of the Weather Underground, who went into hiding for ten years before surrendering to authorities in 1980.  Making no apologies for their activism to bring about the end of the war, likewise no apology was ever offered by the United States government to the country of Vietnam, dropping nearly 400,000 tons of napalm, an incendiary chemical compound that burns at 2,000 degrees Fahrenheit, literally burning people alive, spraying 19.5 million gallons of Agent Orange at twenty times the recommended dosage, containing a toxic chemical contaminant linked to cancers, diabetes, birth defects, and other disabilities, remaining in the soil for decades, affecting three million Vietnamese (7% of the population), causing birth defects in 150,000 children, with millions still affected, not to mention other atrocities committed.  The film’s inciting event, the bombing of a napalm laboratory that blinded and paralyzed a janitor, echoes the infamous Sterling Hall bombing of August 24, 1970 (When bomb tore through Sterling Hall 50 years ago, he was ...), where radicals attempted to shut down an Army Math Research Center on the campus of the University of Wisconsin-Madison, but instead killed a university physics researcher, Robert Fassnacht, a postdoctoral researcher conducting physics experiments on superconductivity, completely destroying the physics lab, with three other grad students suffering serious injuries, while a night watchman suffered memory impairment and permanent loss of some hearing and vision.   

No reference to any actual event ever occurs, while the title is appropriated from the Jackson Browne song (notoriously absent from the movie and the credits), a huge hit in 1978, also featured prominently in FORREST GUMP (1994), with a controversial history as well, due to its unauthorized use by Senator John McCain and the Republican Party in a controversial ad targeting Presidential nominee Barack Obama in 2008, forcing Browne to sue, eventually settling out of court for an unnamed sum, with the Republican Party apologizing afterwards.  Screenwriter Naomi Foner (mother of Jake and Maggie Gyllenhaal) was nominated for an Oscar, yet acknowledged making changes at the behest of Lorimar Productions, a subsidiary of Warner Brothers, worried about controversial content, drawing from personal experiences of her radical friends, including a classmate at Columbia University who went underground in 1969 and resurfaced in the 80’s, sharing with Foner the hardships she faced in hiding while trying to raise her two children, as noted in a Vanity Fair article, THE WEATHER OVERGROUND | Vanity Fair | October 1988, while a nearly identical plot is also attributed to acclaimed Berlin filmmaker Christian Petzold in THE STATE I AM IN (2000).  The film is listed at #10 on Roger Ebert’s Top Ten from 1988, Roger Ebert: 1967-2006, though largely missing from other lists, not nearly as pivotal as many of his other films like 12 ANGRY MEN (1957), LONG DAY’S JOURNEY INTO NIGHT (1962), SERPICO (1973), Dog Day Afternoon (1975), Network (1976), The Verdict (1982), and Before the Devil Knows You're Dead (2007).  The biggest misstep is the insipid music by New Jersey guitarist Tony Mottola that feels hijacked from some limp romance drama, never once capturing the actual feel of the movie, which turns into a family relationship drama, with a budding romance at the center.  While some may view this family as terrorists, it goes to great lengths to create a family with moral values and strong ties to love, where they genuinely relate to one another, making substantial sacrifices for deeply held principles, moving every few months, constantly assuming new names and identities, relying upon an underground network for money, cheap housing, and phony documents.  Rarely do you ever see movies with children on the run, yet the level of domesticity that the family has achieved is mirrored in the camera work, shot by British cinematographer Gerry Fisher in a decidedly low-key style, like a 1950’s Playhouse 90 domestic drama (live television, several episodes directed by Lumet).  At the outset of the film, the family quickly relocates to another city when it becomes apparent the FBI is watching their house, soon finding themselves in the fictional town of Waterford, New Jersey.  Artie and Annie Pope, Judd Hirsch and Christine Lahti, are the radical couple on the run with two sons, 17-year old Danny, River Phoenix, the older brother of Joaquin in his only Oscar-nominated performance, starring later in Gus van Sant’s My Own Private Idaho (1991) before his untimely death two years later at the age of 23, and ten-year old Harry (Jonas Abry).  The film is largely seen through Danny’s eyes, exhibiting a mixture of shyness and self-assurance, seriously introverted because his parents have cut him off from the rest of the world, much like the early childhood of Phoenix, part of a controversial Christian religious cult known as the Children of God, emphasizing unlimited sex with no restrictions, moving from Venezuela to Mexico to Puerto Rico to spread the word.  Unable to draw attention to himself, he quickly stands out to his music teacher, Mr. Phillips (Ed Crowley), because of his impressive (and overly idealized) talent on the piano, playing Beethoven by heart, Running on Empty, Beethoven Pathétique YouTube (1:15), easily separating him from other students who are completely hooked on the MTV era of Madonna and pop music videos.  Both parents quickly find jobs, where the transition seems relatively unforced until the school inquires about prior transcripts, which are strangely missing.  Normally this would be no big deal, as they never stay long enough at a single location, but Danny is at the age where he needs to start applying for college, where transcripts are mandatory.  Given access to his teacher’s home to play the piano, he’s pleasantly surprised when a same age daughter takes an interest, Lorna, Martha Plimpton, the real-life girlfriend of Phoenix at the time, having met on the set of Peter Weir’s THE MOSQUITO COAST (1986).  Lorna’s quirky personality registers with a Bob Marley poster on the inside of her bedroom door, a Charlie Chaplin poster taking up the entirety of her closet door, while inside is a poster of James Dean from Rebel Without a Cause (1955), where she has a unique collection of hats hanging from a rack, one of which grabs Danny’s attention, a boater straw hat reminiscent of Silent film stars Buster Keaton or Harold Lloyd, but also the musicals of Fred Astaire and Maurice Chevalier, playfully trying it on, even wearing it out of the house, giving him something of hers to think about.  Their budding romance makes this a coming-of-age movie, with romantic walks through the woods and along a lake, continually keeping his distance, never allowing himself to get too emotionally attached, which eventually turns her off, thinking this guy really doesn’t care, getting pissed off, finally forced to confess his secrets, creating something of an emotional steamrolling effect.

A pop visit from an old friend causes ripples, Gus, L.M. Kit Carson, something of a counterculture artist, a co-director of Dennis Hopper’s The American Dreamer (1971) and co-writer of Wim Wenders’ Paris, Texas (1984), yet here he appears as a connection to their radical past, showing romantic inclinations towards Annie that she quickly deflects before trying to recruit Artie for a bank robbery, still holding onto his youthful revolutionary ideals, suggesting what they’re doing is too safe and comfortable, with Artie going apoplectic afterwards, refusing to have anything to do with guns, defiantly repulsed by the idea, angrily declaring “Guns aren’t what we’re about.”  Danny’s interest in his parent’s welfare is significant, often hidden and isolated from the rest of the family, yet still supportive during troubled times, where all they’ve got is each other, which probably means more to his parents, as they’re the ones responsible for the predicament they’re in.  While the parents are openly conscientious, they even leave a pet dog behind during one of their moves, a disturbing image for animal lovers, actually having more of an impact than the headlines revealing Gus was shot and killed in a bank robbery escape, the living embodiment of what can go wrong with radical ideals, certainly putting a punctuation point on the end of his dreams, suggesting there are good radicals and bad ones.  Afterwards, Artie gets the urge to pack it in and head for another destination, coming across as a bit of an ass, overly regimented and authoritative, patriarchal, continually barking out orders, where his one-note character isn’t really developed, lacking the nuance and complexity of Annie, who is more comforting and understanding of what her kids must be going through, where you can grow exhausted from all the running, acknowledging at one point, “What are we doing to these kids?  They’ve been running their whole lives like criminals, and they didn’t do anything.”  Danny, in particular, feels overwhelmed by the decision, even defiantly so, where his need to grow and break free from the family’s stranglehold becomes the central drama, wanting to pursue his own dreams, thrive in a romance, with the faint possibility of something lurking beyond if they don’t screw it up, where this inner dilemma was similarly explored in Siân Heder’s Academy Award winning CODA (2021), with the deaf community replacing the underground, a confining world of silence where the unique talent of one family member offers the promise of something more, something they never anticipated.  Mr. Phillips is so enamored with Danny’s playing that he encourages him to apply for Julliard, offering him a stellar letter of recommendation, but it keeps getting back to his earlier school transcripts, leaving him in a precarious position, as he doesn’t really want to abandon his family.  Lorna quickly sees through the family dilemma, emphasizing Danny has nothing to do with it, “Why do you have to carry the burden of someone else’s life?”  The failures of the radical left and 60’s counterculture movement are never really addressed, as there was a unique multi-racial coalition where privileged white college students and Black Panthers were mingling together sharing a common cause, creating something of a cultural revelation, while the promised revolution never happened.  Instead the film emphasizes family above politics, where any earlier propensity for violence is thoroughly discouraged, countered by a communal BIG CHILL dance sequence, The Big Chill (1983) - Dancing in the Kitchen Scene (6/10) (1:48), set to a James Taylor song, "Fire and Rain" Birthday Dance Scene - Running on Empty ... (1:53), all captured in a single take, acting as an anthem and memorial tribute for so much from that era which has been lost or forgotten.  This film was made more than 30-years ago, when ramifications of the Vietnam era were still at the forefront of everyone’s minds (the devastation of the AIDS crisis was about to take its place in terms of having a generational impact), but looking back today, very little is known about the turbulent times of the 60’s, as books and movies serving as eloquent time capsules simply do not do it justice.  Yet it wouldn’t be a Sidney Lumet movie if there weren’t several standout emotional scenes, like Annie discovering Danny already auditioned for Julliard, playing Mozart’s Fantasia, K. 475, Running on Empty - Danny auditions for Julliard -Who did you ... YouTube (2:00), so she breaks her cover and cautiously meets her father who she hasn’t seen in 15 years (Steven Hill) for a heartrending reunion in a restaurant, an emotionally devastating scene that traverses plenty of territory in a short period of time, leaving both something of a trainwreck afterwards, one of the most poignantly affecting scenes ever filmed by Lumet, while Danny and Lorna have an equally wrenching, tearjerker moment.  While Christine Lahti is superb, convincing performances by River Phoenix and Martha Plimpton are the real stand-outs, given greater dramatic extension than the adults, covering up for the movie’s deficiencies, refusing to explore what was essential about the times, like why people would be willing to take such drastic measures, instead becoming a smaller character study that has a way of sneaking up on you, reminding us of how much we truly miss the loss of River Phoenix.  That alone is reason to see the film.    

In Front of Your Face (Dangsin-eolgul-apeseo)

 

Director Hong Sang-soo at Berlin Film Festival 2022

The director with his actresses

Lee Hye-young

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

IN FRONT OF YOUR FACE (Dangsin-eolgul-apeseo)                   A-                                 South Korea  (85 mi)  2021  d: Hong Sang-soo

Everything I see before me is grace.  There is no tomorrow.  No yesterday, no tomorrow.  But this moment right now is paradise.  It can be paradise.            —Sang-ok (Lee Hye-young)

Written, directed, produced, and edited, while also filmed and music written by Hong Sang-soo, a real one-man band in South Korean independent films, where he’s been the only one doing it now for decades.  The first time since 2017, and really there’s only been one film since the 2015 release of 2016 Top Ten List #8 Right Now, Wrong Then (Ji-geum-eun-mat-go-geu-ddae-neun-teul-li-da) where he picks an actress other than Kim Min-hee (listed as a production manager and still photographer) to play the central character, choosing 80’s and 90’s star Lee Hye-young, more recently appearing in popular television series, and daughter of Lee Man-hee (Director Lee Man-hee: His Life and Movies), a legendary director who symbolizes Korean films in the 60’s and 70’s.  Shot during the Covid pandemic with a skeleton crew, the film consists of only 32 shots in just 85-minutes for an average shot length of 2 minutes and 39 seconds, which is unusually high, as the average film in 2021 consists of over 2,000 shots and an average shot length of less than 3 seconds.  While this may not be too surprising for anyone familiar with this director’s films, it does suggest there is more of a contemplative aspect in his more recent output, yet this film introduces many new twists, making extensive use of voiceover with one of the characters, as if speaking to God, like offering reverent prayers, where a spiritual and possibly even religious aspect slips in, but more importantly, this film deals with questions of religion and mortality in new and direct ways, themes touched upon in Hotel by the River (Gangbyeon Hotel) (2018), yet eliciting a different kind of response from viewers, while music also plays a more prominent role, heard throughout, though stripped down, not really a musical soundtrack, but it’s a poetic counterpoint to the narrative, offering a tonal presence, yet never intruding.  Hong Sang-soo has been making films since the mid-90’s, nearly always one or two per year, almost always screening in New York at film festivals, while the rest of the country may be sadly neglected, as his films have no commercial prospects, instead falling into the art film category, making this the 11th film chosen for the Cannes Film Festival, and his 26th film in 25-years.  According to koreanscreen.com poll, a listing of 158 film critics from 28 countries, twelve of his films make the list of the 100 greatest Korean films.  If you have been fortunate to see them, they play out in miniature, like haiku poems, exhibiting a minimalist style, often writing new scenes each morning and shooting later that same day, shooting and editing very quickly, using a conversational style, and almost always featuring an extended table scene over a meal, where alcohol comes into play, normally associated with a fictitious film director that may or may not reflect the author himself.  His early films were not afraid to screen graphic sex scenes, usually awkward moments without a trace of artifice, where the male characters exhibit a profound moral weakness, with the director having an obsession with exposing male vanity, usually featuring overly intellectual, morally ambiguous men, often mocking the hypocritical aspects of their character, not who they appear to be, in some ways frauds and con artists.  No one else offered such scathing portraits of male hypocrisy and pretentiousness, often becoming comical misadventures, while also exploring a multitude of ordinary, everyday moments throughout the course of his career.  More recently he has preferred to focus on female subjects, with Kim Min-hee, his star protagonist, as the centerpiece of his uniquely designed short stories, where men typically have a patriarchal, professorial quality, almost always outshined by the women.  This film is no different, with a deceptively complex narrative structure, resembling The Woman Who Ran (Domangchin yeoja) (2020), yet introducing audiences to a new female protagonist, older, more mature, with her own beguiling charm, where a mysterious voiceover offers an existential dialogue that initially feels strange, perhaps out of character, yet by the end, there’s a special fascination with this process, illuminating ideas in a unique way, offering a mysterious twist near the end.  Each of the conversations are open to interpretation, offering plenty of open space between the protagonist and everyone else, with her mind apparently drifting off into this mystical inner realm, reflecting an emotional remove, keeping her distance, even from viewers, yet she continually reveals small revelations in a film full of surprises while also exploring a deeper emotional terrain, making playful and vibrant use of color, remaining one of the director’s most evocative and spiritual works in recent years.

This is a film about Sang-ok (Lee Hye-young), in nearly every shot of the film, yet like Isabelle Huppert in earlier films, In Another Country (Da-reun na-ra-e-seo) (2012) or Claire's Camera (La caméra de Claire) (2017), she’s like a stranger in a strange land.  A former star actress in South Korea, she’s been living in America for five years, returning to visit her sister and nephew, where the landscape has changed dramatically, with narrative clues unveiled through various conversations.  In the opening and closing shot, like bookends, Sang-ok is sleeping on the couch in her sister’s high-rise apartment, already awake in the morning, while her sister, Jeong-ok (Cho Yun-hee), is still sleeping, attempting to rouse her ever so gently by simply touching her fingers, but she lingers asleep awhile.  Brief philosophical ruminations are heard through voiceover that sound like self-help mantras, spoken in a near whisper, offering positive encouragement, like everything around her is beautiful, describing things as God’s blessings, believing that heaven is hidden in front of our faces, where the excruciating mystery in life is discovering the joy in living, forcing herself to live in the present, embracing the moment, suggesting clarity and enlightenment are all around us, challenging our capacity to see, yet in our hurried pace of living, we tend to walk right past these moments, blind to the beauty.  But there’s nothing preachy about this, feeling more philosophical than religious, perhaps sharing a similar melancholic mood as Kiarostami’s THE TASTE OF CHERRY (1997), but not as heavy or mournful, feeling much more lighthearted, where the stellar performance of Lee Hye-young is simply exquisite.  Once awake, Jeong-ok mentions she was having a wonderful dream, but claims it’s unlucky to talk about it before noon, so she withholds the details, instead deciding to go out for a breakfast of coffee and toast, picking an outdoor café alongside a picturesque riverside location, made all the more beautiful by the radiant sunshine, where it would be hard to imagine a more idyllic setting, yet as they discuss their lives, Jeong-ok is surprised by the visit, discovering much that she didn’t know, including her own internal resentment for leaving, all of which erupts, realizing “There’s so much we don’t know about each other.”  That may as well be the opening premise of the film, suggesting there are so many empty spaces to fill, which the film slowly explores in a meandering pace, bit by bit, adding layers of texture and new revelations, usually through banal conversations, always discovering just a little bit more about Sang-ok, who seems to want to re-assess and re-examine her life, almost as if starting anew from a fresh perspective, having left for America with some “guy she barely knew,” with little to show for it, having no savings, and perhaps some regrets that she’s not forthcoming about.  While she may have had a recent religious epiphany, there are no real religious overtones in her thoughts, though there is a prayerful reverence in appreciating the moment, expressed with tenderness, even as the two sisters reflect upon their pasts and chat about their busy lives.  Wandering through some side streets, they stroll through a park filled with beautiful flowers, wanting a picture, so they ask someone walking past (Hong regular Seo Young-hwa), who remembers seeing Sang-ok on television, offering nothing but kind words and praise.  Jeong-ok is a bit surprised, as it’s been years, mostly decades, wondering how they still recognized her, as she looks different.  Similarly, Sang-ok is surprised by Seoul’s rapid development, barely recognizing it anymore, discovering a small snack shop run by her nephew, but he’s out on an errand delivering food, deciding to have soup, spilling a bit on her blouse, deciding to let it go, as appearances no longer matter that much to her.  Running into her nephew Seungwon (Shin Seok-ho) on their way out, he greets her with a formal affection, offering her a present, a small token of his appreciation, suggesting that even though she’s been away for years, she’s still had an impact on people’s lives.    

Taking a cab for a late lunch with a film director, she receives a phone message that plans have been changed to a new time and location, leaving her an opportunity to explore a different neighborhood, wandering into an outdoor patio overrun by foliage, as it soon becomes clear this is her childhood home, where this wall of greenery was her favorite spot.  The new owners pleasantly welcome her, opening their home to her, where she embraces an innocent young girl, who could well be an iteration of herself, offering a familiarity to much that has been forgotten, seeing it as if for the first time with a new set of eyes, showing a deep appreciation for how much it means to her, yet for the most part she inexplicably remains aloof and distant, feeling alienated, like an outsider.  When she meets the director, Jaewon (Kwon Hae-hyo), it’s under mysterious circumstances, as it’s a bar cleverly named “Novel,” the same bar appearing earlier in The Day He Arrives (Book chon bang hyang) (2011), which is not a restaurant, and is closed, yet he has a key, as it’s owned by a friend who happens to be away.  He has an assistant go across the street to a restaurant and order food and drink, while the next shot reveals plenty of time has passed, with food and empty bottles left on the table, having emptied several already, as she inquires why he sent the assistant away.  While he mumbles something about having other tasks to attend to, she distinctly recalls he ordered him to leave.  Somewhat clouded by this murky revelation, Jaewon proceeds to make his case why he wants to work with this actress in making a film together, recalling how affected he was by an early scene when he attended film school, how much emotion she conveyed sitting on a bench in the desolation of winter, evoking a kind of nostalgic memory.  While clearly touched by the detail of his recollections, she reminds him that was ages ago and she’s not so young and beautiful anymore, and that she hasn’t acted in years, yet he persists in his intentions, not swayed in the least, expressing a singleminded purpose, as if his mind was made up even before the meeting.  She exudes more reticence, yet also reveals more to this stranger than she ever revealed to her own family, like recalling a harrowing moment in her youth when she wanted to commit suicide as a teenager, when at the moment of truth, she suddenly realized the faces around her “looked so beautiful,” explaining “I felt in my heart what reality was,” a transcendent experience that made her recognize the immediacy of each moment, mostly shot in a long, uninterrupted 12-minute take, yet the two still remain on different tangents, as he’s clearly not listening to anything she’s actually saying.  Sang-ok often laughs during uncomfortable pauses, like a delayed reaction, where the rhythm of this conversation has a strange flow about it, where her obvious discomfort is clearly not his concern, though he’s always polite in what he has to say, continuing to pour each other more drinks, apparently his typical pattern of behavior in getting what he wants, attempting to wear down her defenses, yet she’s on to him, getting him to acknowledge that he’d like to sleep with her, even though he’s married, which is a strange turn in the conversation, as they were discussing at length making a film together, and suddenly it veers into sex.  The film industry has come under acute examination in its ways and practices since the boorish behavioral revelations of Harvey Weinstein, a mega-Hollywood producer who is now a convicted sex offender.  Korea is on the other side of the ocean, yet the male predatory practices sound remarkably the same, though the audience is probably more attuned to this than Sang-ok, who has likely seen it before and is unphazed.  The spill on her blouse is more metaphoric now, having no significance at all, as the much larger blemish is sitting across from her.  While the conversation meanders, the director insists upon making a film together, even if it’s a short film, suggesting they could take a trip to Kangwon Province, a mountainous region with spectacular scenery, somehow convincing her to agree, suggesting they could leave as early as the next morning, which comes as a surprise, as she’s done nothing but defer every offer, offering her reasons while remaining elusive and evasively out of reach, yet both touchingly share a cigarette in the pouring rain afterwards, huddled under an umbrella in a narrow alleyway.  The next morning she is awakened by a voicemail message that sends her into uproarious laughter, as after all that effort, it was the director who backed out.  In hindsight, the entire conversation was likely a carefully constructed alcoholic male fantasy that left her extremely wary of his stated intentions, showing deeper concerns, unveiling another eye-opening revelation that shatters our perspective of her inner dialogue, like a spiritual awakening.  Plot is completely secondary to mood in the film, becoming an internalized odyssey of a woman whose life is being re-examined in her later years, more circumspect, concealing that she’s primarily come back to experience the feelings of home and artistic expression that once defined her life as a young actress.