Hong Sang-soo’s In Our Day

Even though Hong Sang-soo is a film director, he seems to believe actors are the dullest people in the world. Once again, he apparently sets out to prove it with his latest film. Supposedly, this is a film about coincidence, but the not so ironic happenstances are weak and tangential in Hong’s In Our Day, which is now playing in New York.

Sang-won is an actress, who is crashing with her friend Jung-soo and Jung-soo’s cat Us, now that she has returned to Korea after a long absence. Hong Uiju is a poet who lives alone, since the death of his cat. That is really a shame for the poet and the audience, because Us is probably the most interesting character in the film.

Today, both will be visited by aspiring thesps, who supposedly want to ask them big meaningful questions. However, when Ji-soo and Jae-won try to get out the words, they sound pretentious and inarticulate. Sang-won and Uiju also eat ramen with red chili paste. Yes, that is a big deal in this film. Perhaps you can understand why Us eventually runs away from home.

Maybe Hong was trying to recapture the inspiration of his best films, Hill of Freedom, Yourself and Yours, and Right Now, Wrong Then, which slyly riffed on doubling motifs, while employing hip bifurcated structures. If so, he was really forcing it. Unfortunately, his shallow and annoying characters need even more work than the skeletal narrative.

Frankly, In Our Day feels more like an improv workshop than a proper film. Perhaps the only memorable dialogue comes when Sang-won explains to her cousin Ji-soo how she never felt she ever gave an honest performance, because she knew her directors always wanted a predictably safe canned response. Kim Min-hee (often referred to as Hong’s “muse”) delivers this pseudo-monologue with such earnestness, perhaps it should tell the director something.

Hong Sang-soo’s The Novelist’s Film

Novelists have a spotty track record directing films based on their own work. Michael Crichton and Clive Barker did pretty well for themselves, but Stephen King and Norman Mailer disappointed their admirers (but delighted fans of high camp). It is hard to say how Kim Jun-hee might fare, because her filmmaking goals and intentions are rather vague. That makes her a fitting protagonist for Hong Sang-soo’s latest lowkey binge-drinking gab-film, The Novelist’s Film, which opens today in New York.

Kim ventured out of Seoul to visit her old friend Se-won, who now owns the local independent bookstore. Their reunion catches Se-won by surprise. In fact, it is somewhat awkward, but rather mildly so, by Hong’s standard. Afterward, she visits the local scenic tower, where she coincidentally runs into Hyo-jin, a director who once attempted to adapt one of her novels, but the project fell-through. Again, it is awkward, but not outrageously so.

Strolling outside in the gardens, they just so happen to run into Kil-soo, a thesp Hyo-jin knows, who has put her career on hold, retreating to the peaceful calm of the provinces. Kim did not know her before, but they get on like a house on fire—so much so, Kil-soo agrees to appear in the yet to be conceived film the novelist suddenly decides to make.

In Hong’s previous films, coincidences were clever inventions that created their own meaning. Unfortunately, the coincidences in Novelist’s Film simply come across as humdrum occurrences necessitated by the relatively small cast of characters. The wit is largely gone, but the neuroses remain.

Hong Sang-soo’s The Woman Who Ran

Miles Davis used to perform with his back turned to the audience. The men in Hong Sang-soo’s latest film are not that cool. Instead, they are a rather neurotic lot, so Hong focuses on the women they are trying to talk to instead. Those would be Gam-hee's old friends, who she sets out to visit in Hong’s The Woman Who Ran, which is currently playing in New York.

When Hong’s film had its festival debut last February, Gam-hee might have sounded a bit unusual for spending every single day of the past five years with her husband. One pandemic from Xi Jinping later, a lot of people are over a fifth of the way to that milestone themselves. Regardless, when her loving spouse was suddenly summoned for a business trip, she decided to take advantage of the opportunity to visit two old friends. She will also have a supposedly chance encounter with a third former classmate. With the three-part structure, Hong renews his affinity for parallel theme-and-variations.

Young-soon is divorced and living happily with a younger roommate, but both women just show disinterested contempt for the neighbor who comes to complain about the stray cats they feed (his wife has a cat phobia). After years of caring for her mother, Su-young now lives carefree in a building catering to artists. She is cautiously exploring a relationship with an architect, but embarrassingly, it is the young poet she mistakenly hooked-up with who comes calling. Gambee was not expecting to see Woo-jin, but she works in the arts center, where the restless woman popped in to see a movie. It turns out they have something in common: Jung, whose face we briefly see, so that we know he is played by Hong’s regular alter-ego, Kwon Hae-hyo.

There is a bit of the old playfulness in Woman Who Ran that has been largely missing from Hong’s post-scandal films, especially in the way he so deliberately keeps his male characters faceless. It is still a “small film,” but most of his films are “small.” In this case the big revelation and payoff are mostly implied, but its subtlety is definitely its strength. Arguably, this might be his best film with Kim Min-hee since Right Now, Wrong Then, which was before their tabloid notoriety.

Hong Sang-soo’s Grass

It is small café, but it is good for writing. You can always find a table and the owner doesn’t mind if you bring in your own soju to get hammered with. However, you still have to step outside to smoke, because that is the law, even in South Korea. These are all important considerations for Hong Sang-soo characters. We will listen in along with an eave-dropping woman as they wrestle with their neuroses and disappointments in Hong’s Grass, which opens this Friday in New York.

Areum types away as various pairings of characters confront each other. In previous Hong films, he probably would have openly invited viewers to question whether these characters are figments of her literary imagination or if she is merely recording what she overhears. However, this is the post-scandal Hong, who is now apparently less considered with narrative gamesmanship, so he only occasionally hints at such postmodern mischief-making this time around. Instead, he is more concerned with the crystallized essences of their respective angsts and anxieties.

One couple laments the presumptive suicide of a mutual friend, for whom they both feel some measure of guilt and responsibility. A self-destructive actor rather directly propositions a former lover to become his sole “sugar-daughter” means of support, but his pitiful state is not exactly a turn-on for her. Meanwhile, a younger actor-screenwriter is also trying to extract some dramatic truth from real-life for his latest script, but he is more direct and honest about his exploitative intentions than Areum, if that is indeed what she is doing.

At just sixty-six minutes, Grass (reportedly, the title does not really mean anything) is definitely a shorty from Hong, but it still provides sufficient time for the characters to get good and drunk on soju. He also manages to burrow quite deeply into their psyches. It is almost like a Hong Sang-soo lightning round, in which he tries to introduce each character and establish the source of their psychological hang-ups with the greatest possible economy.

While these are familiar themes for Hong, it is rather fascinating to watch his muse Kim Min-hee playing something like his analog as the voyeuristic Areum. She also has the sort of churlish jealousy we would expect from Hong’s shallow make characters when she is confronted with the happiness of her younger brother and his fiancée. Likewise, Jung Jin-young is slyly charming as Kyung-soo the actor-screenwriter, who sort of represents the more confident and defiantly indulgent side of Hong’s persona.

Despite all the emotional baggage of its clientele, the Grass café looks like a wonderfully inviting place for some coffee and people-watching. It is a small Hong film, even by his talky, light-weight standards, but it has its merits. In fact, it might be one of the better films of his less playful, post-Yourself and Yours, inspired-by-scandalous-real-life-events period. Recommended for Hong’s admirers and patrons of sharply observed psychological drama, Grass opens this Friday (4/19) in New York, at the Metrograph.

Hong Sang-soo’s Claire’s Camera

It is a film about random café encounters in Cannes, partly made possible by a random café encounter in Cannes. Architect Shahira Fahmy happened to tell Hong Sang-soo about her acting ambitions when they struck up a conversation in a café during the Cannes Film Festival. A few hours later, she was shooting a scene with Isabelle Huppert. It wasn’t a hugely consequential scene, but it is still a good start. It is also very Hong Sang-soo. Indeed, a chance encounter of that nature would not be out of place in the film in question, Hong’s Claire’s Camera (trailer here), which opens this Friday in New York.

Camera could be considered the third film in the awkward trilogy of films helmed by Hong and starring Kim Min-hee, addressing unfaithfulness and released after news of their affair went public. This is the best of the three. The explicit reference to Eric Rohmer (director of Claire’s Knee) is no accident. Camera is very Rohmeresque. His characters wander incessantly, but this is a Hong film, so they also drink, especially, So Hansoo, the Hong-esque director.

Jeon Manhee is about to be fired by her boss, producer-sales agent Nam Yanghye, soon after their arrival in Cannes, because she ill-advisedly let So sleep with her. So isn’t just talent they are handling. He is also Nam’s lover—or at least he was. He intends to break it off once their French guest at lunch takes her leave. That would be Claire, a charming music teacher, who also writes poetry and compulsively takes pictures. She came down from Paris for the premiere of her friend’s film (played by Fahmy), but while strolling through town, she makes the chance acquaintances of both Jeon and So, who are quite struck by the coincidence when they see the photographic evidence of Claire’s encounters.

At a mere sixty-nine minutes, Camera feels light and brief, but there are some heady themes lurking under the surface and some heavy emotions bubbling over. While there is little of Hong’s previous narrative gamesmanship, he rather subtly and slyly proves Claire’s vaguely postmodern contention that the act of taking someone’s picture changes them. This is definitely true in the case of Jeon and So.

Claire is a nice change of pace for Huppert (reuniting with Hong after In Another Country), but she still commands the screen utterly and completely. After watching Camera, everyone should be convinced it would be great fun to café-hop your way across Cannes with her. Kim’s work as Jeon is just as sensitively rendered as her award-winning performance in On the Beach at Night Alone, but she also shows a bit of goofy humor that is wonderfully sweet and endearing. Jung Jin-young’s So is basically an amalgamation of every unpleasant Hong Sang-soo cliché, but Chang Mi-hee is surprisingly human and vulnerable as the ragingly insecure Nam. Plus, there is a big gray dog who steals several scenes, even though he literally sleeps through them.

Claire’s Camera is vintage Hong and a lovely showcase for Huppert and Kim. It just captures that indescribable late-night vibe. Surely, Rohmer would have approved. Very highly recommended, Claire’s Camera opens this Friday (3/9) in New York, at the Film Society of Lincoln Center.

NYFF ’17: On the Beach at Night Alone

Hong Sang-soo is often dubbed the “Korean Woody Allen,” but that superficial comparison was never really that apt, until now. Hong’s extramarital relationship with thirty-something actress Kim Min-hee (star of Right Now, Wrong Then) is nowhere near as problematic as Allen carrying on with his long-term girlfriend’s adopted daughter, but the resulting Korean scandal has been even more intense. Adding fuel to the fire, Hong finally acknowledged the relationship at a press conference for one of his three most recent films, in which an actress played by Kim herself deals with the fallout resulting from her affair with a prestigious director. You could think of it as Hong’s Husbands and Wives. Regardless, the meta-ness is often downright uncomfortable in On the Beach at Night Alone (trailer here), which screens as a Main Slate selection of the 55^th New York Film Festival.

Even though she is still young, Young-hee’s acting career was already in the doldrums before her affair with Sang-won. To avoid the media feeding frenzy, she first visits her friend Jee-young in Hamburg and then tries laying low in her provincial small town. She walks incessantly, while her friends do their best to distract her. Yet, she compulsively ruminates on her scandal, yearning to see him again, yet deeply regretting their affair.

Throw in a prodigious amount of drinking and you pretty much have Hong’s film in a nutshell. Of course, there is more to it than that. However, much like The Day After, Beach, lacks the narrative gamesmanship that has distinguished Hong’s best recent films. Arguably, there is still a bifurcated structure, split between Hamburg and Korea, but it follows in strict chronological order.

Kim is quite arresting playing a slightly unstable analog of herself, but her exquisitely sensitive performance in The Day After is even more accomplished and arresting. Arguably, the finest work in the film comes from Seo Young-hwa, who charms and disarms as the complex but defiantly independent Jee-young. Kwon Hae-hyo exemplifies an exemplary Hong supporting character as Young-hee’s shaggy haired, hard-drinking art-house programmer crony Chun-woo. As if we needed additional layers of irony, actor-turned-politician Moon Sung-keun memorably appears as the adulterous Sang-won.

Beach is a revealingly personal film that will loom large for anyone studying Hong and his oeuvre. Nevertheless, it is not one of his more rewarding films. Kim Min-hee and Seo Young-hwa do nice work, but they cannot dispel the awkward vibe. Even viewers not hip to the behind-the-scenes drama will pick up on it. If you only see one Hong Sang-soo film at this year’s NYFF, it should definitely be The Day After. Recommended mostly for dedicated Hong and Kim fans, On the Beach at Night Alone screens tomorrow (10/8) and Monday (10/9), as part of this year’s New York Film Festival.

NYFF ’17: The Day After

Sure, there are exceptions, but by and large, people working in book publishing are ragingly neurotic and they drink like fish. Could there be another film director better suited to making a film set in a high-brow small press than Hong Sang-soo? In this case, the publisher also happens to be an unrepentant adulterer. Again, who better than Hong? News of his extramarital affair has scandalized Korea, but it has not slowed Hong’s prolific output. He has two new films at this year’s NYFF (how they missed out on Claire’s Camera starring fest fave Isabelle Huppert is rather baffling). Hong dials down the narrative gamesmanship in The Day After (trailer here), the less uncomfortably awkward of his two Main Slates selections screening at the 55^th New York Film Festival.

Song Ah-reum is the sort of thoughtful, responsible employee a boutique literary house would be lucky to employ. Kim Bong-wan hired her because she was pretty. He just let his former assistant go, because his wife Song Hae-joo was starting to suspect they were having an affair, which they were. Unfortunately, Song Hae-joo storms into the office to deliver the Dynasty power-slap to her rival on Song Ah-reum’s first day.

Understandably, the new assistant is rather taken aback by the jealous wife’s torrent of abuse. Kim tries to convince her to stay despite the drama, until his former mistress-assistant Lee Chang-sook drops by to rekindle their affair. Since Song Hae-joo has never seen Lee, they hatch a scheme to return the real mistress to her former job, by pretending Song Ahreum really was the other woman, if she will agree to leave after only one day. It is not a particularly well thought out master-plan, but it evidently involves drinking a great deal of soju.

Even by Hong’s standards, Day After is small in scope, but it has a rarified air of sophistication and an unusually sharp edge. Somewhat ironically, the unfairly accused Song is played by Kim Min-hee, who has been absolutely pilloried in the Korean press after she and Hong came out with their relationship. Seriously, think Pitt-Anniston-Jolie raised to the power of fifty.

It is a shame outside events will inevitably color people’s perception of Day After, because this really is one of Kim’s finest performances. It is a wonderfully subtle and graceful turn. Ironically, you would expect such a wise and forgiving portrayal to come at the end of an affair rather than at the high point of media scrutiny.

As usual, Hong regular Kwon Hae-hyo is a gently amusing bundle of anxieties and hang-ups as the philandering Kim Bong-wan. Think of him as a Seinfeld character you could actually spend time with, especially with the soju flowing. He and Kim Min-hee share some wonderfully gawky scenes together. You could call it anti-chemistry, but they still play off each other beautifully.

Throughout Day After, Hong skewers male vanity and the hypocritical pretensions of the literary smart set. Kim Hyung-ku’s warm, glowing black-and-white cinematography also greatly heightens the feeling of intimacy. However, Hong fans will miss the narrative eccentricities of his recent films, like Hill of Freedom, Yourself and Yours, and Right Now, Wrong Then (also starring Kim Min-hee). Some might interpret it as an apology or a case of protesting too much, but we see it as a fair representation of book publishing. Recommended for admirers of Hong and literate, chamber dramas, The Day After screens tomorrow (10/7), Sunday (10/8), and the following Sunday (10/15) as part of this year’s NYFF.