Berlin Dispatch – Past Lives

Guys, my heart.

Arriving by way of Sundance, Korean-Canadian director Celine Song’s debut feature PAST LIVES tells a decades-spanning love story that’s pretty much note-perfect from the first frame to last. It doesn’t re-invent the genre or attempt anything particularly daring, but the way it hits its mark, the way it makes you feel? I was floored.

At the turn of the century, 12-year-old Na Young has her first crush on classmate Hae Sung. The two spend all their time together and in Na Young’s mind this is the boy she’ll marry one day. Except her family then leaves Seoul to immigrate to Canada and, overnight, the kids disappear from each other’s lives. 12 years later, Na Young – now going by Nora (Greta Lee) and trying to make it in New York – finds Hae Sung (Teo Yoo) on social media and the two rekindle their friendship remotely, before breaking it off again when they realize it’s turning into something serious – and pointless. Another 12 year would pass before the freshly single Hae Sung decides to visit his old friend in New York, where she now lives with husband Arthur (John Magaro). Unresolved feelings abound.

Perhaps not the most original conceit for a film, but boy did Song make a devastatingly beautiful thing out of it. Her writing is free of dramatics and describes with a sigh the saddest type of heartache, one where no one’s at fault. There’s no betrayal or villainous third parties. These two people who haven’t seen each other in 24 years can’t even know if they would be happy together. But that, as illustrated with piercing clarity by Song, would not have stopped our foolish human hearts from wondering the coulda, woulda, shoulda for a lifetime. In a late scene that reminds me of Meryl’s “door handle moment” in BRIDGES OVER MADISON COUNTY, nothing is said but you can read every emotion, every unasked question flashing through the characters’ eyes. Powerful, powerful stuff.

It’s also remarkable how the film encapsulates the (Asian) immigrant experience through Nora’s journey. From the playdate her mother sets up before they leave Korea, to the brief scene at the airport where the grown Nora must somehow explain herself – including her marriage to a white husband – to the customs officer, or how Nora doesn’t see going home as an option after having immigrated twice to be where she is, the script shines with truthful, sometimes painful observations about starting over in a foreign land. Plagued by growing insecurity, Arthur tells Nora at one point that she only talks in Korean in her sleep, that she only dreams in Korean. The simple exchange also says something essential about immigrant relationships like Nora’s – not just about the person who’s immigrated and become a different version of themselves, but also about the inaccessibility of their past, the impossibility of them ever being fully understood in their chosen home.

Song’s direction is assured and emotionally charged. She doesn’t resort to formal, stylistic stunts but there’s poignance in her compositions. Every shot feels personal. The fork in the road where the kids part ways for the last time, for example, is such a striking sight that, when it appears again, memories immediately come flooding back. The opening scene of three people at a bar is also inspired. Simple in construction but magnetic and endlessly intriguing, it’s a choice made by a great storyteller.

The excellent cast and crew contribute to the realization of Song’s vision. Lee stands out as a strong-willed woman torn between reason and feelings. Through her subtly expressive performance, you can see through Nora’s American steeliness and tell her Korean soul is starting to stir when the childhood crush re-enters her life. Magaro is wonderful as the caring husband threatened by someone who, in Arthur’s own words, makes for the better story. It’s crucial that this kind but increasingly insecure character doesn’t get cheapened by clichéd jealousy and Magaro strikes that balance just right. The nostalgia-tinged cinematography by Shabier Kirchner and the jazzily melancholy music by Christopher Bear and Daniel Rossen, for their part, bring the needed warmth to a movie that wears its heart so unapologetically on its sleeve.

Captivating and profoundly moving, PAST LIVES is easily top 10 of year material for me. I suspect we’ll be talking about it on this site again in a year’s time.