Lee Chang-dong’s impossibly complex character study is a marvel of forensically precise and emotionally fulfilling writing and direction.
For those in the know, a new film from one of cinema’s modern masters Lee Chang-dong is kind of a mini cinematic event. Known for taking long breaks in between each film he speaks of having a “pathological timidity” that “unless I have that conviction, I cannot make myself begin the work, no matter the external circumstances or what others around me say.” It might be painful waiting around for more of his films but his seventh feature Possible Love is one of his best. An ever-changing, novelistic masterclass in character and a testament to the director’s astonishing emotional intelligence and understanding of life, love and status as we age.
Featuring four of the greatest modern performances in recent memory, we follow two couples as their lives become unexpectedly intertwined, with more slowly revealed about each as the film unravels its many layers. Mi-ok (Jeon Do-yeon) is struggling through life after her husband Ho-seok (Sul Kyung-gu) was laid off from his factory job after violent clashes with the police as part of an organised labour strike. He’s a ghost of a man, the scars of this traumatic event tarnishing his every instinct and behavior since. They have a young son Cheol (Jung Seop) who floats along in the background, relegated by his parents inability to cope. Their lives then suddenly change when they meet Ye-ji (Cho Yeo-jeong) a filmmaker who starts filming them for a documentary about laid off workers and their families. The women become close and they all end up spending a lot of time with each other. Ye-Ji’s husband Sang-woo (Zo In-Sung) comes from an incredibly wealthy and privileged background causing tension and questions around exploitation and art as they all deal with repressed desire, class struggles and repressed feelings.
The film’s script, penned by Chang-dong himself, contains many multitudes and fascinating observations on the little and large deficits between the rich and poor in South-Korea. Every word spoken, every glance stolen tells a different story and it always feels like each character is evolving in front of us at every turn. It’s as if each person is both trying to be as respectful as possible but also saying the complete wrong thing. The class afforded to Ye-ji and Sang-woo radiates off them with their clean, expensive clothes and glowy skin. It is second nature for them to seem put together, less tired, more present, their lives easier to cope with. Yeo-jeong and In-sung together put in outstanding performances, both never giving everything away but acting in an accommodating, condescending manner that never quite dissipates or feels fully sincere. Their status allows them to rule over their mirrored opposites without even realising, it’s the way Chang-dong keeps everyone on the edge of friendship, that impossible barrier of status, the woozy pull that draws people in and the inevitable push that reminds them that these four do not belong together.
Mi-ok, played by the imperious Jeon Do-yeon, carries the sadness within her with a heartbreaking optimism fighting to get out. She is outstanding in her buried emotion, like a volcano, keeping it all in for so long until she erupts with overwhelming regret at what her life once was and what it has now become. On an entirely different spectrum to Ye-ji she dresses in simple long sleeves, her hair unwashed and a cigarette and plenty of soju the cure for a bad day. But taking it by a hair is Sul Kyung-gu as Ho-seok, a man so miserable you almost start to hate him. He carries the desolation on his features like a mask, barely able to get through a conversation which is as frustrating as it is heartbreaking. He plasters himself with alcohol every night just to feel something or even just fall asleep and infects everyone around him like a growing cancer. Only when Chang-dong reveals the traumatic events that have led to his emotional demise does he offer a devastating understanding. These are two broken people who have been hammered down by an unfair system that is present right before their eyes, only under the shallow guise of a voice for their struggles.
Always present in Chang-dong’s work is the huge emphasis on South-Korea’s giant economic gap. Just as with Park Chan-wook’s recent No Other Choice, there’s a righteous fury around the type of cutthroat business culture in the country that does nothing to prioritise the security of the people that actually put in the hard yards. These couples both desire aspects of each other’s lives but there’s a sense that none of them will feel the type of happiness or love in a society and world that peddles such meaninglessness. The film unravels like a long novel, a chance to get to know each person in such detail you feel responsible for each of them by the time the credits roll. While we are all so different as people, Chang-dong makes a defiant case that when we go to bed at night we’re all sleeping under the same moon and it is our empathy that may carry us through in the long run.
4.5 / 5
Possible Love is another masterpiece from one of the greatest filmmakers we have working today. A sobering examination of South-Korea and all the ways capitalism and faded ideals can break or temporarily, artificially lift someone’s spirit.
