Past Lives is slated to be 2023’s sleeper hit at the box office. It’s managed to remain a crowd favorite amongst its high-profile counterparts like Spiderman: Across the Spider-Verse and Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny, much thanks to the recent mainstream appeal A24 films have reached in the past few years. Not unlike last year’s Everything Everywhere All At Once, the indie entertainment company struck cinematic gold on the chance they took with South Korean-Canadian playwright Celine Song. The only difference has unfortunately been in numbers. Despite both films’ immediate cultural relevance, the contrast in narrative scope has not tamed the ever-evolving, ever-fickle, theatrical zeitgeist.
Numbers aside, Past Lives stands as an immensely satisfying film about the treachery of brutal romanticism and the inherently convoluted nature of interpersonal relationships. It’s truly refreshing to watch a film that feels like it was written by someone who lived through tangible experiences interesting enough to be stretched into a feature. Someone drawing on what they know, versus what they think. For that reason, Celine Song’s very first outing as a writer-director is nothing short of exemplary and inspiring.
It’s already been confirmed that Past Lives is a pretty autobiographical interpretation of an experience Song had between her real-life Korean childhood lover and her very white American husband. So the small pieces that bring the story to life feel menial when compared to the bigger picture. Indeed it seems almost unimportant to analyze the framework by which the story is being told, the looming shots of New York City and Seoul are standard indie film fair. The same could be said about the sparsely written dialogue and the overall pacing of the narrative.
Instead, the strongest portions arise from the deft intricacy of the prose and what plays out on screen. It seems to be fully aware of the modern cultural landscape and plays with the expectations that come with society naturally. What the audience is left with while the credits roll is unprecedented and something that should echo throughout the contemporary cinematic landscape. Past Lives may not be as categorically successful when compared to its vast peers, but it very well may be the first of its kind; a blueprint for more-successful predecessors yet to come.
Fairytales don’t exist, at least, not in the way movies portray them, and while it’s true Past Lives can be a fan of the contrived at moments, namely thanks to a convenient Uber driver, there’s a moderate effort to portray something feasible and fantasy deconstructing. What makes the film a wonder is that it bathes in the confines of reality. It’s a story we’ve seen play out a thousand times, but a version you can actually take seriously. In the real world settling down is okay; it’s what most people end up doing and who ultimately deserves the extraordinary is arbitrary and certainly isn’t based on any sort of merit or reverence.
The main character and author surrogate, Nora (Greta Lee), whose Korean name is Na Young, the same as Songs, is caught between the quixotic lens of two different schools of thought. Eastern ideals of unstoppable fate and Western manifest destiny. Throughout the film, she struggles between the split personalities she created after immigrating out of Korea. Hae Sung (Yoo Teo), her childhood lover from Korea, holds steady in his belief in “in-yun” and refuses to let go of his past view of Na Young. “In-yun” is what validates his feelings for his childhood sweetheart but Nora in her new life ironically uses it to flirt with her future-husband Arthur (John Magaro).
Arthur can be understood as the other side of the proverbial coin, his relatively typical meeting and marriage with Nora, is uninteresting compared to the fabled romance that seems to exist transcontinentally. His status as a writer exacerbates this moral dilemma further and unlocks his own fears about his relationship with Nora. He feels like he’s stepping in the way of someone achieving their fate, something they were entitled to go and get. His “right” to Nora.
This is also where the equally ill-considered fetishization of Ha Young and Korean women in general precipitated by both Arthur and Hae Sung is reproached. Nora reminds Arthur and by extension the audience that she’s “just a Korean girl.” That her ethnic status doesn’t warrant any sort of special treatment. That “Korean side” that both men want to unlock is not unique to her in any meaningful way. This is not so much to imply that either side likes her simply because she is Korean, although that could certainly serve as a harsh interpretation. Rather, our protagonist simply being dignified as a Korean seems to intermittently halt her life progress and cause doubt.
It’s important to note that this clash between ideologies is purely subtextual. There is no scene where people scream at each other and violently break furniture. There are no righteous displays of brazen chivalry or glamorized confrontation. Along with a laundry list of other realities, Past Lives remind us that some battles are awkward and insignificant. They’re meandering and rarely end with someone slamming the door in angst. None of this is to say that Past Lives offers no theatrical or dramatic substance. Rather, the film takes its basis in reality earnestly.
Arthur can be understood as a representation of the audience themselves, he picks apart how fantastical the elements of the plot truly are and laments how perfectly conclusive it would be if Nora were to leave everything for Hae Sung. It’s vulnerable and maybe even a little pathetic, but it’s also exactly what the audience is thinking. Where a slap in the face or bitter argument would usually go, a well-worded retort is anchored in its place. As Nora reminds Arthur that leaving everything behind for one guy she has barely spoken to in 24 years would be ludicrous and irresponsible. At last, the irreverent idealization of “true romance” commonly shared and idealized is appropriately questioned and rebuked.
Aside from romance, Past Lives is also an immigrant story. Ha Young struggles to pick an American name before settling on Nora, and the next time we see her, she’s already earning herself an artist residency in the United States. Her reopened communication with Hae Sung reminds her of the disconnect between her and her roots. She remarks how masculine Hae Sung is but in a very traditional “Korean way,” something that makes her feel less Korean. In a way, Hae Sung represents her guilt and perhaps unresolved grievances from leaving her native country at such a young age. As a result, she experiences the all too familiar immigrant woe, being too ethnic for Western society but too Western for ethnic society. Whatever Hae Sung saw in the little girl he met so long ago doesn’t exist anymore, but that doesn’t make it any less real. It’s simply a mere shadow, the many parts that make up the matter.
The thesis of the film is built into the beginning. Nora’s mother while talking about their inevitable move from Korea to Canada says to Hae Sung’s mom, “It’s true that if you leave you lose things, but you also gain things, too.” Choosing what you leave behind is difficult, especially when it isn’t a choice at all. Past Lives is a cruel reminder that every hello must be followed by a goodbye. That the recollections of missed connections are simply just that. Our communal faith in mythical concepts like “true love” wanes with our lives passing us in between.
Turn off the Bright Lights 