The opening sequence is a five minute long scene of the couple (who are the only actors to appear for most of the film) sitting together in the car. The whole thing is covered in one long, unending wide shot capturing both parties through the front windshield. They pass through light and shadow, at one point going through a tunnel, and their conversation moves from the banal (juice versus coffee, business trip arrangements) to the emotionally devastating (oh, ps I'm leaving you). Through it all, their tone barely changes. Most frustratingly of all, the camera refuses to get close. At that distance, it is impossible to see clearly their expressions. I found myself hyper aware of all the nuances I was missing, was being denied actually. The subtle movements of eye or mouth that might have revealed what they were really thinking behind all that calm. Halfway through mentally cursing the director and dp for this egregious oversight, i realized how completely brilliant the setup was.
What a perfect encapsulation of this couple. They get along, they are kind to and even care for one another. And yet, they remain at this incredible distance. Just far enough that things start to break down, or get lost emotionally. But everything else remains intact.
The rest of the film is much like this. Quiet, undramatic, beautiful and infused with a sense of heartbreaking truth.
There is a nice interview with director Lee Yoon-Ki here. He says in it, "There’s no such thing as “an auteurist filmmaker.” Every film directors is an auteur. We only make films that we do because we cannot put on clothes that don’t fit us. " Its a lovely sentiment. Like his film, I'll remember it for a long time.
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