I regret that I haven’t seen very many of South Korean auteur Lee Chang-dong’s films over the years. To be fair, he’s only directed a handful of them over a thirty-year career, but his reputation is illustrious, and Possible Love proves that yet again. It is a masterpiece: a simultaneously subtle and epic drama which manages to both be novelistic and honor the specific language and artistic capacities of cinema.
Thematically, Possible Love fits in very well with other recent international hits from South Korea such as Parasite and No Other Choice. It focuses on the class divide within that country, and thus, class issues worldwide. We follow Mi-ok (Jeon Do-yeon) and her husband Ho-seok (Sul Kyung-gu) as they recount to well-off documentarian Ye-ji (Cho Yeo-jeong) a major strike at Ho-seok’s former company which turned very violent. Initially, Mi-ok is much more eager to tell Ye-ji everything she remembers, along with the strike’s effect on their lives. Ho-seok is much more reserved, the trauma of the events having turned him stone-faced and silent long ago.
There’s a naive, touristic element to what Ye-ji is doing as she interviews the players involved, including and especially Mi-ok, whom she starts referring to very affectionately as “sister” or “sis.” Crucially, there is a genuine bond between the two women, despite them not knowing each other fully. The filmmaking and acting consistently capture delicate yet unforgettable moments of the couples involved — including Ye-ji’s wealthy and powerful husband Sang-woo (Zo In-sung) — feeling each other out emotionally. However, unlike its cinematic compatriots I mentioned earlier, Possible Love doesn’t turn into a thriller or revolve around anyone getting any kind of final upper hand. Instead, it remains a grounded and heartfelt drama without sacrificing any of its thematic integrity or complexity.
As Ye-ji continues to make her film, Lee’s film takes a slightly metatextual approach to its camerawork and editing. It’s often shot slightly more like a documentary than a typical austere drama, but it never overplays its hand on cutting to behind Ye-ji’s camera. We’re usually only made aware of when Ye-ji is filming within the dramatic framework of the story, so we’re always invested in the emotional thrust of any given scene, and Ye-ji’s filming only adds to the stakes. Nowhere is this more true than in a group therapy session for victims of the strike, layoffs, and subsequent violence. Ho-seok has kept promising many times over to finally say his piece at one of these meetings, but we soon see the impact of Ye-ji’s watchful eye on his ability to do so.
This ensemble is simply incredible. Each actor gives everything they have to the material, even when the characters are as happy as they could be. Every expression, pause, and loaded glance tells a story within the story, and it makes the film a richer and richer text with every moment. The dramatic catharsis within the narrative is these characters’ coming to terms with what it is they really want, even if that might not be the most stereotypically exciting thing. The acting, writing, and directing here combine to make something which I feel is totemic. It’s a symbol of what filmmaking can be at its finest. Perceptiveness at this level can only be achieved by the best of books, movies, or any other art form. | George Napper
