Introduction
Past Lives is writer-director Celine Song’s debut title premised around star-crossed lovers, their chance encounters, and the concept of in-yun (fate) over the course of 24 years. With in-yun, it implies that every meeting between two souls is the product of countless interactions or near-interactions in their past lives. As we follow protagonists Nora and Hae Sung over the years, we cannot help but marvel at the themes of destiny, providence and reunion, yet wistfully sigh as the two eventually ultimately part. For a debut piece, Song handles all the interweaving themes with great artistry and delicacy. And what we get is a nuanced narrative depicting the loss of true love amidst the struggle of shifting immigrant identity and the inevitability of choice.
Summary
The prologue of Past Lives focuses on Nora (Greta Lee) and Hae Sung (Teo Yoo) as childhood sweethearts. The movie opens with 12 year old Nora and Hae Sung being inseparable. At one point they play in the park amidst looming sculptures, an idyllic image reminiscent of innocence and promise. Nora even declares to her parents her plans to marry him in future. Unfortunately, their prospective romance is cut short by Nora’s emigration to Toronto with her parents. In a remarkable shot, Nora is captured walking up some stairs out of frame, symbolic of her upward mobility tied to ambition. Meanwhile, Hae Sung trudges despondently in the other direction, signalling their diverging paths.
12 years later, the two miraculously reconnect via Facebook and share regular Skype calls albeit being at opposite ends of the world. Despite their best efforts, barriers like time zone differences, lived experiences and technological inadequacies amplify the distance between them. Although they had a shared past, it is the present that defines and perhaps even separates them. Nora is not ignorant to this fact and in a heartbreaking fashion she decides to cut off contact with Hae Sung, declaring she needs to focus on her writing pursuits. Song presents us with the familiar tale of immigrant identity and ambition diametrically opposed to what we have to leave behind and sacrifice. Alas, 12 years pass by yet again and we are left wondering if the two will ever reunite.
Song makes the movie come full circle by staging their third reunion, with Hae Sung visiting Nora in New York. They are both 36 by now. But Nora is no longer the girl in his idealised memory. Rather, she is married to Arthur, her dreams as a writer realised.
With this heartbreaking turn of events, Song not only subverts audience expectations of typical romance movies (where there is always a happy ending), but makes us ponder if there is possible redemption for the two. Can they find their way back to each other? Or is it already past them?
What Song does brilliantly
In my opinion, the Korean concept of in-yun is what ties the film together beautifully. It is the rightful reunion of two souls, but we are deprived of that here. As Arthur vocalises, he would be the “evil white guy” in stories standing between true love. And it would be easy for Song to follow the archetype of childhood reunion and rekindled love, but she decides against it. Because of this, we see countless scenes of palpable longing – the lingering gazes, near touches, and hushed conversations they share. It is a haunting reminder of the what-ifs, and as viewers, we can’t help but feel regretful that circumstances have separated the two.
In another scene where Nora, Hae Sung and Arthur visit a bar, Nora and Hae Sung converse alone in Korean for the most part, almost as if Arthur were not there. Again, this sheds light on Arthur’s monologue regarding true love and reunion. Arthur metaphorically and physically stands in the way of the ‘perfect’ couple, but such is the weight of choice that Nora and Hae Sung have to bear. Nora may “dream in Korean”, in a manner that is inaccessible to Arthur, but it is clear that Arthur is her present. Song doesn’t allow us to get swept up by irrational demands, but does allow us to indulge in some semblance of regret and despondency.
No film is perfect
That being said, I did feel like the film fell short in certain aspects, especially the portrayal of immigrant identity. We do get the perfunctory details: Nora leaves Korea because it was too small for her ambition, meanwhile Hae Sung remains there and starts his career. But the years that rolled by were glossed over and never once do we get a glimpse of Nora’s journey towards writing success, nor Hae Sung’s ascent towards occupational success. All this makes for rather flimsy characterization who can only be identified by their romantic endeavours.
Past Lives was born out of Song’s difficult childhood – not merely the leaving behind of young love, but the loss of her Korean self, racism, and misogyny she faced in American theatre. All of these seem awfully absent from the film, smoothed away by simplistic character portrayal.
But who knows? Such intentional focus on the romantic might be Song’s way of achieving internal resolution for all her choices that came with necessary sacrifice.
Conclusion
Relying on her personal experiences, Song has produced a film that is painfully realistic, lending voice to the immigrant experience. There are countless alternative realities one envisages as a product of the choices made, be it a missed phone call or ambition chased. Although the film seems to embody themes of lost love and regret, Song doesn’t allow us to linger for long. In some ways, the unresolved affection in the ending also provides catharsis for the viewer. Nora and Hae Sung may have brushed past each other in this life, but Hae Sung recognises that in the next, they may already mean something to one another. His simple “see you then”, embodies a world of hope and possibility, which is profoundly touching and bittersweet. And sometimes, I think such yearning and expectancy suffices for us to carry on in the present.