Kevin Fullam writesThe Fourth Wall: Past Lives

Welcome to The Fourth Wall, CHIRP's e-conversation on cinema. This week's subject is the 2023 Romanic Drama Past Lives.

This edition is written by CHIRP Radio volunteers Kevin Fullam and Clarence Ewing.

Kevin:
"Is he attractive?"

-- "I think so. He's really masculine, in this way I think is so Korean."

"Are you attracted to him?"

-- [PAUSE] "I don't know... I don't think so..."

That's not quite the exchange that any husband wants to have when his wife is reconnecting with an old flame, is it? Except that the third party isn't really an old flame. Or is he? It's... complicated. 

Let's back up a minute. Past Lives is a story primarily told in three chapters. Na Young (Greta Lee) and Hae Sung (Teo Yoo) are 12-year-old classmates in South Korea who go on one playground "date" before Na's family immigrates to Canada.

A dozen years later, Na (now having changed her name to Nora) reconnects with Hae via Facebook while studying playwriting in New York City. They have a certain chemistry, but nothing comes of their video calls. With their lives headed in different directions, they're unable to coordinate a get-together, and so any spark that was there fizzles out. 

Twelve more years pass, and Nora is now married to an American, Arthur (John Magaro), whom she met at a writer's retreat, and they're living together in NYC. Hae contacts Nora out of the blue -- he's headed to America for an impromptu vacation, and wants to know if she'd like to meet. She does.

Their rendezvous, along with the following evening when the three of them meet for dinner, comprise the heart of the story. Does Nora still have feelings for Hae? How much has Nora's time in the West exacerbated the cultural divide between them? And where does Arthur now see himself vis-à-vis Nora?

Arthur begins to view his entire relationship with Nora in a different light, one centered around convenience as opposed to passionate love. (For starters, he and Nora got married when they did so that she could get a green card and stay in the U.S.) It doesn't help that Arthur is a nerdy guy who is fully aware that he doesn't measure up to the sort of "masculinity" that his wife describes as being attractive. He lays it all out there in a kidding-but-not-really-kidding bedroom exchange with Nora:

"Just thinking about how good of a story this is."

-- "The story of Hae Sung and me?"

"Yeah. I just can't compete."

-- "What do you mean?"

"Childhood sweethearts who reconnect twenty years later and realize they were meant for each other... In the story, I'm the evil white American husband standing in the way of destiny."

For yours truly, the film boils down to one question: does the marriage survive this encounter? It's clear that, whether or not Nora and Hae connected in "past lives" (the Buddhist concept of inyeon that's referenced in the film), they won't be ending up together in this lifetime. The gulf between them, both physical and cultural, is simply too great. But what about Nora and Arthur? In the closing scene, after Nora waits with Hae for a taxi that signals their final goodbye, she walks back to her home and Arthur while breaking down in tears. What do those tears signify? 

Other questions for you:

1) Did it strike you as a little strange that, during the dinner involving the three principals, Hae would completely abandon English and speak to Nora in Korean... with Arthur sitting right there? Especially given the personal nature of the conversation and the fact that Arthur wasn't entirely nonfluent in Korean? (But if he understood what was being discussed, he didn't show it.) 

2) Do you have any favorite movies about the modern-day immigrant experience in America? Is Past Lives more of an "immigrant" story, or a "long-lost loves" tale? Two recent Asian-American films come to mind:

-- Minari (2020), about a Korean family that moves to the American south in the 1980s to start a Korean vegetable farm; 

-- Didi (2024), where the protagonist is a Chinese-American teenager who's making his way through adolescence in 2008 California.

Coincidentally, both those films seem to be semi-autobiographical tales from their respective directors. The same is true for Past Lives, as director Celine Song moved from South Korea to Canada at age 12, and later married an American playwright. Write what you know, right?

Clarence:

"Write what you know..." I've heard that before several times over the years. It sounds like a good piece of advice, but what happens after you've used up all of your life experience? Very few of us lead lives so eventful and action-packed for more than maybe two or three stories. Still, if writers did stick to that idea, there'd be a lot less garbage in the world of commercial fiction.

Speaking of stories, when I was watching Past Lives, it reminded me of a quote from Tony Soprano of the titular HBO series when he comments that "remember when" is the lowest form of conversation. I really like that line, not because I don't like reminiscing with family and friends, but because of what it says about the futility of it. Time only moves in one direction. Focusing on the past, for many of us, leaves the door wide open for melancholy and regrets.

That's what's happening with Nora and Hae, I think. It's clear they had a special bond as kids, an uncommon closeness. Separating at an early age and growing up apart hasn't dimmed that light all that much. I think that's why they started speaking their native language at the bar despite a third party being there (which I agree would be strange and rude in normal circumstances). Just being in each other's presence takes them back to the past.

If they had stayed together in Korea, maybe they would have gotten married and shared their lives together. Or maybe not. The fact is that this possibility is gone, at least in this part of the multiverse. Maybe that's what brought Nora to tears at the end, the realization that even if she still has feelings for Hae, reality dictates that her life is on a different path and whatever might have been just isn't going to happen?

To me, it's a bittersweet, appropriate downer of an ending that's right in line with the current generation's perception of love. No running through airports at the last minute to declare undying affection. No awkwardly grand gestures (usually in public) to prove undying love. Just a sober, clear-eyed realization and acceptance of what's not going to happen. It's lovely, in its way, and definitely more plausible.

I'd like to think Nora and Arthur are going to be just fine, although Arthur may have to be patient as Nora works through her feelings. Since they're both writers, maybe that could be a way of processing for both of them. Do you know of any good movies about writers or the act of writing?

As far as modern-day immigrant experiences, I can't think of recent movies on the subject, although there must be millions of stories about "illegal" immigration that deserve to be told. Years ago we reviewed a movie called Frozen River that focused on the subject, although it wasn't from the perspective of the immigrant. Do you think any major studio would even take on a project like that, in our current political climate?

Kevin:

Movies about writing, you ask? Pull up a chair! While there are lots of tales featuring writers, I don't think there are all that many that involve the process of writing? A few notable ones come to mind:

* Adaptation (2002) -- This Spike Jonze film has quite the backstory. Charlie Kaufman was originally tasked to adapt the novel The Orchid Thief, and then ran into a serious case of writer's block while trying to pen a captivating script about flower poachers. In frustration, Kaufman wrote about the experience -- featuring himself as the main protagonist -- and that's the tale that eventually made it to the big screen. Said Kaufman: "I really thought I was ending my career by turning that in!"

* Almost Famous (2000) -- Covered here by yours truly! Essentially, both a love letter to rock critics and a semi-autobiographical tale from director Cameron Crowe, who started his career as a writer for Rolling Stone in the 1970s. I didn't love this one quite as much during my second viewing a few years ago as I did when I originally saw it in the theaters.

* The Shining (1980) and Misery (1990) -- Leave it to Stephen King to turn the clack-clack-clack of a typewriter into something macabre. The former film, directed by Stanley Kubrick and considered one of the best King film adaptations, features a writer (Jack Torrance, played by Jack Nicholson) who slowly loses his marbles while churning out page after page in the haunted Overlook Hotel. And when we find out what's on those pages? Yikes. Meanwhile, Misery stars James Caan as an author kidnapped by a maniacal fan (Kathy Bates), who demands that his new novel be to her liking... or else.

Back to Past Lives -- I wholeheartedly concur with your comments about the current generation's perception of love. Relatedly, here's an interesting snapshot from Pew Research about the decline in the number of people who find "meaning" in life from spouses and romantic partners. And that's just in America. Marriage and birth rates have long been plummeting in other industrialized countries as well, from Japan to the EU.

Hollywood doesn't necessarily need to get as dark as Blue Valentine with regards to modern romance (or the lack thereof), but don't down-to-Earth depictions of marriage and relationships temper unrealistic expectations? One might argue in response, "C'mon, it's a movie! What's wrong with an over-the-top finale?" Of course, the target audience for Past Lives is probably a bit different than the one for, say, Crocodile Dundee*.

[*I mean, jeez, that film ended on a freeze-frame of an embrace! Could that have been done today? Would it seem hopelessly hokey? This is a film that made over $300 million at the box office, so people were quite willing to swallow it up in 1986.]

As far as the subject of illegal immigration, I think the only way major studios would touch that topic is to dress it up within some sort of allegory and remove it from "America" as much as possible? It's also tough to have a film about illegal immigrants where one's status isn't the primary focus. And it would take a special director and screenwriter to conjure up a tale that wasn't anathema to either political wing. To quote Bert Cooper from Mad Men, "This is a sensitive issue -- businesses hate that!"

You mentioned that the lives of Nora and Hae were on "different paths," and that you felt that was the reason for Nora's tears at the conclusion of the film. Let's set the immigration issue aside here -- do you feel that people remain fundamentally the same from adolescence into adulthood as far as core personality traits? I'm not sure we got enough of a snapshot of Nora as a young girl in Korea to assess this one way or the other, but do you have any favorite films which do feature these chronological jumps? 

[Moonlight comes to mind. As does the documentary series 7 Up, which I haven't watched but would seem to be exactly on point! And of course, we've often seen a comedy variant of this, where kids are immediately transported into the bodies of grown-ups. A plot device as old as the hills, for sure, but probably executed best in Tom Hanks' Big.]

Clarence:

I had to spend some time looking through my Letterboxd.com account to answer that question, because outside of Moonlight (a fantastic film) I can't for the life of me remember the last time I saw a movie based on that kind of plot.

I never did see Big, mainly due to how I'm not the world's biggest Tom Hanks fan. But I just can't get into the whole "adult acting like a child in an adult's body" premise. I am a fan of Will Farrell, but I have yet to watch Elf for that reason.

As far as films concerning the personality question, two of my favorite classic movies that come to mind are Stanley Kubrick's Barry Lyndon (1975) and Orson Welles' The Magnificent Ambersons (1942). Each of those films focuses on a young man who, over several years, must change the personality of his youth (insolent, spoiled) to meet life's big challenges and just...doesn't. Now that I think about it more, Saul Goodman of Better Call Saul (the excellent prequel series to Breaking Bad) is another example of a protagonist who just cannot escape his fundamental nature, even if doing so would clearly benefit him.

These main characters' lack of character, and inability to adapt, make me think that storytellers believe that people don't change all that much as the years pass.

I'm not sure I entirely agree with that. If people don't change, what's the use of counseling, psychology, or the church? Those institutions are based on the idea that not only can people change, they must change if they're going to live a better life. Isn't that what the whole "Hero's Journey" is about? Of course, not everyone who attempts that journey will make it, but finding out who succeeds and who doesn't is what makes for much interesting drama.