Past Lives, the directorial debut of Celine Song, has been hailed as one of the year’s best films. It is a wistful mosaic of time and emotion, embodying just enough nostalgia to set us on the ledge to look back on the summers of our past. A case has been made that the film is markedly “un-Hollywood” because it avoids en-vogue, worn-out plot tropes.
However, a closer look reveals that moral lessons are beside the point. Rather it is a cinematic experience that leads us to breathe in the air from someone else’s life and come to realize that we exhale the same.
Following Your Heart, but Different
Editor’s Note: This review includes spoilers, including the ending of the film.
Nora (Greta Lee) isn’t an anti-type against Hollywood’s obsession with “following your heart.” It just so happens that her heart is set on something other than romantic possibility.
In her early 20s, sweet childhood memories of Hae-sung (Teo Yoo) are strong enough for her to entertain the prospect of a long-distance relationship with him once they reconnect. But having had to immigrate twice and pursuing a career as a writer—a vocation known for long hours and little pay—Nora is ultimately propelled by a bigger dream.
As she pursues her dream, she meets Arthur (John Magaro), a Jewish-American writer with similar passions. They end up falling in love and getting married. The film depicts her marriage not as something that fulfills her but as an aspect of her life she cherishes along with her existence in New York City.
While on the surface it may seem so, Arthur and Hae-sung are not pitted against each other as rivals for Nora’s heart. While it is undeniable that Nora feels a visceral connection to Hae-sung, his existence serves more so a reminder that some goodbyes take longer and are more painful than others. When he visits New York, Nora realizes just how much she misses the memories of her life in Korea. Hae-sung is a living reminder of the most cherished parts of her childhood. However, instead of choosing between two men, Nora’s consistent narrative is that she chooses herself.
Restraint, Wisdom, or Lessons from the Immigrant Experience
Driving Nora’s narrative arc is a reality that is subtly on display throughout the film. As a Korean immigrant to the West, she must start from scratch to develop a savviness to survive. Moving to a foreign country, learning a new language, and assimilating to a strange culture force a series of farewells. She leaves Na-young behind in the East to live as Nora in the West. She leaves Canada behind to dive headfirst into the hustle required to make it as a playwright in New York.
Her restraint towards Hae-sung when they finally meet, while possibly driven by wisdom, can be read as a by-product of this immigrant experience. Though it crosses her mind, Nora does not have the luxury of throwing away a life built upon familial sacrifices for the prospect of a romantic musing, nor does she really want to. She’s fluent in English and dresses like a chic New Yorker, but her Korean immigrant identity is central to who she is. She even gets married early, in part, to gain citizenship. The film portrays her journey as one in which nothing is handed to her freely. She makes her way to the life she wants.
Do we take her actions as being particularly wise? Do we laud her for staying committed to her marriage? Perhaps, but this misses the larger picture. Woven into her character’s actions are the ingrained lessons of reality that ground those who have had to survive in a foreign land.
When ‘In-yun’ comes up empty
The film’s ending scene emphasizes the hope of “in-yun,” a Buddhist concept akin to an intense kind of fate. Right before getting into the Uber that will take him back to the place of Nora’s past, Hae-sung turns to her and says goodbye. He poses a question that doubles as a statement of hope. Even if they can’t be together in this life, their history and ‘”in-yun” are only proof that they will be together in the next.
With a final boyish grin, Hae-sung gets into the waiting cab. The car pulls away, and Nora slowly walks back to her present life. Arthur is waiting for her on their East Village stoop. He rises to meet her, and she collapses into his arms, weeping.
In life, we may be led to a similar state of complex emotions. All of our choices could have been the right ones. And yet, our hearts can still break as we say a final farewell to that which we did not realize we longed for. It is in this vulnerable state of mind, in the midst of such unprocessed regret and longing, that an embrace from someone who truly loves us is the greatest comfort.
Cinema for Thought
The undertones of Past Lives highlight the beauty that comes from the immigrant experience, though rife with losses. As Christians, the concept of losing something to gain something else is familiar. Seeing a version of it played out in the cinema should provoke us to feelings if not thoughts. What are we grounded by? What is the relationship between personal agency and trust in the sovereign?
There could be a number of other interpretations regarding the film’s emphases and messages, just like how this article comments on another. If anything, Past Lives lets our minds graze a series of relatable truths in its portrayal of the human experience. As the artist, Song’s storytelling has this kind of resonant effect, “[putting] a new knowledge of ourselves within our grasp. It is…startling, and perhaps shattering—and yet it comes to us with a sense of familiarity.” It’s this sense that lingers through the film’s last frame, reminding us that our most meaningful moments are the culmination of multiple journeys with people we cherish and places where memories live on.
Photo Credit: WBUR/A24