Past Lives (2023) is about the dangers of marrying a Korean. You think you know her after being married for years and learning her ways. You may have picked up a little Korean on Duolingo to delight her parents, who praise you as they would a toddler who used the potty. You’ve eaten so much of her people’s cuisine that yukgaejang (a delicious spicy beef soup) is your favorite food.
But then, she drops a bag of hammers on you: despite having confessed years ago, just moments before you first kissed her, that in-yun (a belief in past lives and destiny succinctly explained in this beautiful trailer) is a card in her seduction game and nothing more, you meet the man she believes destiny has intended for her. His name is Hae Sung (Teo Yoo), and he and Nora (Greta Lee) were soulmates before she left Korea.
You feel very small because (1) he is a big, handsome Korean fella, and you are a petite, videogame-playing man-child. You even own a headset! (2) She barely looks at you when you all go out for dinner and late-night drinks. (3) You’ve known for a long time a part of her is closed off to you. It’s the secret garden Springsteen sang about, but Korean. A third of her life was spent in Korea, where she went by Na Young. Unlike Hae Sung, who was her best friend, you will never meet Na Young. And when she talks in her sleep, it’s only in Korean, which you don’t understand, and it’s probably better that you don’t. (4) This movie is barely about you. It’s almost entirely about her and him. You barely register with audiences, and you know it. You are a bookmark in her life--impermanent, by design--while Hae Sung is written in the book.
I’ve been thinking about this movie for days. It’s a lovely thing to carry in the back of your mind. Despite being Korean, I had never heard of in-yun, but it feels familiar to me in a way that suggests that the Jungian concept of the collective unconscious isn’t total bullshit. And despite his minuscule screen time and tertiary role, I sympathize strongly with Arthur (John Magaro), Nora’s white husband. I understand his predicament. He’s a sensitive human being who doesn’t want to lose his wife to a Korean man who emerged from her past and though gentlemanly, is still no less a marauder. Hae Sung threatens his entire world, but Arthur can do little as Nora is drawn into his orbit. Arthur loves Nora too much to do anything except sit quietly and grimace as she leans into Hae Sung as he postulates there will be another life after this where they will be together.
When I was a Peace Corps Volunteer in Ukraine, I knew I could not, under any circumstance, marry a host country national, which is the official term for a beautiful Ukrainian woman. I saw the danger in marrying someone I wouldn’t be able to understand at the soul’s cellular level. (I’m sure Koreans have a word for this.) Because of the tremendous differences in how we grew up, I would live in a state of permanent vulnerability. Only another Ukrainian would be able to connect with her in the ways that I couldn’t, and inevitably, one day, some Sasha, Andriy, or even a fucking Dima would show up and take her from me.
That was a stupid thought, I know. I just didn’t want to marry anyone at the time, host country national or otherwise. You can come from the same background and still struggle to understand someone. You don’t have to be a sociologist or even follow the news closely to know that people of the same nationalities, creeds, and socioeconomic backgrounds struggle to understand each other, to cross this Gulf of Araby. I know that isn’t an expression, but I think we learned from Past Lives that Koreans love making shit up.
I recant my earlier statement. It’s probably safe to marry a Korean. Or at least, it’s no more dangerous than marrying anyone else.
Past Lives
Written by Celine Song; Directed by Celine Song
2023
105 minutes
Korean, English
Recommended way to watch (at time of publication): Kanopy! Every time you find a good movie on this site, it’s like finding $5 in your pocket.
You’ll like this if you like: When Harry Met Sally (1989), Old Boy (2003)