on the road

The tone of the film is so light that it does not seem to intentionally engage audiences into the narrative in the first place. And it’s a rather simple melodramatic story without plot twist or any sort of surprising moments.

However the aesthetic use of long take in this film is tremendous and unforgettable, which is always associated with the traveling sequences. To me, it’s the power of travelling, the feeling of feet stepping on the land—a land called “Korea”, that perfectly captures director’s perception of Korea and Korean cinema. The ending scene is not an exception, in which Songwa is guided by a girl walking through seasons over places. Since Songhwa has never married, whether or not this girl is her daughter remains a mystery. Perhaps she is adopted by Songhwa just like how Songhwa was adopted by Yudong because of her talent. Therefore, the spirit of Pansori is perpetuated through their endless walking. The walking itself is a process of accumulating grief, and Songhwa devotes the rest of her life to embrace and experience the grief on the road. There are different people in the world, and I do believe that Yudong and Songhwa are the few who bear different burdens other than simply making living or satisfying personal desires. Hence I don’t really buy into Choi’s reading of Songhwa as Yudong’s mistress, and the interpretation of restoration of masculinity as the main theme of this film. On the contrary, I see this film portrays the nation in a more feminized way, especially through the shooting of serenely landscape. The emphasis on landscape portrayal echoes with the motherland metaphor. Thus, Songhwa, the cultural icon, merges into the virgin land she has been travel around and become part of it as well as the representation of Korea.

Moreover, in terms of “Koreanness”, Sopyonje presents another kind of nationalism in addition to drawing on the traditional Korean art. Director Im executes this film in a unique poetic way, which resonate oriental philosophy that is not transformable in western culture. The long take, the pure capture of landscape, the showing of people’s backs and the oddly mute of diegetic music at the climax are sophisticated done by Im to denote a sense of exotic “Koreanness” that is distinct from narrative-driven classical conventions. The “Han” is connoted through the images and music, marries with the narrative to create a consistent poetic tone. By doing that, audience are not only visually watching the film, they are also hearing the music and emotionally reading the “poem”. Ultimately, I as an audience forget about the thirst of conclusion and start to appreciate the “blank-leaving” and ambiguity that cultivate various interpretations of this indigenous Korean musical storytelling. And Director Im really points out an alternative road for me to make sense of Korean cinema, not only focusing on the subject matter but also the way how is being presented.