Mubi has just released a film that will be visible on the streaming platform for the month of July, after its première at Cannes 2022 in the section Un Certain Regard, where it drew the attention of media. Directed by Davy Chou, Retour À Séoul tells the story of the 25 years old Freddie, a French girl of Korean origin that goes back to the place where she was born in order to look for her biological parents.
Scattered through several time sections, the film is a 8 years quest that leads the protagonist first to find her father, a drunkyard family man whose life was haunted by the ghost of that little girl he had to abandon decades before in order to grant her a better life, and later on to finally reunite with the mother, at first reluctant to the meeting.
The French-Cambodian director, at his second feature after Diamond Island (2016) does an outstanding job in delving into the depths of the character’s soul, as she herself gets lost into the mazes of her identity, having to come to terms with an inherent dichotomy: whether she is French or Korean; or both… or none of them. Her features and her genes speak for themselves when her baffling beauty is addressed as a typically ancient Korean visage, but her culture yells otherwise. At first she doesn’t even seem at ease with accepting the differences, for example when she refuses the custom of having the diners serve you the inevitable sakè, and instead she challenges it by pouring drinks for herself, in defiance. Clinging to her European upbringing comes across as a shield towards letting herself go to the internal upheaval of discovering the land that molded her into flesh and bones, but wouldn’t mold her language, her habits, her education.
Hence the barrier that gets all the way more glaring as she sits at a table with the biological family from her father’s side. Whereas English, Korean and French are not enough to convey feelings that cannot be spoken, a gesture, a look in the eye, a tear can say much more: there is no need for words, after all. And the biological ties can be quite animalistic, in the purest sense of the word: motherhood is also a caress, a kiss, a smell.
Just as in the final rendez-vous with her biological mother, who after refusing several telegrams, finally decides to meet Freddie, casting the audience into the most touching and compelling scene of the whole movie: two creatures of the same flesh recognizing each other after 30 years.
Davy Chou is capable of reflecting this physical but mostly introspective journey upon specific stylistic choices that lead the direction to sway according to the character’s arc. From initial livelier moments that show the still chaotic protagonist, to a nocturnal note made of neon lights and electronic music that the girl who remained in Seoul immerse into, as an escape not to face the fact that she is simply lost, to the more sober part when years later she comes back as a mature career woman who hides her scars. And then there is the final part. Slow, peaceful and steady, an ending chapter that can be titled in one word as acceptance.
Short hair, no make-up, just her and a back-pack in a secluded hotel uphill. There is no need for fancy backgrounds or enticing settings anymore: she sits on the toilet and she sends an email to her biological mom, wishing her the same happiness that she has now reached. The address doesn’t exist though, and just like her, we will never know is she can find her again.
And Freddie, unhurried, plays the piano.
What happened doesn’t matter anymore, the pain of the journey, the awaiting, the fights, the drunk texts from her father, the despair of a whole family, the years of not talking anymore, the gatherings, the several refusal of her mother, the sadness of her adoptive one, the romantic affairs that come and go, the friendship, the weapons, the politics, the identity, the mistakes and the understanding.
Nothing matters anymore. There is only forgiveness.
Park Ji-min’s extraordinary debut portrays a visceral self-search that can only leave the audience speechless.
Again, words are much overrated.
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