THE STORY – A murder strikes a community, and conflict escalates between the son of the victims and the son of the accused. A hard-hitting drama about the grief of guilt, in which tension reigns.
THE CAST – Kim Gyu-na, Oh Ja-jun & Moon Seong-hyun
THE TEAM – Kim Sung-yoon (Director/Writer)
THE RUNNING TIME – 105 Minutes
South Korean cinema has long held a well-deserved reputation for crafting emotionally resonant dramas – stories that deftly balance humanity’s rawest pain with moments of beauty, tenderness, and insight. “Fragment,” which had its North American premiere at the Fantasia International Film Festival, is a piercing new entry into this tradition. “Fragment” explores the invisible aftermath of one horrific crime through the lens of two boys, each on opposite sides of the tragedy neither of them asked for, but must learn how to survive, resulting in an incredibly strong directorial debut by Kim Sung-yoon.
Opening with a breathtaking shot of a city skyline before diving into the grim reality of a cramped, cluttered apartment, “Fragment” immediately sets the tone. Here we meet Jun-gang (Oh Ja-hun), a teenage boy forced into the impossible role of provider for his younger sister, Jun-hui (Kim Gyu-na). There is no sign of their parents, just overdue bills and an empty wallet. It seems that he’s the man of the house, somehow having to attend school while trying to find money to make sure his sister has a roof over her head. He sells cigarettes to make some money, but that is not enough, especially when the landlord comes knocking.
Soon, the film shifts perspectives and introduces us to Gi-su (Moon Seong-hyun), a quiet boy cloaked in grief. His home is full of ghosts, both literal and emotional. His parents have been murdered. And the man who committed that crime? Jun-gang’s father. This devastating revelation isn’t delivered with a twisty, melodramatic flourish. Instead, Kim, who also wrote the film, lets the knowledge settle into the narrative slowly. The strength of “Fragment” lies in its restraint. It doesn’t rush toward confrontation. Instead, it studies pain from all sides: the grief of a victim’s child and the guilt of a killer’s child. Both Jun-gang and Gi-su are hurting. Both boys are isolated and stubbornly reject the help offered to them, whether it’s from Gi-su’s well-meaning aunt or Jun-gang’s quietly concerned teacher.
The two boys live parallel lives stitched together by shared trauma. Through beautifully composed editing and clever cinematic mirroring, we feel their connection long before they ever meet. A scene where Gi-su’s internal screams fill a silent room, his back turned to the camera, is echoed later when Jun-gang is filmed the same way, breathing deeply and quietly, trying to keep calm in the face of eviction. Their pain is different, but it rhymes.
One of the film’s most stunning scenes occurs when Jun-gang finds himself slowly following Gi-su, as the latter walks home after a hospital visit. There are no words exchanged, no confrontation. The camera lingers at a distance, letting their proximity, charged with tension, speak volumes. There is a profound power in how the film explores the slow, lingering effects of trauma and its unwillingness to simplify it into tidy boxes.
By the time Jun-gang and Jun-hui face their uncertain future hand-in-hand, and as Gi-su, too, begins to find the strength to let go of the decaying fragments of his former life, “Fragment” finds its fragile note of hope. The bond between these three children, once torn by violence, becomes the very thing that offers a way forward.
While the film finds much strength in its script, some elements, like the score, sometimes lean too heavily into melodrama, and certain performances veer into the overly theatrical. But these moments are few and never undercut the film’s deeper emotional truth, and just how much pressure is placed on these young characters and the talented young actors tasked with portraying them.
“Fragment” is a heavy, sometimes harrowing film. But it’s also human, beautifully crafted, and vital. It stands as further proof that South Korean filmmakers remain unparalleled in their ability to turn pain into art.
