THE STORY – Four strangers’ paths cross by chance, leading to complex emotional entanglements that challenge their existing relationships and force them to confront uncomfortable truths about love and commitment.
THE CAST – Jeon Do-yeon, Sul Kyung-gu, Zo In-sung & Cho Yeo-jeong
THE TEAM – Lee Chang-dong (Director/Writer) & Oh Jung-mi (Writer)
THE RUNNING TIME – 164 Minutes
There’s a moment very early on in “Possible Love” that shows a trio of characters, two parents and their child, getting into a car to head off to some destination. The purpose of their trip isn’t revealed, and the only thing we can glean is that they are sitting in a kind of somber reflection. As the woman in the front seat begins to say something, the man next to her puts his arm around her and gives her permission to cry. She quickly follows. It’s a small action, devoid of any context as to what stirs such strong emotions. But it’s interesting to see a slight trigger at first that will eventually grow into a more profound meditation. A seed is planted right away, meant to comment on emotions hidden away, refusing to reveal themselves until a nudge of encouragement allows the wall to break. It’s what makes the film’s storytelling so resonant, becoming a moody, stirring portrait of wrestling back personal control from a diverse set of oppressive systems.
That scene that opens the film soon reveals a family headed to a funeral. The deceased was a worker at the plant where Ho-seok (Sul Kyung-gu) was also formerly employed. He and a large number of people had their positions terminated after a private equity firm took a controlling interest, and restructuring followed. A haze of melancholy hangs over the family, causing further tension between him and his wife Mi-ok (Jeon Do-yeon). The news of the layoffs draws national attention and attracts the interest of Ye-ji (Cho Yeo-jeong). She is a documentary filmmaker who sets out to analyze the lives of these workers going through this difficult time. She sets her sights on the pair, inserting herself into their lives to pull out their emotions even further. Mi-ok is much more willing to give herself over to the project than Ho-seok, but she slowly draws them in through her insistence. They grow closer to her and Sang-woo (Zo In-sung), Ye-ji’s affluent husband, who supports her endeavors. As the two couples spend more time together, their true intentions start to show. What began uniting this group soon creates a fissure, exposing just how deep their differences truly run.
The beauty of Lee Chang-dong’s storytelling is that it always manages to quietly stir provocative musings that don’t always become recognizable until they’ve simmered in your mind. It takes time for the narrative to unfold, methodically displaying the pieces of a larger portrait that eventually becomes a resonant commentary. The script from Lee and Oh Jung-mi begins as an exploration of buried emotional trauma. The stoic patriarch gives his wife permission to express her feelings, but he remains constantly reserved. A confluence of personal losses makes him resistant to divulging more, which starkly contrasts with his wife’s open-book approach to these new strangers. But her insistence on compensating for her partner seems foundational to the pair. A flashback shows an aggressive interaction between them that ends with a tender verbalization of love, supposedly from him, but these words are spoken only by her. It’s a detail that massively informs the tenor of this dynamic: a simple gesture indicative of the soulful expression each is striving for, and the level of concealment both indulge in. As Mi-ok’s wedding ring keeps slipping off her finger, it’s another signal of the profound love between them existing in such a fragile state.
It’s a strand that also plays into the depiction of the power structures between the couples. Ye-ji enters their lives with noble intentions, wanting to record their experiences in a highly volatile circumstance. Her attempts to establish an emotional bond, though, are always questioned. She is close to wealth because of her husband. Still, she refuses to acknowledge it, using public resources for her films that could instead support independent artists with no other means of financial support. She invites the family to their home, an obscene display of their affluence and privilege against their meager household. She prods her subjects to open up to her invasive camera, then shuts it off when she’s compelled to say something personal herself. The documentary is meant to expose the rampant labor exploitation, as she is unwilling to acknowledge her complicity within that system. There is no recognition of the housemaids and gardeners that are employed in her estate, nor the business dealings Sang-woo is dealing in that are not very thinly disguised as another economic disruptor for many of the country’s workers. So much is packed into this tale that it invites introspection and reflection. That has always been an essential element for any of Lee’s stories, and this is yet another captivating narrative to immerse yourself within.
That tone perfectly matches his directorial eye, finely attuned to the sense of isolation at odds with this group’s attempt to become more intimate. A powerful scene in which Ho-seok follows a man into a restaurant, played in muffled stillness, reveals so much about the internalized turmoil that rages beneath a calm exterior. The cameras along the property suggest a rigid voyeurism, connecting back to the documentary’s attempt to peer at its subjects with the intention of leering at their vulnerability. His filmmaking maintains a steady hand in reveling in the environment, much like his efforts in the fantastic mood-setting employed in “Burning.” Occasionally, though, the indulgence goes on a little too long, and the meditative tone can become a bit too tedious to endure. Given the excessive runtime, some scenes feel needlessly extended to the point that the momentum begins to wane. Most of it is still plenty engrossing, but it does occasionally grow tiresome.
The quartet performances all deliver stunning work. Jeon is best among them, using that outgoing charm to communicate her intention to chase a desired freedom that has been stifled. She is welcoming but has a specific understanding of the tensions surrounding her, and it is perfectly captured in her alluring performance. The conflicting motivations that Cho must navigate are also compelling, as she has to modulate just how much her endearing sensitivity can mask the hypocrisy. She crafts a portrait of a woman who has passion for the work but with insidious intent, and it’s a well-constructed portrayal. The nefarious undercurrent can also be seen in Zo’s portrayal as well. From the very first moment, he brings that alluring screen presence, an intense, affable aura that slowly unearths a sinisterness that lurks just around the edges. He makes the character inhabit a sense of unpredictable danger, willing to be a gracious host with an air of judgment that makes him an absorbing figure. Sul is given an emotional catharsis that, while necessary for his character’s arc, is far less effective than the internal performance he must maintain for most of the film. It’s when that anger and grief must be bottled up, and his physicality says so much more to his state of mind than any line of dialogue. The bigger moments at the end are not his strengths, but he still delivers an impactful turn all the same.
“Possible Love” is definitely the kind of film that leaves you pondering all the questions it dares to ask within its story. It lingers in the mind as you contemplate the journey these characters have taken, what the relationships mean to one another, and how their storylines reflect the status of the world we are all forced to reckon with within ourselves. It’s a powerful observation to witness, and it doesn’t always settle immediately. But that is often the signal of great cinema. Lee Chang-dong’s masterful sense of worldbuilding slowly invites you into this enticing landscape and becomes a riveting experience. Despite occasional moments of tedium or some less successful bluntness, the narrative and performances remain engaging throughout. The results still provoke a moving response as you consider how small human interactions can have such large consequences for how people relate to one another. Even if the epiphany doesn’t strike immediately, it lingers within the soul to a degree that buries itself deep and won’t let go.
