Mulher na praia

There are only a handful of filmmakers working today of whom it can truly be said that each film of theirs takes us into a world instantly recognizable as the product of that filmmakers' mind. Claire Denis certainly comes to mind, as do such masters as Aleksandr Sokurov, Kim Ki-duk, Tsai Ming-liang, Catherine Breillat, and Michael Haneke.

Although his films haven't rec'd the same distribution in the U.S. as those esteemed names mentioned above, add Hong Sang-soo to that list. I've loved everything I've seen from him -- especially Woman Is The Future of Man -- but it was seeing Woman on the Beach recently at the Toronto Film Festival that confirmed him in my mind as one of the most assured hands in film today. His vision of modern life -- neurotic, self-obsessed urban adults still struggling with childish hang-ups as they attempt to balance careers and relationships with lust and alcoholism -- comes through vividly in this film, first with washes of warm humor and later with squrim-worthy insights into modern relationships.

It's tempting to make a comparison to Woody Allen in his late-'70s prime, and yet the humor here is subtler and more complex, with a sly contemporary sophistication all its own -- and the humor gives way to resonant drama more naturally than in most of Allen's work. Some characters get only a minute or two of screen time, yet feel more alive to me than leading characters in lesser films. What's more, it's also an exquisitely shot film, with an emotionally evocative setting likely to stick in your mind long after the lights come up.

Other than Apichatpong Weerasethakul's "Syndromes and a Century," a film just as effective and affecting (although in very different ways), "Woman on the Beach" was the film that stood out to me the most from the 15 or so I saw at this year's Toronto Int'l Film Fest. Both films are film-art of the highest order, the kind of rich, challenging art-house fare that Wellspring would have given a U.S. theatrical run were they still around. Perhaps someone else will step up to the plate -- Palm Pictures, maybe, or Plexifilm? Here's hoping; movies like this one deserve to be seen all over the world -- and not just on home video!

Where Hong Sang-soo's dramas differ from Eric Rohmer's, other than all the ways that come with being Korean not French, is notably in the egotism mitigated by irony of having one the main characters in his movies often happen to be a handsome, hunky famous director. In this one it's a "Director Kim," as he's respectfully addressed (Kim Joong-rae, played by Kim Seung-woo) who goes to the somewhat sterile environment of the semi-deserted Shinduri beach resort on Korea's west coast with his production designer, Won Chang-wook (Kim Tae-woo) in hopes of ending a creative block and penning the treatment for his next film. Won brings along a girlfriend, composer Kim Moon-sook (Ko Hyun-joung, a former TV star) and competition gets blatantly going when Director Kim takes Moon-sook aside and frankly says he's interested in her and asks her whether she'd prefer him over the designer, given a free choice.

The blatancy of Joong-rae's authority is underlined by his being older, better-looking, physically bigger and stronger-looking, and possessed of a deeper voice. In comparison Won's a mild, slightly nerdy fellow. But despite that, Joong-rae's not an out-and-out winner. He's comically chauvinistic in the way he damns the lady's music with faint praise. And in the time that follows he proves to be neurotic and indecisive, stuffing his hands in his jeans and wiggling around on his legs with comic unease. Moon-sook's dating men when living in Germany he admits is a turn-on for temporary dating, but the opposite for a long-term relationship. He has a serious hangup about mating with a woman who's experienced. Like a good Eric Rohmer character, he hesitates and they discuss. Moon-sook winds up saying that he's wonderful to her as a director, but in other ways just "a typical Korean man." Hong's stories often refer to sex and show couples in bed, but they aren't erotic and characters rarely go all the way. Kim and Moon-sook do however begin with some long kisses on the beach that evening.

At another point Director Kim has a violent outburst of anger at a restaurant the trio enters because the owners are half asleep when they come in, and Chang-wook gets equally over-the-top in anger over the injustice of this and insists Kim must apologize. This seems random, except to show that both men have little control over their male egos, and tend to flail about, while the lady remains cool and composed.

In spite of all this Moon-sook becomes fascinated with Kim and they spent a night in an empty hotel room, but the next day Kim says it's too quiet for him to work and they all leave Shinduri. Two days later Kim's back on his own though, and leaves a phone message with Moon-sook, regretting his indecisiveness. He "interviews" a woman he runs into who "reminds" him of Moon-sook and takes her up to the same room he was in two nights earlier. Things get complicated when Moon-sook herself reappears and has a drunken emotional outburst outside the room. The new woman eventually feels hurt and abandoned too. In the midst of all this there's a cute dog that gets abandoned by a mysterious couple, and Director Kim pulls an "unused muscle" and is temporarily disabled. Lots of snacking and drinking to a drunken state accompanies all these developments. By himself and with his leg semi-paralyzed Kim somehow turns out the film treatment. The relationships seem unresolved, but Moon-sook is by herself at the end leaving Shinduri again in her little car, which symbolically gets stuck in the sand and then gets out again so she can drive off on her own, free.

Woman on the Beach differs from previous Hong films in presenting its few main characters in the relative isolation of this new, somewhat drab resort during a cold spring season. The atmosphere is well used and the scenes are vivid. This film of Hong's is perhaps even more inconclusive than most, and a bit long, but the rhythms of the conversations and the clarity of the blocking and editing arouse one's admiration and this, like all Hong's films, is original and watchable and will not disappoint his fans – which include the selection committee of the Film Society of Lincoln Center: they've been choosing his latest film as one of the NYFF's primary offerings every year for three years in a row. It's also true that Hong's improvisational way of working always results in fluid, convincing performances by his actors.

Sometimes a Korean film really grabs me, like Il Mare, which was remade into The Lake House. It was a beautifully romantic film; just what this wasn't.

The dialog throughout was superficial and boring. It never really rose above the level you would expect in a bar or nightclub.

Superficial is a good term to describe Director Kim Jung-rae (Seung-woo Kim). he was really self-conscious and a bit misogynist. He was only interesting in bedding whomever he could; not in anything resembling a relationship.

After he had Kim Mun-Suk (Hyun-jung Go) he was ready to move on and get rid of her. He immediately started looking for someone that looked like her (Seon-mi Song) to bed.

It was a big disappointment, and, for a comedy, it wasn't even funny.

It has been said that in America sex is an obsession, while in Europe it is a fact. If the characters in Sang-Soo Hong's Woman on the Beach are representative, it is also an obsession in Korea.

In the film, the male lead, film director Jung-Rae Kim, has affairs with two women, Moon-Sook and Sun-Hee, during a spring weekend at a seafront resort. Late in the film, when the two women meet for lunch, they ask each other about their deepest fears. One says it is obsession; for the other it is betrayal. These two themes, embedded within the overriding question of whether life is truly better in the new affluent Korea, dominate the 2 hours and 7 minute version of the movie that was shown at the Philadelphia Film Festival.

According to IMDb the American version is only 1 hour and 40 minutes, and indeed, for American tastes, much could have been shortened. For example, the scene in which one of Moon-Sook sees Director Kim with the other woman, Sun-Hee, through the resort's picture window that overlooks the sea. She gets into her car parked beneath the window, starts the engine, and for an interminable minute, we watch the car sitting there with the engine running. Finally she turns off the engine and walks away. Powerful stuff? Well, not for this American moviegoer.

Indeed Director Hong beats the viewer over the head with symbolism to make sure no one misses his points. A white dog abandoned by the side of the road represents the betrayal that all the key players show toward one another. A bicyclist left choking on the dust of a passing car is just one reminder that the new Korea is not always better than the old. But when it comes to showing obsessions, Hong outdoes himself. In one scene, Director Kim draws a triangle on a napkin to graphically display the three images of his former wife's affair with a friend that obsess him. Only now he has something new to obsess over, for Moon-Sook admits she had two or three sexual encounters with foreigners when she lived in Germany. Were their dicks bigger than mine, he wonders. New dots on the napkin to obsess over! Ah, he must have new affairs to create new images in his mind so that he can replace the old triangles of obsession with new dots that create a more hopeful shape. Why doesn't he just see a therapist, we ask.

Hong is a talented director and the film gives Western audiences a feel for Korean obsessions and angsts. For that it's worth seeing, but after sitting through 127 minutes of beachfront betrayal and recriminations by people who are not really that likable—kind of the Korean equivalent of the self-obsessed New Yorkers in Squid and the Whale, I'm not quite ready to see Hong's earlier works, such as The Day a Pig Fell into the Well.

A film director with writer's block leaves the city of Seoul to finish his script at a Korean seaside resort. An entanglement with two women, however, reveals his inner confusion and forces him to confront his self-defeating behavior. Hong Sang-soo's latest, Woman on the Beach, is a comedy drama about love and the complications that develop in relationships when one partner is less than candid with the other. Like the films of Eric Rohmer, Woman on the Beach is simple on the surface yet explores a deeper layer of complexity in human relationships that is insightful and revealing.

As the film opens, director Joong-rae (Kim Seung-woo) travels to Shinduri Beach on Korea's West Coast hoping to renew his inspiration. He brings along his production designer Chang-wook (Kim Tae-woo) and Chang-wook's girl friend Moon-sook (Ko Hyeon-geong), a composer of popular songs. It becomes clear almost immediately that Moon-sook is enamored with the director and the two soon sneak away from Chang-wook and find an empty hotel room where they exchange vows of love. On the surface, she is a strong, independent woman, while Joon-rae gives the appearance of a calm and confident artist, yet both are rebounding from previous relationships and are very vulnerable.

When the morning comes, Joong-rae's warm emotions of the previous night have turned chilly. Unable to confront the feelings that reminded him of his failed marriage, he feigns anxiety and asks to be driven back to the city, leaving a phone message for Moon-sook. When he returns to the seaside after a few days, on the pretense of asking for an interview for his film, he meets Sun-hee (Song Seon-mi) who resembles Moon-sook. They spend the afternoon and night together, exchanging vows of affection, similar to those given to Moon-sook.

When Moon-sook comes looking for him in a drunken rage, however, he has to confront his deceptions and the tangled web he was woven. Woman on the Beach is a thoroughly engaging film with sparkling dialogue, complex characters, and outstanding performances from the lead actors. If it leaves us with a touch of sadness about people's inability to connect, it also leaves us smiling about their resilience and capacity for joy. Though Hong's characters are flawed, we identify with their weakness because they are all too human and may even reflect our own failings.