La femme qui s'est enfuie

A film in three sections, the first of which was easily 10 stars for me. Not really like anything I've ever seen, though the long takes, simple framing and meandering but always engaging dialogue is reminiscent of Rohmer. Also as in Rohmer, the abundant chatting gives the characters plenty of space to reveal the peculiarities and even little aggressions behind their seemingly bland, friendly normality. What's really new is how effortlessly, almost inexplicably funny all this is. I was just delighted by this part, by its originality, sheer, rare intelligence and perfect subtlety. Virtually nothing else in cinema now reaches these kinds of heights and, watching on Mubi as I was, where one is all too aware of this, I was feeling immensely relieved: 'Finally, something good.'

Then the second section starts, our 30s female protagonist visits another friend and a sinking feeling set in as I realised the comedy was gone and wasn't coming back. Was I just in it for the yuks? No, damnit, the funny part was also the smart part that had something to say, and the writing of which was like a delicate high wire act. After that, the film kneecaps itself with its own self-conscious, humourless pursuit of profundity, and where part 1 was subtle, the lunging at the depths is almost embarrassingly blunt.

It's like the film is dumping on the first section, on its own best part, telling us it was all just a bit of fun before we got to the serious, important, grown-up stuff. But look how banal that stuff is. Did we really need to meet the second friend to learn, yet again, that the single life is hard, or the third to learn, again yet again, that marriage is often no better? Did we, in particular, need the protagonist's repetition in each of these sections of the same info about her life with her husband? Yes, it arguably takes on new inflections each time, but the first was already weird and easily the most interesting, precisely because it was delivered as if it was perfectly fine.

It's all reminiscent of the lesson anyone learns if they take a decent improv class: those things you think you need to do to justify the piece are done out of insecurity and are bad.

House visits, shared meals and dialogue, are themes that this movie is based on. It is a simple movie, with unique details, and yet with no so simple theme. It is a story of a young woman trying to find her own path, trying to define herself. She visits her friends and, maybe to keep it safe, tells the same suspiciously repetitive story of her life to each of them. She tries not to stray too far away from the society, however we know that she already did.

I really liked the finishing of scenes with zooming in on characters´faces, including a stray cat. Just a little touch to give the viewer even more intimate perspective, beyond the dialogue we hear. It seems to be an inaudible comment saying: which version of "I" are we: the one that we present to others, or the private one, known only by ourselves?

It is a good, simple, yet not boring movie. To me, it lacked a bit of surprise or complexity of plot for a higher score.

PS Korean fashion is really aesthetically pleasing.

HSS loves to come at it sideways. This movie opens in the morning to a batch of chooks, whose owner is going for a job interview, and neighbour Young-soon wishes her well. Is the interview successful? An evening CCTV shot is a clue.

But visiting Young-soon is Gam-hee, who tells us repeatedly she's "never apart" from her new husband, a translator. Except, it's his idea, not hers.

The two pals hold an absurdist lunch conversation about the nature of eating meat, while another Young-soon neighbour begs her to stop feeding the local cats. This meta-conversation bats back and forth. The cat steals the scene.

Gam-hee's next visitee Su-young is also interrupted by an annoying bloke, a self-important poet who can't get over a one-night stand. But once again the two pals converse a little too brightly about nothing in particular - clothes, art, the mountain, the neighbourhood, the mystery person who discounted the price on Su-young's apartment. We never quite find out why.

Gam-hee runs into a third pal, and apologises for some long-previous slight. We never find out what. This third pal just happens to be married to Gam-hee's ex, a famous, and famously windy, writer.

Can the writer be sincere, if he just keeps saying the same thing over and over? An obvious reference to HSS himself, with two dozen movies in two dozen years. Then Gam-hee herself works a brittle encounter with the ex himself.

Cerebral manoeuvres about art and artists, but this is a movie, which has to signify through visuals, not just dialogue. Inside 80 minutes, HSS largely pulls it off. He is one of a kind, and I wish his movies were easier to access.

If you find "Parasite" over the top, try HSS instead, for a different aspect of Korea's wonderful cinema.

I remember once generalising that any film that takes three hours to tell its story can't really be that good. Of course, such generalisations are rubbish; films are as good or as bad as they are whether they are ten minutes long or ten hours but there's something to be said for 'the miniature'. Little films can be beautifully polished gems and there are many small films of seventy-five minutes or so that you wish would go on forever.

Sang-soo Hong's "The Woman who Ran" is one such film. It's a conversation piece and there's a lot of small talk but it's so beautifully directed and acted you feel a sense of privilege just being with these people and these people are mostly female friends, or maybe just acquaintances, spending time together. When a man makes an early appearance, in a terrifically written and very funny single take sequence, he seems something of an intruder but Hong has so much fun with the scene he makes for a very welcome intruder. Mostly, however, it's just women talking about their lives, the men in their lives, their pasts and the pleasure or otherwise of eating meat and I wish it could have gone on for another hour or so.

" Three states, whether divorced, unmarried or married, none is perfect for a woman, each has its own pitfalls and perks, that amounts to common knowledge. As for Gam-hee, what runs underneath her 'happy marriage' guise is some undertow inaccessible to viewers. Kim Min-hee can telegraph emotional shadings in a heartbeat, but cumulatively, she hardly step out of her comfort zone in Hong's conceptualization of an 'every woman' to his liking, all her characters are consistently cerebral, coy, sensitive and prone to keep one's own counsel."

read my full review on my blog: Cinema Omnivore, thanks.