Feathers in the Wind (2004)

Feathers in the Wind (Song Il-gon, 2004)
Korean Title: Git

It all started with a promise similar to the one made in the end of Richard Linklater's Before Sunrise (1995). Two young lovers agree to meet again in that same motel in a remote rural island after ten years. Filmmaker Hyeong-seong (Jang Hyeong-seong) return to the island a decade after; seeking a closure from that first relationship that kept him rooting against Germany during soccer matches and perpetually reminiscent of that former romance. He is unsure if his ex-girlfriend, who left for Europe to study piano-playing and later on marries her German professor, would stay true to that promise.

The pangs of waiting for that said event invade his persona. Right after completing a film he describes as a box office failure and a mediocrity, he tries to write his second screenplay but is unable to do so because of the more impending matters that affect him. In the island, he is taken care of by the motel's caretaker, a jovial yet undeniably sweet girl named So-yeon (Lee So-yeon). Underneath the violent stormy weather are other extrinsic events that would add a touch of mysticism to Hyeong-seong's island getaway; a mysterious peacock lands in the island's rocky beaches, a piano being delivered by an unknown sender to the remote island, So-yeon's bleached-haired uncle awaits for his wife who left him and afflicted him with the lack of desire to talk, and finally, the image of So-yeon lonesomely dancing the tango with her hair distinguished by a single feather.

As with his first feature Flower Island (2001), Song Il-gon utilizes digital stock to capture the beauty of Udo Island. Originally commissioned as part of an omnibus film that would tackle issues on environmentalism, Feathers in the Wind expanded into a seventy minute feature that simply oozes with a subtle romantic fever brought about by a mixture of common love tropes (as with the premise that seems to originate from Linklater's more famous film) and Song's use of injecting mythical and mystical fuel to his narrative. It results in an endeavor that evolves with an unrushed passionate push; that when the climax starts to slide comfortably from the relaxed narrative, a more enhanced swooning emotion is felt --- the Hollywood trope fascinatingly meshes with the more individualistic moods of Song with remarkable grace.

Hyeong-seong and So-yeon's affair is something that doesn't blossom; it just happens --- probably because of their respective reasons; So-yeon's freshness offers a curative antidote to Hyeong-seong's relational hurts while Hyeong-seong's air of mystery pushes So-yeon to opt to discover and experience. Actually, their initial conversations never go deeper the same way Jesse and Celine initially sparked conversations on life, death, philosophy and culture in Linklater's films. The conversations never fathom the inevitabilities of attraction, probably at its most subtle, it only tangentially scrapes the possibilities of the two longing for each other. Through games, requests, and little favors, something erupts and the effect, although largely predictable, has a gravity that is quite surprising; that when Hyeong-seong finally leaves the island, and So-yeon rushes with her uncle to say their belated farewells and an acceptance of another challenge to meet up in a certain place after a year, it comes off as totally impromptu and more emotionally resonating.

Feathers in the Wind is Song Il-gon in his most basic, most unembellished, and simplest. Yet from the simplicity of the picture, from the numerous grains and pixelations of his digitally captured visuals, from the intimacy of his subject, and the earnest existence of his very few characters and their individual needs, he arrives at his most resounding and emotionally truthful work.

Flower Island (2001)

Flower Island (Song Il-gon, 2001)
Korean Title: Ggot seom

Other than Yu-jin (Lim Yu-jin), who we first meet narrating how she got punished by the gods for abandoning her promise of using her gift of song for good, we get introduced to the trio of females in very compromising scenarios. Seventeen year-old Hye-na (Kim Hye-na) undergoes a self-inflicted abortion inside a filthy restroom; while motherly Oak-nam (Seo Ju-hie) bares herself for a paying elderly man who after several sexual thrusts, dies of a cardiac arrest. Oak-nam is temporarily discharged by her husband who learns of her prostituting to buy her daughter a piano. She meets Hye-na inside during a busride to the Southern Seas --- Hye-na is on a trip to find her lost mother while Oak-nam seeks the legendary Flower Island, said to be the place to ease pains and burdens.

We finally witness Yu-jin compromising scenario when an impersonal doctor announces her medical predicament --- her tongue has to be removed to prevent the spreading of a cancerous growth in her throat. An opera singer, she loses the will to live, until she is rescued by Oak-nam and Hye-na who brings her along their trip to Flower Island. The three females undergo what seems like a roadtrip to an Oz-like place of magic and promises; along the way, they meet colorful characters who in their respective manners and ways, allow a tender and subtle release of each female's personal ache. A truck driver who carries his friend's corpse to town, a traveling music band led by jealous singer and his life partner, a mysterious man who lived with Hye-na's mother, and the proprietress of the island --- these personalities and their anecdotes and methods represent the promises of the island.

Lodz-trained Song Il-gon's directorial debut, Flower Island, is fashioned like several pieces of individual memories forcedly pasted together, like the coincidental meet-ups of these three troubled women. The point-of-view is always past-oriented, with the narrative being interrupted by flashbacks; as if there's a likely prevention of moving forward, of an outward acceptance as the world has been swallowed by the lasting scars of a troubled past.

Song's method of using digital film to capture the happenings creates an unfathomable viewing experience. The lack of detail (caused by digital filmmaking) causes a frustrating feeling of being trapped within the meager extents of the medium. Bodies and faces fade and disappear from focus; objects do not have their concrete appeal; experiences and events therefore are appropriated a fleeting feel, like they're happening not in this real world but in a mythical other-universe wherein pains and aches are as temporary as the captured movements and conversations. It's oddly mesmerizing; wherein the visual technique inhabits the poetic form Song drapes his feature with.

The film's ending is both mysterious but unsurprising. It adequately gives the feature an earthy and mortal conclusion without necessarily pulling away from the fairy-tale feel of this grim yet hopeful parable. Song possesses an admirable control on his vision and his themes; something quite surprising as this is his first feature film. The film aches when it needs to ache, and its joyous when there's a reason to celebrate --- yet despite the numerous facets of emotions on display, the film is headed in a single direction; no tricky shortcuts or long-winded stop-overs. Flower Island is one satisfactory road trip where emotions swell in every step, that when the destination is reached and leaves you still cold and curious, there still seems to be no trace of regret and remorse in traversing such path.