‘Spring Night’ Review: Kang Mi-ja Returns With a Compact Co-Dependency Drama

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The second film by Kang Mi-ja after a 17-year hiatus, titled “Spring Night,” is a poignant, compact drama about two people whose lives intersect briefly, evoking a sense of ships passing in the night. This film, based on Kwon Yeo-sun’s novel, tells the story of an older woman struggling with alcoholism and a man dealing with arthritis who meet in midlife. The narrative possesses a dreamlike quality and a cryptic approach that jumps through time in both innovative and familiar ways. Although this time travel helps create intriguing feelings, it sometimes hinders the movie from fully resonating, despite the powerful, heart-wrenching moments its actors deliver.

In the movie, Kang skillfully establishes her characters with a strong, almost instructional feel, yet manages to do so efficiently due to the film’s compact 67-minute length. The introductory scene shows Su-hwan (played by Kim Seol-jin), a quiet individual getting ready for a friend’s wedding afterparty, while an acquaintance interrogates him about his financial troubles without realizing Su-hwan’s health struggles. Instead of defending himself, Su-hwan subtly withdraws within the frame’s boundaries. The scene then transitions to distressing close-ups of a stranger, Yeong-gyeong (portrayed by Han Ye-ri), at the previously mentioned event. This woman, whose enigmatic pain is overwhelming, downs shots of soju amidst passed-out guests before Su-hwan — the only other conscious person present — helps her home on his back, while she shares tender, lyrical whispers with him.

Over time, these casual encounters transform into regular occurrences for both Yeong-gyeong and Su-hwan. In these meetings, Yeong-gyeong confides in Su-hwan, while he finds solace in their company. There’s a definite romantic undertone to their interactions, but it’s also clear that they depend on each other, leading to complex issues down the line. When they both seek help for their personal problems, they encounter complications. Interestingly, this practical aspect of the story progresses slowly in such a small film, but Kang skillfully explores its subtle nuances. The movie’s narrative, though linear, moves at an uneven pace, with abrupt transitions to black not just between scenes, but also within ongoing ones, as if mirroring Yeong-gyeong’s fading consciousness when she passes out due to drinking.

Occasionally, Kang’s simple two-person scenes in “Spring Night” bear a resemblance to the tranquil settings often found in Hong Sang-soo’s films (a director known for characters who express concerns about life through drinks). However, it is their differences that truly stand out. Unlike Kang, who rarely creates a serene or peaceful environment within her scenes, Han fills the space with a subtle sense of energy, be it from city life, nature, or even a buzzing atmosphere, which gives off an unsettling vibe that Yeong-gyeong attempts to alleviate through dialogue. With a hidden undercurrent of pain, Han assumes the role of a sort of commentator, disclosing aspects of Yeong-gyeong’s past as soon as there is a pause in their conversation.

Regrettably, the absence or presence of Su-hwan is so integral to the structure of the movie that the narrative struggles to move past this gap. He remains a mystery, an enigma. However, where “Spring Night” falters as conventional drama, it excels in a more intangible way, serving as a film that explores the haunting query: “How can one fill emptiness?” The responses are found not only in auditory gaps but also in expansive physical surroundings surrounding the main characters, particularly during night sequences where possibilities appear endless. It’s at its strongest when it’s poetic and detached from reality, despite frequently brushing up against that boundary.

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2025-02-19 07:16