‘Winter in Sokcho’ Review: A Small Town Woman Fixates on a Visiting Artist in Koya Kamura’s Thoughtful Adaptation

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Experiencing oneself through another’s perspective can offer enlightenment, yet it can also become quite captivating – especially when that perspective belongs to an artist eagerly viewing the world as potential material for his creations. Koya Kamura’s “Winter in Sokcho” (an adaptation of Elisa Shua Dusapin’s novel with the same title) showcases this very conflict between a French-Korean young woman and an older French illustrator. Their unusual bond, as fragile as it is intriguing, proves challenging to sustain and difficult to comprehend throughout Kamura’s bittersweet dual portrayal of isolation.

In the quaint coastal town of Sokcho, Soo-Ha (Bella Kim) leads a monotonous daily existence. Originally driven by academic ambitions in literature, she now works at a guesthouse where she caters to and maintains the accommodation for tourists even during the sluggish winter months. It’s there that she encounters Yan Kerrand (Roschdy Zem), an artist seeking immersion into the common life of Sokcho, believing it would spark the creative impulse needed for his graphic novel.

Right from the beginning, these two taciturn individuals find themselves mysteriously attracted to each other. It’s convenient that she is fluent in French and can thus act as a valuable guide for this seemingly unpromising town. She chooses to stay put because of her ailing mother, despite her ambitious model boyfriend pushing for them to build a life together in Seoul.

Soo-Ha appears lost in her thoughts, her round glasses and bulky winter clothes serving as a mask. Instead of focusing on herself, she often gazes outward, possibly as a means of avoiding introspection. The arrival of Yan, however, stirs something within her – it either irritates or awakens her. Soo-Ha’s father, a French engineer who abandoned Sokcho without realizing he had left a pregnant woman behind, seems to be mirrored in Yan. As she delves deeper into Yan’s work (striking inked illustrations that she admires for their melancholic tone) and acts as his reluctant tour guide (even driving him to the DMZ), Soo-Ha finds herself drawn to his artistic talent and mysterious personality. She no longer just assists in translating when he buys art supplies; instead, she begins to integrate herself into his daily life, peeking on him from a nearby room when he’s not there and examining his work when it’s unattended. She even offers to cook for him – perhaps as a way of demonstrating her own abilities.

For Yan, Soo-Ha becomes an invaluable resource, though he consistently attempts to maintain distance in their relationship. He’s drawn to explore the scenery and lose himself in the landscapes, which is why it’s not surprising that he grows uncomfortable with the close bond this young woman eagerly cultivates. As winter approaches and the days grow colder, Soo-Ha feels increasingly isolated from those around her. She’s disenchanted with her boyfriend and annoyed by her mother. However, Yan is the only one who manages to keep her engaged. But is she seeking a surrogate father figure or something else entirely? Are Yan’s illustrations igniting her creative spark or are they encouraging her to view herself as a captivating muse? Or could this relationship be transactional and exploitative, originally intended to remain within certain boundaries?

The movie “Winter in Sokcho” doesn’t straightforwardly address the questions posed, but instead explores the complex ways strangers form bonds under unconventional circumstances. The script penned by Kamura and Stéphane Ly-Cuong delves deeply into the intricate relationship between Yan and Soo-Ha, presenting a narrative that shifts between the subtle intimacy of a subdued romance and the suspenseful atmosphere of a family drama. A persistent undercurrent of tension permeates the film, which could escalate into either a passionate relationship or a dangerous one.

This carefully crafted adaptation is truly delightful to behold, as Kim and Zem often find themselves closely observing each other throughout the movie – with a mix of curiosity, caution, and at times, an unspoken yearning. However, the narrative and visual style keep them apart, creating a distance that significantly enhances certain poignant scenes. For instance, some of the most moving shots rely on this separation: two pairs of hands, one from each side of the table, eating with chopsticks; a face mirrored in a steamed mirror; watercolor animations that intensify Soo-Ha’s sensory perception. Kamura excels at capturing powerful moments within still frames, and his minimal dialogue is rivaled only by his ability to know when to introduce Delphine Malausséna’s enchanting score, which beautifully contrasts the eerie silence that pervades much of this film.

In every instance, Kamura’s direction adds depth to the somber narrative it presents. It consistently resists simplifying this narrative – about artists and muses, tourists and guides, lost explorers and introspective observers – into predictable stereotypes or anticipated conclusions, despite hinting at them. Similar to Yan, who tells Soo-Ha he’s most intrigued by places that reveal people’s solitudes, “Winter in Sokcho” creates a world that accommodates solitude as a means to explore its characters’ actions. Even though it concludes rather abruptly (and possibly too cryptically), this artistic depiction of transient affection is captivating, primarily because it refuses to confine its characters within familiar and predefined roles. Instead, like Yan’s sketches and Soo-Ha’s imagined watercolor visions, this story is more elusive – even puzzling at times – but for that reason, all the more commendable.

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2025-03-25 03:47