Walk on by with the past running through your mind…
They walk, talk, and linger. They depart. Not because they want to, but because they must. The conversation has ebbed before the last uttered sentence. Maybe next time, but never in the same way again. Farewell.
When alone, they can’t resist ambling further through the alleys of Seoul or the highways of their minds, delaying the ongoing heeds of partners and kids for might-have-becomes. She lets the night bus back home saunter by. He abandons a pack of cigarettes. The hum of the guitar fades through the door. Rinse, wash, and repeat three times.
Kim Tae-yang’s debut unfolds over a decade in between nameless men’s and anonymous women’s mutual encounters on the city streets. A quiet romanticism infuses the three storylines, grounded through its attention to pacing. For instance, in the beginning of the film, a scaffold hovers by the horizon. By the end, the building’s fully constructed, its growth documented over the four years of filming.
“The Seoul of tomorrow will not be like the one of today,” Kim states at a press conference during the Far East Film Festival in April. With that in mind, Mimang not only documents the minute details of the city, but also pays homage to the past. The film’s title is a reference to a 1950s post-war melodrama. That movie, The Widow, features a scene where another woman and man walk down the streets restaged in Mimang. Brief forays into near empty theatres where classics are screened reinforce this nostalgia.
During their catch-ups, the couples fish trivia from hazy memories, like the colour of someone’s parka. They debate over the dominant hand of the statue Admiral Yi. Their distance is acknowledged despite their current physical proximity. These wanderings are restrained, as light as a pencil sketch.
Characters keep an even pace with one another, never too far ahead nor behind. Even when they separate, the transitions between leaving and being gone are subtle. Almost a minute of cars sweep past the silent pair on the sidewalk. Their eyes remain fixed to the other side of the road. When the tide parts and offers pedestrians a chance to cross, the woman strides forward, casting no glances back at the man she leaves behind.
Rare are the scenes of stillness. The characters walk towards the camera or are in motion at the right side of the frame. The first time a group of three drive down a hill, swathed in the late afternoon, the purr of the engine stands out from the usual cadence of footsteps. And before that, they ring the row of shrine bells, the pyeonjong, one by one, mourning in silence.
Despite the constant motion, the tempo remains languid. As Lee Myung-ha and Han Seong-guk stroll forward in one of the earlier shots, the world slows down. The extras weave in and out the tight frame. Colours are muted; ambient sounds submerge the theater. The speed of the moment and the film’s fondness for long shots are reminiscent of how fond memories are internalized: treasured as their oral narratives are recorded.
While the lack of chemistry may disappoint the fans of the Before Sunrise trilogy, Mimang scratches the itch of anyone craving deeper dynamics from the lackluster characters of Past Lives. In Mimang, the longing comes from a more grounded and sincere engagement with the environment than the blank canvases of Jesse and Celine.
However, the couples sometimes platform the director’s enthusiasms, losing their appeal as personalities flitting through Korea’s side streets. Kim squeezes in explanations of his creative decisions through the dialogue. While charming, this detracts from the audience’s emotional investment, cold from the sangfroid of the characters. Trusting and investing further into the multitudes of the actors and the atmosphere would have been appreciated.
But its transgressions detract little from the relaxed nature of Mimang. Here, men tear up in their sleep. A cafe opens its door to former patrons who frequented the establishment ten years ago. The camera observes the audience of a cinema walking away from the silver screen, one by one, until the lights blink out. It’s the cute ’90s film recreated in 2023, reaffirmed by the director stating that his primary influences for Mimang are from that era.
When I handed over my ticket to the theatre attendant, I noticed a woman behind me. Late fifties. A pink shirt. Her reflections on Mimang would be more interesting than mine. Who does she miss? Who has slipped past her fingers? Has she been the mother rushing home from the bar, or has she taken her fair share of drunken, torrid rambles? The next time I waltz down Cubao with my lover, I’ll see if he grips my left or right hand. Someday I’ll run into a former situationship, take a page from Mimang’s book, and greet them with a smile.
Recommended for fans of Garden Sandbox or Jean-Claude Rosseau.