Night and Day, You Are the One...

In his fourth film, 2002’s Turning Gate, writer/director Hong Sang-soo used Arvo Pärt’s Spiegel im Spiegel as the sole musical cue for the film. (Gus van Sant used the same piece for Gerry.) A minimalist piece for piano and cello that contains simple progressions based on three notes, it was an ideal choice for this bifurcated story of a washed-up actor and his mirrored relationships with two women. In the three films that followed (Woman is the Future of Man, A Tale of Cinema, Woman on the Beach) Hong worked with composer Jeong Yong-jin, whose playful scores were used liberally throughout, at times to great effect (particularly in Woman on the Beach.) For his eighth (and quite possibly greatest) film, Night and Day, Hong once again incorporates a classical work as a central theme, though this time he’s upgraded to the orchestral swells of the Allegretto from Beethoven’s 7th Symphony. It’s an apt choice, for just as the Pärt piece lent itself to the simplicity of Turning Gate’s structure, Night and Day is Hong composing, for the first time, in an orchestral vein. More mature in many respects, it’s a complex work that moves beyond his regular pieces for duos and trios, including a handful of characters on the periphery critical to the film's composition. That’s not to say that Hong’s moved in an entirely different direction. Night and Day, the next chapter in Hong’s deconstruction of Korean masculinity, revolves around another restless, self-delusional, insecure yet somewhat narcissistic artist whose words and actions are often contradictory – traits found in nearly all of his lead characters. Yet what’s different this time around is that there’s more at stake than simply a bruised ego, as well as genuine repercussions for each character's actions, both immediate and long term. At the same time, the film exhibits attitudes towards love, marriage and children not found in prior works. The film opens with forty-something Seung-nam (Kim Young-ho) arriving in Paris, having fled Korea after being arrested for smoking marijuana with an American (natch) exchange student. Stranded in a country where he doesn’t speak the language, Sung-nam settles in a cramped pension filled with other Korean expats. He spends his lonely days wandering the streets, and his nights in tears on the phone with his wife, desperate about his situation. The film is quite episodic, broken up into individual days, with the passage of time revealed by title cards indicating the date. Though his longest film yet (145 minutes), the pacing here is brisker than usual, with some of the days concentrating on a single incident in just a few brief moments. (Noticeably different, too, is the use of dream sequences – a first for Hong, if I’m not mistaken.) In a bit of Hongian Kismet, Seung-nam runs into Min-sun on the street, a former lover, yet doesn’t remember who she is (cf. Turning Gate). Unhappily married to a Frenchman, she hopes to rekindle the flame with Sung-nam, who agrees to meet her in a hotel. However, a last minute change of heart finds Sung-nam, in one of Hong’s most audacious scenes, reading aloud choice Biblical passages about sin to a near nude Min-sun. Has a male Hong character heretofore ever refused sex when offered? Soon Hyun-joo, an art student living in Paris, and her younger roommate, Yu-jeong enter the picture, and, not surprisingly, a distinctly Hongian triangle ensues, though it doesn't play out quite as expected. Emotional immaturity, drunken arguments, and failed attempts at seduction – staples of Hong's films – are all present, but at the same time the great distance from the comforts and familiarity of home finds his characters acting far less impulsive than usual. They're all searching for an identity, and sense of meaning, and in this regard the film approaches a realism not found in his earlier works – characters live for something other than the moment, and there are genuine consequences to their actions. At the same time this is also Hong's most symbolic film, particularly around issues of identity, family, and religion. Whether arm-wrestling a North Korean (as if defending his entire nation), rescuing a baby bird that's fallen out of its nest (just days after fawning over a newborn baby), or dreaming of kissing a woman's feet, Seung-nam's self-imposed exile results in a series of reflections on his life, his marriage, and his limitations as an artist. He's as flawed as all of Hong's male characters, but for the first time there are efforts at soul-searching. Like the opposites of its title, Night and Day is both solemn and playful, passionate and stoical. It's at once Hong's richest, most intricate film, yet in many ways his most minimal. I need to see it a second time to determine if it truly is his best film, but his evolution as a director is more fascinating than ever. A misleading, rather cheesy trailer can be found here. Night and Day currently has no North American distributor.