The Newness of Past Lives
It’s not uncommon to find a review calling a film a “miracle.” But what do we mean by that? Something unexpected? Something beautiful and life-affirming? I think these are partly true, but incomplete. Past Lives is just that—a miracle—for those reasons, but also because it captures something deeply honest, even revelatory, about the burden of love within real life. It breaks in amid the commonplace meet-cutes and grand cinematic gestures we come to expect from romance.
There’s an awkward beauty and excitement to reunions with old friends: curiosity about the course their life has taken, uncertainty about the newness we might encounter in them, the simple question of whether we’ll even recognize them at first.
Celine Song’s Past Lives observes the movements of just such a reunion. Hae Sung (Yoo Teo) has flown to New York to visit his friend Na Young (Greta Lee), whom he last saw as an adolescent in Korea. Ever since that goodbye, the memory of Na Young has lingered with Hae Sung like the fading scent of perfume. When Na Young—now going by Nora—arrives, the two stare at each other, finding few words beyond “Wow.” They embrace, their smiles shifting from polite to playful. Then they wander the city, talking about all that has taken place and all the memories they still treasure.
It’s a situation (and an atmosphere) that evokes Jesse and Céline from Before Sunset, the romance of lost love and the chance to reclaim it. But there’s a wrinkle here—Nora is now happily married to Arthur (John Magaro).
The novels and movies we’re most familiar with have trained us in what to expect. The reconnection will spark something meaningful within Nora and Hae Sung; Arthur, who’s likely prideful and harsh or at least distant, will grow angry and jealous; eventually Nora will find the courage to leave Arthur and rekindle that childhood love with Hae Sung; and the film will end, with a presumably happy life ahead for the new couple.
The first may indeed occur, but Song subverts our expectation about everything that follows. In the process, Past Lives challenges our expectations of love stories and offers us something altogether more gentle and generous.
To begin with, no one is the antagonist. Nora is honest with Arthur about her past and current emotions, and she consistently reminds him of her commitment to their marriage. Arthur, meanwhile, gives Nora the space she needs to reconnect with Hae Sung and process her feelings, never stepping in her way. He even acknowledges the tension, noting that if this were a Hollywood story, he’d inevitably be the evil white husband standing in the way of the storybook romance. And Hae Sung admits to Nora that it hurt to realize how much he liked Arthur.
Everyone understands the reality and the stakes, but no one is out to win or to hinder others. They feel human desires, are weighed down by human hurts, and persistently show a human care for one another. It is a ceaselessly beautiful film, even at its most heartbreaking. The actors display an impressive, naturalistic connection, even as Nora and Hae Sung repeatedly drift apart. Greta Lee possesses a dextrous face for conveying emotion under control, and Magaro is masterful portraying such a tentative, kind man as Arthur.
Past Lives is suffused with longing, but also with goodness and gentleness, a sense of care. The love stories that pervade our culture too often know little of such things. They trade in conflict, opposites attracting, betrayals, and last-minute redemptions. Past Lives instead trades in silence and soft beauty. Despite the untenable tension, these characters are kind to one another.
When Nora’s family is preparing to leave Korea in the film’s opening, Hae Sung’s mother offers them an encouragement: “If you leave something behind, you gain something, too.” For Hae Sung, Nora is always “one who leaves,” even leaving behind some part of herself with him in Korea. But she gains something, too. Her dreams fulfilled (or at least refocusing) in her creative life in New York City. A fruitful, life-giving marriage with Arthur. Joy.
The miracle of Past Lives is in the way it regards both the longing that Nora and Hae Sung feel as well as the real pain that would be wrought if that longing was fulfilled. Loss and grief are real, but the flourishing of Nora’s current life is just as real. Song’s film treats both of these realities, as well as all three of its characters, with a beautiful generosity of spirit.
