Pacing Back and Forth at the Real Scene
Sometimes, you’re drawn back to the scene by an unseen force—treading carefully, almost fearfully. The crime scenes where bloodstains have long been washed away, the streets where fervent slogans have faded, and the lives forever frozen in a single moment of history—all compel creators to pick up the pen, to lift the camera, and to tell their stories in countless ways. Rooted in reality, the act of creation becomes a delicate balance. Is it a faithful record, an excavation of truth? A transformation of reality? Or a search for meaning in the present? Imagination may run wild, but what is the thread that keeps pulling him back—again and again—to the real?
12 films
March: The Southern South
Noname Square
Taste of Wild Tomato
K’s Room–the Creation and Destruction of the World
Nine Shots
And Miles to Go Before I Sleep
PSEUDO SECULAR
Golden Surge
Via Dolorosa
Port of Call
Chun Tae-il: a Flame That Lives On
Once Upon a Time In Hollywood
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Those irreversible slices of life
Recently, in a novel I've come to love, I found myself grasping the weight of life's slices. In the story, there is a wicked sorcerer who freezes people in the instant just before tragedy strikes—suspending everything, sealing it into a crystal ball, and building an entire museum from these frozen moments. And isn't film, in its own way, just as cruel? As viewers, we are little more than instruments for collecting tissue slices—slipping into a character's world for a single fleeting moment, wandering through it in passing, only to return, in the blink of an eye, to the reality that is our own.