In Another Country (다른 나라에서), or: The use of zooms in the art of puppeteering

In Another Country (2012)

Directed by Hong Sang-soo

***SPOILERS***

People who say Hong Sang-soo makes the same movie over and over have more fuel to add to the fire, because In Another Country feels like the lighthearted and colorful paternal twin sibling of his other 2012 feature The Day He Arrives. What ties Sang-soo’s many films together is an unshakable presence of a puppeteer looming overhead, cycling his characters through daily activities and chance encounters in a repetitious manner. Obviously Sang-soo hasn’t made the same movie over and over (which would please his naysayers), because each of his films is marked by a unique quality that doesn’t simply bask in his overused formula, but instead expands the themes of fate, identities, and storytelling.

In The Day He Arrives, he utilizes his central character Sungjoon’s (Jun-Sang Yu) profession as a filmmaker to explore the roles a director must play in storytelling. As Sungjoon explores his former town and past lovers (and new lovers), he travels deeper and deeper into a pit of self-reflection that ultimately traps him within his own film. The Day He Arrives is much more script-heavy than In Another Country, relying subtle alteration of conversation to create a debilitating sense of repetition and an unavoidable cycle that leaves Sungjoon stuck in the same spot as the film comes to a close. This time venturing to the opposite side of town away from the people he manipulated, he ultimately finds himself posing for a photo, trapped in an aspiring filmmaker’s camera, unable to escape a profession that has formed his identity and forcibly contained within Sang-soo's film.

In Another Country is much more straightforward and obvious in its approach, but nonetheless full of tweaks and stylistic choices that render Sang-soo’s signature formula just as multifarious and unique as his other films. This time around, Sang-soo wastes no time introducing the intentions of the storyteller, in the form of a young woman named Won-ju (Jung Yoo-mi) attempting to write a screenplay. Won-ju doesn’t in fact write a screenplay, but instead outlines three different scenarios that make minor adjustments on one another regarding a central group of characters. In three situations, it’s Anne (Isabelle Hupert) who guides the narrative and shifts through various characters, creating three sets of stories with their own themes and dilemmas, yet all sharing the ever-fickle nature of storytelling and resolution. There’s an overwhelming sense of manipulation on Won-ju’s part, as she carelessly cycles through these characters’ lives that pay the cost of her artistic inspiration. These people are, of course, fake, but contained in the real setting we’ve come to associate with film, their constant transformations become a glaring display of how recyclable the characters of storytelling are.

As aforementioned, In Another Country is much less complex than The Day He Arrives, as Sang-soo’s latest film is entirely reliant on execution and almost no traditional sense of pathos. As soon as the second story in this trilogy of disconnection begins, it’s quite clear where Sang-soo intends to head. What gives the film the Sang-soo touch is the utilization of zooms, which are numerous throughout each of these three tales. Their placements are often congruent in the narrative sense, marking important transitions in the story that are consistent throughout. But there’s an emotional reaction at play as well with each zoom-in and zoom-out, connecting these tales and the role of Won-ju as the storyteller.

The film begins very quickly with a zoom-in, as Won-ju and her mother discuss how her father has stranded them in Mohan for the time being. “How could he do this to us?” Won-ju asks, creating the first instance of male dominance that is often referred to by the film’s diverse array of reappearing females, but also a moment that directly links Won-ju to the characters she creates. So often meddling with characters who meddle, Sang-soo undoubtedly recognizes his ironic role in his films, as this first zoom-in can be linked to the several associated with Won-ju's stories. The first instance within Won-ju’s first rough draft introduces our ever-shifting characters, zooming in on a broken bottle as our first instance of a language barriers ensues. In a tale of deception, these characters’ alter egos are as diverse from story to story as within each respective tale, shown as the Korean filmmaker’s wife questions is he believes Anne is prettier than her. Anne has no idea what she is asking, nor does the man’s wife realize he shared a kiss with Anne off-screen.

It’s this sense of frustration on the characters’ part that often reflects Won-ju’s pen, as the nature of each story may appear the same, but is marked by different trajectories for these characters via the camera. In a way, the camera can be seen as Won-ju’s own sense of alarm in relation to each story, which all happen to mirror her own situation with her absent father. Anne’s language barrier is a reflection of Won-ju’s inability to control her own situation (thus turning to storytelling), and the sequence of zooms within each story resonates three different ways of dealing with such a situation.

The first story contains three zoom-ins, followed by a single zoom-out. The first zoom-in focusing upon a broken bottle is no coincidence, as such imagery marks Anne’s (who may very well be Won-ju in French form) torn state between the director and the bumbling lifeguard (Yoo Jun-sang) she encounters in all three tales. Each zoom-in marks progression in the story, as first Anne must wade through the language barrier and receive introductions, then second (zoom-in on Anne and the director smoking) deny the director’s come-ons, and then third (zoom-in on the beach) flirt with the slightly confused lifeguard. As she strays from the director and takes a liking to the lifeguard, the succession of zoom-ins accompanies the advancement of the plot, until we reach the dinner scene, where the zoom-out marks the moment she departs from the lifeguard. Receiving pressure from the envious director, she is forced to ignore the well-intentioned lifeguard and continue listening to the director’s drunken rambling. An irreversible setback (as it is Anne’s final night in the city), her only solace comes in the form of a letter the lifeguard cannot read, bringing their story to a definitive and miscommunicated end. While Anne believes there may be an unforeseeable future with the lifeguard, his inability to read the letter marks their mute disconnection. There’s a sense of control in place with these zooms, marking a fluid tale of blossoming love that is soon lost, seemingly controlled by the central protagonist.

The next story, however, couldn’t be less sporadic. The second story follows a similar trajectory at first, beginning with four zoom-ins and one zoom-out, but then proceeds with another zoom-in and a final zoom-out. Once again, Anne finds herself beguiled at the expense of a man, as her adulterous fling with the director has left her deserted because of an acting audition he must oversee. The first zoom-in focuses on Anne emitting a strange call to a wild animal in a sad moment of alienation. Alone without her lover, she wanders the beach and continuously dreams up scenarios where the director surprises her. This marks a capricious series of zooms, as the forthcoming zoom-ins continuously mark progression within Anne’s imagination, including one that marks the moment she flirts with the lifeguard once again. Signaled by her own desire to sleep around, the progression can be seen more as a reflection of Anne’s desires than the path of her story, as the first zoom-out occurs when the director questions her flirtation with the lifeguard. This particular zoom-out marks the inevitable climax and beginning of resolution (exactly like the first story), but this time it occurs within Anne’s dream. As she awakens and begins the story we perceived to be over, the next two zoom-ins clash with the path Anne had laid for herself, ending with a zoom-out that leaves the lifeguard stalking the couple from afar. As the director surprises Anne once again, we are left with the itching feeling that we're witnessing an endless loop of hope and impending loss occurring within Anne's troubled mind, amplified by the lifeguards detached perspective from the action. By altering the placement of the zooms, the very idea of resolution is given a more sophisticated treatment by Won-ju’s denial of it, which could be seen as a recreation of the repeated abuse from Korean men reflected through each tale.

The final tale is the most unforgiving, as it begins with a zoom-out. Anne is joined by two women and a man (formerly the director) as they all eat dinner and discuss how Anne’s ex-husband cheated on her. A blatant reference to Won-ju’s father, Anne doesn’t become stricken by grief within this tale, but instead comes burdened with it. It’s then no surprise that no resolution occurs within the final story whatsoever, as this initial zoom-out is followed by six zoom-ins, with the final zoom-in featuring Anne walking down an empty road. As she’s once again pressured by the director to engage in immoral activities, such a pressure triggers a continuation of events marked by a series of directionless questions and crusades, each providing no answers or resolution (the final zoom-out). This becomes especially indicative of the male dominance theme, as Anne becomes the director of the final story, yet cannot exhibit the same level of master control as seen in previous tales. As one zoom-in closes in on Anne’s discussion with a monk, we find a woman desperate for answers in the face of betrayal from her husband, only to receive blanks.

“Why am I so afraid?”  

“What is love for you?”

“What is sex for you?”

“Have you changed since you were a child?”

And then after receiving no definitive answers: “You’re not helping me.”

If Anne is a reflection of Won-ju, then we suddenly find each of these diverse tales honing in on one central motif. The straightforward tale of loss; the series of dream sequences; the denial of explanation—in all three tales, Won-ju is searching for inspiration, but unable to find consolation. As aforementioned, this is essentially the same idea explored in The Day He Arrives (and every other Sang-soo film), but the execution allows for an entirely different view. These three detached but thematically intertwined tales may very well mark the source of Won-ju’s art, as her desire to explore humanity’s frivolous personality between comforting and selfish. But the answer to this question may be as open-ended and unanswerable as Anne’s final moments in In Another Country, as she walks down the road for a seeming moment of resolution, only to have the camera zoom-in one final time, never letting go of its grasp upon the puppet.

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