Füruğ Ferruhzâd sesleniyor şimdi bana
“ben ağaçların soyundanım,
ve bu “bayat” havayı solumak kederlendiriyor beni,
ölen bir kuş, uçuşu unutmamayı öğütledi bana”
Past Lives works so well for me because I am so enamoured with pragmatism in fiction.
I read and watch a lot of stories about idealized love stories and I often enjoy them too! I spent my entire childhood believing that the teenagers who got together in the media I consumed would stay together forever. And then as I got older, I was naturally introduced to more stories about romances that didn’t work out. Still, it’s hard for me to think about those as pragmatic, most of them have this desire for sadness in them. They would make me feel as though the devastation was the point, that the narrative was forcefully bent toward the saddest outcome.
Past Lives doesn’t make me feel this way. Nora doesn’t stop talking to Hae Sung because of an unforeseen tragic circumstance. She makes a choice and goes through with it. Hae Sung puts it best during their conversation at the end of the film. She is the kind of person to leave. And he loves her because she is that kind of person. The “what-if” isn’t in wondering about if circumstances were different. No matter what, she would have chosen her plays over anything else. Her husband even notes that so much of how their relationship happened is because he fit so well into the life she wanted. The whole reason this film is called “Past Lives” is because that’s the only way to ponder about whether Nora and Hae Sung could be together.
It’s such a delightfully Asian perspective on it. “In another life” films are so common, but I always feel like Western movies do it in a kind of parallel universe kind of way. I love that in this one, Nora is so steadfast and consistent in her personality and desires, that there is no real contemplation and consideration of making her and Hae Sung’s relationship work. There is only a longing and a love.
- But why are you immigrating? Na Young’s father is a film director, and you’re an artist. Why would you leave all that behind? - When you leave something behind, you gain something, too.
There’s a word in Korean: 인연 [in yun] — it means “providence” or “fate”. If two strangers walk by each other in the street, and their clothes accidentally brush, that means there have been eight thousand layers of 인연 between them.
