Uncovering Inyeon in Celine Song’s “Past Lives”

By Jasmine Eden Gray

Cast of Past Lives at the Berlinale (image via Wiki Commons).

Editor’s note: The following article contains spoilers.

If two strangers pass each other in the street and their clothes accidentally brush, one could say this is because they must have been connected in some way in their past lives. Inyeon, as it is described in Celine Song’s debut film, Past Lives, is a Korean concept based around ‘fate’ or ‘providence’, but specifically with regards to relationships between people. While passed off by one of the protagonists, Nora, as merely a saying that Korean people use to seduce each other, the notion of inyeon, the profound yet intrinsically simple idea that the connections in our past lives carry forward into our present and future relationships, floats softly through this beautifully told tale of love, what-ifs, and the immigrant experience.

The film opens with a question. The camera rests on three characters sat at a bar, captured from a distanced gaze, and an unseen voice echoes the audience’s own curiosity as to who these people are to each other and what their story is. Nora, played by Greta Lee, breaks the fourth wall, confronting the viewer and simultaneously welcoming them into this mystery. The answer is revealed by going back in time.

Hae Sung, Nora and Arthur the opening scene of Past Lives (image via Film of the Week).

Given Song’s playwriting background, it is possible to read Past Lives as having the three-act structure of a play, with each act covering a period of 12 years in Nora and Hae Sung’s lives, together and apart. There is an apparent deliberateness to the chosen ages and time jumps: following the pair coming into tween maturity at 12, becoming aware of potential romantic feelings; figuring out who they are at 24, using the Internet to find people of their past; and being settled into their respective lives at 36, but looking back at what could have been. Song has stated the time scale as a reason for turning this autobiographical story into a film, as opposed to a play. Another reason was the need to present the cities that separate the protagonists as characters in themselves. The film transports us to Seoul to witness the root of this special friendship. Na Young, as Nora was called before leaving Korea, tells her mother that she has a crush on her academic rival at school, Hae Sung. Wishing to create pleasant memories for her daughter before immigrating, the mother organises a “date” for them. The cinematography feels reminiscent of still-life photography, with the camera gracefully capturing ordinarily beautiful moments, aided by the naturalistic dialogue akin to that found in the films of Richard Linklater and Wong Kar Wai. After their date, they are driven home moving across the screen from left to right, hand in hand, towards their unknown future.

Void of any superfluity, Song writes with impeccable economy, the story getting where it needs to go efficiently yet delicately. However, she also directs with confidence, unafraid of lingering in silent, wordless moments. A single sequence depicting the family’s flight to Canada, their immigration, and Nora’s isolated existence at her new school with a visible absence of Hae Sung, brings the audience across the bridge of time, as Nora dives into her new life as a writer in New York City. Just as we’ve all played the game of guessing the life story of the couple in the restaurant, we’ve all also gone online and looked up people from our childhood to see where their lives have taken them. This is exactly what Nora does when she finds that Hae Sung had been looking for her. Yet as their friendship rapidly redevelops, so too do the challenges of distance, dampening the delight of their resurrected relationship. Hae Sung is a reminder of what Nora left behind in Korea and, although it is extremely painful, she chooses to stop speaking to him, in order to stop living in the past and commit to her life in the present. The film moves forward again in time, unfurling into a breath-taking final act.

Director Celine Song with Greta Lee (image via A.Frame).

Another 12 years pass, and we find Nora with a kind husband, Arthur, and a successful writing career. Hae Sung, meanwhile, is with his same group of friends and the same drinks, but this time with better haircuts and clothes - and a ticket to New York City. We find ourselves back at the opening shot at the bar, now with the missing context, seemingly on the cusp of discovering their true connectivity. At first Arthur is included in the dialogue through Nora’s translations. But as Hae Sung begins to properly express himself in this moment, the camera angle changes from the wide establishing shot to a closer shot-reverse shot, excluding Arthur from the frame. Although he can’t understand the Korean, we feel that he nonetheless understands their profound exchange. While it is human nature to ponder hypothetical scenarios, Nora and Hae Sung both conclude that they don’t have the eight thousand layers of kismet-bound inyeon in this lifetime to be that person to each other. They are no longer the twelve-year-olds who were in love. But that doesn’t mean that they never existed, nor that they weren’t necessarily connected in their past lives - as husband and wife, as strangers on a train, or even as bird and branch.

Perhaps the most impactful sequence of the film is found in a 6.5 minute tracking shot, following Nora and Hae Sung as she walks him to his Uber. Along the street-lit East Village pavement, they walk from right to left, backwards in time, before stopping in a comfortable silence. A gentle wind spontaneously blows on Nora’s skirt in the same direction, nudging her into this impossible past. After what feels like an eternity, but also far too soon, the car arrives. Before leaving Nora forever, Hae Sung turns around and the scene match cuts to the junction from their childhood in Seoul, viscerally grasping our hearts in the shock of the edit. He asks Nora: “What if this is a past life as well, and we are already something else to each other in our next life?”. Although impossible to answer, there is a relief in the knowledge that their connection could be a stepping stone to something miraculous in a future reality. Hae Sung leaves Nora, from right to left, back into her past, where he will belong forever more. Pushing against the wind, she walks back towards her present, Arthur, who is waiting on the steps of their home. Here she breaks down, finally giving in to the emotional avalanche of this reconnection. It is a simple yet miraculous shot that encapsulates the beauty of this film.

Hae Sung and Nora in the final shot of Past Lives (image via X).

Hae Sung and Nora parting as children (image via TIME).

One could interpret this ending pessimistically as a disappointment in these characters with whom we have spent the last 100 minutes empathising. Yet Song’s realist reflection on the connections of ordinary people, which seem orchestrated by something bigger than us humans, impels us to consider how no connection we make in our lives is futile, even if it does not lead to where you had initially hoped. Past Lives grants us the freedom to appreciate every relationship, every chance meeting, every brush of clothes passing someone on the street - now blessed with the awareness that they could be creating layers of inyeon, leading to something truly special.