Sunday, 11 July 2004
Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter... and Spring
I see a lot of films, that's for sure (nah, ya think?). A good part of these seem to be made up by Asian films - Chinese, Hong Kong cinema, Japanese, even Thai. France, at least in the cinema, is paying more and more attention to Korea.
Having seen, shuddered to, and liked The Isle, I didn't want to miss Ki-duk Kim's latest, Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter... and Spring. The beautiful, saturated colors that filled the previews made it an even easier decision.
Unlike the occasionally shocking Isle, Kim's latest is relatively flinch-free. Playing like a poem, the film moves with a slow grace as it follows a boy learning from a Buddhist monk. Their days seem mostly unstructured, with only occasional guideposts: morning prayer and simple chores (which could double as meditation, I suppose).
But the rhythm is deceiving, just as the actual speed of life. As one simple thing follows another, you come to a point where, looking back, you wonder where the time flew. And so the boy learns and grows.
Just as their days are marked by simple references, the student's life is outlined by events that mark him - first as a boy, then as an adult. Having tormented small animals by tying stones to them, the boy is reprimanded by the monk, who forces his charge to find and release each animal. The boy does so, finding a frog drowned and a snake dead. The monk has taught the wailing boy two hard lessons, put into words to underscore the gravity: One must respect all life. Our actions have repercussions and once done, cannot be undone.
This simple sequence sets the stage for the rest of the film. The boy grows, falls in love with a girl brought to the monk's floating home for spiritual medicine, and runs away with her to be married. Years later, he returns in disgrace, only to be taken away by the police. Upon his release, the now middle-aged student returns to his former master's home. Finally, through convoluted - but nonetheless believable - circumstances, the student becomes the master. A baby has been left in his charge, and the cycle begins anew.
So the poetry of the film is, like a chant, a prayer. Even the title refers to a cyclical view of life. Having reached the end, you realize that the life of the older monk may well have been like that of the now-grown student: Simple, then complicated, then simple again - yet complicated by the responsibility for another. What could have passed for childish foolishness becomes a life lesson, echoing for the rest of the student's days: Treasure life, and be sensitive to your own effects upon others.
Leaving the film, it's easy to see the parallels with your own life. Those simple childhood moments become fundamental building blocks for the rest of your life. The regrets, the accomplishments, the pain and the joy. The sum what we have done and have experienced makes us who we are - which in turn becomes the basis for who we are to become.
But the beauty of the cycle is that it is not closed: Each of us, to some extent, becomes a part of everyone who surrounds us. Kim's masterstroke is in reminding us that, far from being closed loops, our lives are links in a large chain.
4 / 5 - the film's simple beauty and steady rhythms are like the ripples in a pond, the impact being the intricate richness of life