Hye-young, an aspiring author, journeys back to her Yeongdo home to spend time with her family on the anniversary of her father’s death. After struggling to get her childhood novel published, she leaves Seoul behind to stay with her mother and two sisters, Hye-jin and Hye-joo. The novel portrays Hye-jin as an overprotective and controlling elder sister while Hye-joo is shown to have ambitions of becoming a professional dancer in Seoul. The family wishes they had a normal functioning family with little drama, but Hwa-ja’s (their mother) deteriorating mental health acts as a driving factor to keep them together. Unlike the family, Hwa-ja is unable to remember even the basic things which impacts her life greatly. All three sisters harbor a dark secret which eats away at their bonds. In this tale, the past, present and future of a family collides as Hye-young’s attempt at understanding her mother’s tries to lift the family curse.
Staying faithful to the Koreeda realm of family drama such as ‘Still Walking‘ and ‘Our Little Sister‘ Kim, takes a look at the silences surrounding the indecipherable vulnerabilities these women refuse to share, however, even with a degree of intimacy that is not shared between them. As they try to unveil their pasts and their present, the anxiety and dreams they carry also comes to the forefront along with the impending threat of alienation which may irreparably damage Hwa-ja’s position at the nucleus of the family. Kim strives hard to plant these seeds, as the other sisters seek the meaning of their lives as they fight to survive. The sisters’ cries are worth it when they realize the price they need to pay to break the existential limbo in which they find themselves in the locality of Yeongdo: their pride of belonging. And Kim, moving at a snail’s pace, reveals all their hopes and dreams in the context of the coming of age story of a country that is transforming.
However, the point of contention where the tiff originates in the first place and later escalates almost completely is between the two sisters Hye-jin and Hye-young is their ailing mother and the care of for her
Hye-jin recounts her experience at the Seoul trainers store and does so candidly, in stark contrast to her sister’s wishes. The weighing responsibilities and sacrifices come together beautifully in the form of family dynamics which are seamlessly captured within the narrative. Han Chae-ah on the other hand puts forth a heart tonguing and expertly layered portrayal of a woman with sheer rage. The brutal reality of fending for the wellbeing of the family is perfectly embodied and made empathetic through Han Chae-ah’s performance. For most of the time, Hye-jin does a great job at keeping her walls up. In contrast Seon-hwa shines through as the daughter who feels she has been given the world but is a little lost and confused, quite a middle child role to play.
Facing her national identity at a time she is starting to lose the memories she values is one of the challenges which Cha Min-kyeong carries with such grace and the ending when the four women travel to Japan, Kyoto looking for the person who sent the letter is simultaneous to the explosive situation between the three sisters and hence the effect is much more stronger.
At the core of the film, there is a strong desire of jaina wali feeling which is acceptance, which is intersectionality, in relation to home, which is to be embraced or even rejected, but hierarchy has an overpowering role to play. It boils down to the significance of kyoto in hiring which is adequately captured in the the through the warmth that had often and sometimes peace which is makes hiring so pertinent. Even though there are many concepts of home which are outcaste, but rather not directed homogenous benign feeling around hawa-ja’s house and the town of Yeongda. When put onscreen the environment of which does not feel ‘messy’ or ‘claustrophobic’ has the whole essence of a bustling society and a good appetite for illustrated art. All this coupled with a relatively fidgety camera gives an unrivaled sense of life to the township, the camera can remain still but the desperate beauty is felt vividly and its rotation shoots a sense of calmness.
I think the authors of ‘A Letter From Kyoto’ have achieved great things in their first directorial attempts, strives structured minimalism.
Kim’s film is merely memorable, nothing more, and it reflects an amalgamation of heritage, identity, and purpose, that is necessary for South Korea’s history, and for Korea’s film industry. Emphazising the broader implications of the reveal, Kim’s narrative is combined with impressive twists. She redefines the conventional approach of cinematography.
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