[Film Review] ‘A Lonely Island in the Distant Sea’

Director Kim Mi-young’s A Lonely Island in the Distant Sea (절해고도) serves as a reminder that life in Korea isn’t all the glitzy lights of Seoul. It can be tough and sometimes it’s okay just to be alive and take pleasure in the small things.

Yun-cheol and his daughter, Gina, talk in A Lonely Island in the Distant Sea.

Over the past few years, the Korean film industry has been propelled overseas, engaging international audiences. Now, a lot of what we learn about South Korea we consume through film and TV.

However, the risk of gaining perspective on the country through film alone is the polarised viewpoint that can sometimes come with it. For instance, K-Dramas tend to over-romanticize relationship dynamics which has triggered conversations around how Korean men are being fetishized by Western women. Meanwhile, the other side of the coin are gritty fast-moving blockbusters like Squid Game and Parasite which explore the incredibly rife debt culture and social inequality that have resulted from South Korea’s fast and huge economic growth.

Of course, these genres are incredibly entertaining and both play out factual elements of Korean society but they’re not necessarily a depiction of day-to-day life in South Korea, which includes the good as well as the bad.

Indie films perhaps reflect that a little bit better, through their slower observation of the ebbs and flows of life. So who better to make this point than one of the top Indie directors in South Korea, Kim Mi-young, who has produced more than 50 films during her career. One of her latest, A Lonely Island in the Distant Sea, speaks to the pressures to succeed in a capitalist society that cherishes academia. We’re going to unpick some of these themes so hold off reading if you’re keen on watching the film without spoilers.

Trigger warning - references of suicide

A Lonely Island in the Distant Sea explained

The protagonist of A Lonely Island in the Distant Sea (절해고도) is sculptor Yun-cheol (Park Jong-hwan). He was expected to make it big in the art industry when he was younger. But now in his forties, he’s taking on small local commissions in his rural town to get by. However, in contrast, his ex-wife is high-flying on the corporate ladder, which cements the viewpoint that Yun-cheol has failed societal expectations on both a family and academic front. However, his daughter Gina (Lee Yeon) still offers the opportunity for some form of success.

Gina has the same artistic ability as Yun-cheol. She has the talent to get into a top university — a pressure that often exists on parents as well as their children. For a second, we flirt with the idea that Gina could be Yun-cheol’s form of redemption. However, it’s quickly shot down by Gina’s announcement that she’s dropped out of high school to train to become a monk at a Buddhist temple.

Meanwhile, Yun-cheol meets Young-ji (Kang Kyung-hun), a strong-willed university lecturer who’s in remission after battling cancer. The couple’s friendship becomes romantic, before breaking apart. Yun-cheol keeps travelling to get some cash together and starts neglecting Young-ji — one of the few people that makes him happy.

Back alone in the world again Yun-cheol feels depressed. He has failed to adhere to any of the traditional definitions of success. Hitting rock bottom, he unsuccessfully attempts to take his own life. The moment is an acknowledgement of the high suicide rates that exist in South Korea, with many attributing the high levels to the pressures surrounding work performance and financial stability. (In 2020, South Korea was found to have the highest suicide rate among any developed country in the world.) However, Yun-cheol’s actions are a pivotal moment that trigger him to heal on the grounds of the Buddhist temple where daughter Gina now resides.

The change of environment highlights two important but very different paces in Korean life. The first, is the economic business one that has created a huge amount of opportunity for some citizens and re-positioned South Korea as a notable power house in the world (but equally placed expectations upon some people who are unable to meet them). The second, is Korea’s Buddhist culture which is slower, more spiritual, and less materialistic.

It’s within nature that Yun-cheol seems to be more comfortable living outside the expectations of modern day South Korea. He gains purpose in cooking food for Gina and the monk that trains her at the monastery (and the dishes he cooks become an important centrepoint for the film). Young-ji also comes back into his life and he cares for her as she dies from the cancer that has returned to her body.

Photo credit: Beth Macdonald/Unsplash. Yun-cheol finds peace and healing in the rural grounds of the Buddhist temple.

From an outside perspective the circumstances that Yun-cheol is living in seem tragic and miserable but it’s actually a beautiful moment in his life. Yun-cheol, Young-ji, and Gina find happiness and peace in the nature surrounding them at the Buddhist temple, in the quiet evening walks, and the wholesome meals they share together at Yun-cheol's new quaint apartment. However, there’s a temporality to this moment — Young-ji will die and Gina announces that she will be moving to a new temple further away.

The thought of Yun-cheol once again alone brings fear that he will spiral back into his previous life but it actually turns out to be his fledgling moment. He must decide whether to return to his past lost life or ground himself in something that gives him purpose on his own terms.

He chooses food as his purpose, opening up a noodle bar which showcases his culinary talents. The restaurant isn’t what you’d call successful, with few customers. However, there’s still success in Yun-cheol’s venture whether it works out or not. 

Throughout his life Yun-cheol has lurched from person-to-person - finding a reason to be alive through the purpose and validation of others. He does this because he feels like he has failed to meet the expectations of society. However, his loved ones and the Buddhist temple have enabled him to detach from those expectations to some degree, and find a way forward on his own.

A Lonely Island in the Distant Sea is observant and melancholic. Director Kim Mi-young highlights issues that are often dramatised and romanticised in mainstream film and TV, instead opting to portray them in a realistic setting. But most importantly Kim’s work shows that among all the hype of living your best life, sometimes there’s something to celebrate in just being.

Edited by Chelsea Cheetham.