Director Jeon Go-woon’s feature debut Microhabitat (2017) reflects on what it means to live a happy life and the required compromises to do so.

There is a quote with ambiguous origins and perhaps multiple variations. But essentially, it goes: ‘Life is what you make it’. It stresses that you make the best of what you’ve got. What is best, however, is entirely up to each of us to determine for ourselves. 

Of course, matters such as dogmas and societal norms are to be used as guiding steps but conforming to tradition has historically proven itself to be best refrained from on occasion. Say, for instance, if one were to find contentment and tranquillity in things such as whiskey, cigarettes, and their boyfriend. If one’s idea of a good life was tied not to a successful career in business or determined by how they are perceived by others. Who is to say that pursuing those three things is not a proper way for one to live?

Microhabitat (2017) emphasises how often joy and love get pushed to the sidelines in the constant pursuit of happiness and success in today’s world. Particularly as today’s world is obsessed with superficial results.

Microhabitat follows Mi-so, a housekeeper from Seoul, who, as inflation increases, must choose how to spend her already strictly budgeted salary. Rent or cigarettes and whiskey? A place to live or the two things that bring her joy? She opts for the latter and sets out on what she calls ‘The Cruise’ – a couch surfing escapade.

Here, she calls up her old bandmates for a place to crash (who are all in very different situations in life). In exchange, Mi-so pays with what she has: kindness, cooking, and ultimately the gift of self-reflection.

As Mi-so takes on her couch surfing journey, she trades the occasional tender moment of previous nostalgia with her ex-bandmates. However, her stay usually gets cut short for one reason or another.

It’s often pointed out by her friends that she’s ‘the same as ever’, painting her as the Mi-so with whom they played, drank, and smoked. The Mi-so who had not a care in the world for much else other than for what she loved. While, on the other hand, everyone else is busy with their real-life responsibilities and worries. It is therefore up to Mi-so to be the happy-go-lucky wanderer. To have little space in her head and heart for worry.

As juvenile as it may be to resort to (completely avoidable) homelessness to support your nicotine and whiskey diet, there is a point to be made for Mi-so’s fantastical values and way of life. She’s never lacking in thoughtfulness and love. Always caring and selfless, Mi-so concentrates all that is of her on living life on her terms and taking everything as it comes. In a world that puts so much emphasis on work, money, and success, the things that Mi-so prioritises are often seen as a secondary concern. Our protagonist is soft-hearted and full of love, while in comparison, the rest of the world is cold and unsympathetic.

It may not be whiskey and cigarettes. But everyone has something that fulfils a part of their soul more than an unsatisfactory career ever could. This is not to say that a career-focused life is not significant. It’s all preference. Mi-so, however, does appear much happier than others.

The whiskey and cigarettes that she adores could perhaps be taken as purely metaphorical symbols. They could reflect something deeper inside us than as actual vices that wreck your health (to each their own, though – this is a safe space). 

Mi-so’s boyfriend, Han-sol, is an entity that she loves most. They dream of living together but are broke. While Mi-so lacks ambition toward a career, Han-sol is burdened with debt as he tries to get his career as a cartoonist rolling. Despite his attempts, the cartoonist route bears no fruit, so he takes up a job in Saudi Arabia. Han-sol gives up his dream to do the responsible thing and what is considered the social norm.

He begins paying off his debt and two years after his time abroad, he can finally afford to get a place for himself and his girlfriend. This sacrifice does not initially please Mi-so – she struggles to see the good that will come from it.

The world needs its Mi-so’s just as much as its Han-sol’s. They both compromise a great deal but the nature of it varies hugely in their respective cases. Whose compromise is the most preferable? That is up to us to know the answer. And for everyone, it might differ just as greatly.

Quirky and full of heart, Microhabitat burns slow but bright. Nearing the film’s end, our protagonist wanders around with grey hair. This is due to her having thrown out the medication that kept her hair from greying, no doubt to afford her lifestyle as inflation heightened. Meanwhile, Mi-so’s friends reminisce about her and reflect on her effect on them.

Towards the conclusion, it is shown that she spends her nights in a red tent pitched next to a bridge in Seoul. Does compromise for a happy life come to such a high price that it takes happiness away from you? Does it have to?

Edited by Gia Dove. 

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