Moonlit Winter: Warmth And Willpower

The world can be a very cold and uncaring one at times. The snow-covered streets full of nameless, faceless individuals bustling from place to place, no time for idle chit-chat or any meaningful form of interaction reinforcing that fact with as relevant a visual metaphor as any during the wintertime. However indifference is nothing compared to those who we share spaces with, large sections of our day with, or are in our inner-circles, whether we like it or not, it is seemingly out of our control sometimes. Poking and prodding us, making us feel shameful about our choices, our lives. These intruders don’t care. Grinches that replace the feelings we want with they feelings they want for us. They only care so long as we live in their images of us.

Beneath the most frigid of climates, physically, mentally, and emotionally, lies our ace in the hole. The few, the precious, those who truly do care, who love, who value beyond the shadow of the nighttime sky. They may not understand how, but the desire to understand is there. To have it make as much realistic sense to you as it does to them. It may be a bumpy road getting there. You’ve already had your heart slashed at enough, putting the defenses up between you and anything resembling legitimate honesty with another, especially one of an enforced inner circle.

Moonlit Winter, written and directed by the up-and-coming Lim Dae-hyung is the portrayal of this very journey. Sae-bom, a high school student on the precipice of graduation lives with her disheartened and seemingly apathetic mother Yoon-hee, who had recently divorced with her police officer husband. That apathy that Yoon-hee exudes is enigmatic to Sae-bom, however she is understanding to her mother’s pain, even if she herself doesn’t fully understand its origins. 

The arrival of a letter from Japan is where our story begins, from someone named Jun addressed to Yoon-hee. Sae-bom is unfamiliar with such a person but reads the letter nonetheless. Learning of her connection with this person (unbeknownst to her mother) Sae-bom sets events in motion. Traveling to Hokkaido, Japan with her mother, one last vacation together before Sae-bom moves to Seoul. The journey of discovery is about to begin. In more ways than you could possibly imagine. Neither party of Yoon-hee or Jun have forgotten one another. Deeply repressed feelings for each other are wrestled with respectively. Frustration towards the world and its unaccommodating frivolity are internalized. Why can’t we be together? Why won’t you let us?

The subject matter is deftly and tactfully handled. It is as authentic and genuine to its very core as any real human relationship I’ve seen depicted and attempted to be imitated in any art form. Best of all it does not treat its same sex attraction as some prop to be used and discarded. It’s naturalistic, just as love in real life is. Not some banner to be sensationalized or flown at every opportunity. Leave us alone. Let us be happy together. It looks exactly as we want it to.

Speaking of naturalism, that description extends to its writing as well, it progresses seamlessly without a hitch. Not only with smart character writing and truly superb performances across the board, but with its methodical, pragmatic approach to pacing. Modesty at every turn. No contrived melodrama here. It’s cinematography smartly muted, small scale, exactly how a film of this nature’s lens should be portrayed. Natural lighting of Hokkaido’s silent snowscape, capturing snowfall falling as though it were taking place within its own unique snow globe. Kim Hye-won’s musical accompaniment reinforcing these tones with seldom used but gentle, warm, and nostalgic string quartet of slow-tempo comfort.

Its tone management was spectacular. Utilizing interspersed moments of levity to break up the reflective solemnity at just the right times. Often done by Sae-bom and her boyfriend Kyung-soo’s relationship which is smartly used as an analog for Joon-hee and Jun’s relationship, since Sae-bom and Kyung-soo would presumably have to deal with the same feelings of separation that her mother did. It’s not hard to envision the two elder women acting in similar manners, having similar conversations. Jun and her aunt’s burgeoning connection also used to similar effect as an analog between Sae-bom and her mother Joon-hee. Aunt Masako wanting nothing more than to see her niece embrace the happiness she is so desperately afraid of allowing herself to feel.

Why do we feel the need to keep something so valuable and defining as love a secret from those we are closest to? As though it were some badge of shame that could never be understood from any perspective of those we spend so much time and put so much faith in. The truth is hard. Honesty is harder. It doesn’t matter in what form or context it comes in. Love in the spotlight is pressurizing, doubly so for those who don’t give and receive it in the “standardized” form. This has as much of an affect on our self-acceptance as it does on the acceptance we have no control over. These are my personal interpretations as you may have figured, but I believe this film, as many of the greatest works of art, can be interpreted in many different meaningful ways.

A warm cozy feeling of liberation, self-empowerment, and fulfillment. Moonlit Winter is essential seasonal viewing certainly, but regardless of the month or temperature it is a meditative, thought-provoking, and  valuable artistic experience. One that will help provide not only a place of refuge for the viewer during an unforgiving period of life, but inspire and uplift in equal measure. Living in our own image being the biggest journey we can possibly make. Freeing ourselves of others’ expectations.