Past Lives – how lovers ought to respond

Ten years ago, my professor already predicted that in the future, all good things would come from South Korea. At the time, he was talking about philosophy, but nothing happens in a vacuum. I don’t know how philosophy is doing over there, but when it comes to films, things are more than thriving. Now, there’s another new film: Past Lives, about love. But not everything from South Korea is necessarily worth the hype.

The film follows Nora (Greta Lee) and Hae Sung (Teo Yoo). Deeply connected and close friends in childhood, they were too young then, but had they grown up together, a profound childhood love—or perhaps even more—would surely have blossomed. However, when Nora is twelve, her parents decide to emigrate to Canada. She builds a new life there. She stays in touch with Hae Sung for a while, even into her student years, but eventually, their contact fades. She becomes a writer, and during a retreat, she meets Arthur (John Magaro), with whom she builds a life. Then, years later, Hae Sung reaches out to her, wanting to visit her in the United States. She agrees to see him, and her partner is fine with it.

What follows fascinates me, and despite writing this review, I still haven’t fully grasped it. Put simply, the film's core theme is the contingency of existence. Things happened the way they did; events followed one another, accumulating into a life. But it didn’t have to be that way—fate played no role. It just turned out like this. It could have gone differently. At one point, Arthur asks Nora: If you had met another man at that writer’s retreat, would you have been with him instead? Nora answers that she is simply here, now. Beneath this, I felt a strange tension. It is never entirely clear whether they are truly happy together or if they just ended up in this situation. The same contingency applies to Nora and Hae Sung: Had she never emigrated, would they have ended up together?

This, of course—endlessly emphasized in reviews—is a mature take on love. Not the idea that there is one true soulmate you were meant to meet, with the entire universe conspiring to bring you together. That Nora had to emigrate so she could meet Arthur. That she had to attend that retreat to find love there. It just happened that way.

I don’t believe this does justice to the experience of love. As the French philosopher Alain Badiou argues in his (small) book In Praise of Love, love always takes on an element of destiny in hindsight. You had to meet each other at that copy machine at work. That one layoff, that job application that went unanswered—in light of the love you eventually found, it all had to happen. This film, however, is more in line with Milan Kundera’s novel The Unbearable Lightness of Being. In it, the character Franz states that a particular encounter is entirely meaningless. The traffic light could have turned red a little later; this, that, or something else could have happened, making the encounter purely coincidental and therefore meaningless. Badiou, on the other hand, would argue: every moment unfolded exactly as it had to, leading to that one inevitable place. Contingency plays no role—not at least in how love feels.

When Hae Sung arrives, the what-if life suddenly resurfaces. Even after all these years, their strong connection remains. Their reunion is tender, gentle, and civilized. No passionate romances, no affairs. Just two old lovers seeing each other again. Familiar. When I once met up with an ex-girlfriend in Utrecht after years apart, we had a similar encounter. We walked through a park where we used to lie together when we were still a couple. We talked about our lives, reminisced, feeling both a deep recognition and an undeniable otherness. The day was autumnal, gray, melancholic, soft, tender. Why we did it, I no longer remember exactly—perhaps there were still unresolved things. Conversations that needed to be had. Or doubts. What was still there? What was gone?

They, too, walk through the city, talking, laughing, drinking. He, Hae Sung, carries something of home with him. The language, of course, the memories. And Arthur accepts it, supports her, understands what this means to her. There is even a moment when the three of them go out for dinner together. He is the odd one out but bears it with quiet resignation.

A beautiful image; mature, civilized. But in the end, I don’t believe it. This is not how life unfolds—it is how someone imagines life could or should unfold. It reminds me of the song Liefde van later by Herman van Veen (originally by Jacques Brel), about an aging couple looking back on their relationship. “Sometimes I left you alone too long / maybe what you did was wrong / but I also had my fair share of lovers / we were young and not made of stone / and so we have learned / you can always start again.” Beautiful lyrics. Even aspirational. If only I hadn’t once read that it’s not real. It’s not how an old couple actually looks back on their love—it’s how a young person thinks, hopes, or expects they will reflect on love when they are old. There is a grandeur in it that is reserved for only a few.

That same feeling lingers in Past Lives. In that sense—and I say this in response to many reviews—it is a childish film. It’s admirable how they allow the what-if to exist without resorting to easy answers. But instead of watching a “what is” film, I watched an “ought to” film—how things should be, how things should go. The love between Arthur and Nora seems burnt out. When she says, this is just where I ended up, it feels cold and distant. Meanwhile, with Hae Sung, everything feels full of life—it breathes, there is warmth and love. Arthur’s reaction, in contrast, feels unbelievable. I know it’s meant to depict trust, but I just don’t buy it. Their love doesn’t feel strong enough to withstand something like this.

And I’m not petty—at least, not usually, I hope. But Arthur’s greatness, his complete acceptance of her time with that one love from long ago—laden, of course, with projections and unfulfilled possibilities—I simply don’t believe it. It’s too perfect, too stable. Whereas all people experience moments of pettiness, weakness, jealousy, anger.

Perhaps Nora also understands that with Hae Sung, love would eventually stabilize, and she would ultimately feel the same way—this is just where I ended up. But if that’s your approach to love, you’re setting the bar very low. This is just where I ended up. If my partner ever says that, I hope I’m strong enough to walk away immediately. Maybe I’ve been ruined by romantic comedies—that’s possible. But I still expect, every single day, to be more than just where the other person happens to be. That is not love; that is settling for less.

Past Lives has enough remarkable moments to make it worth watching. The development of Nora and Hae Sung, the experience of a migrant, their reunion. But when all is said and done, the film lacks substance. It never becomes overly sentimental, true. But in return, we get a depressing perspective on love and an overly sentimental portrayal of how perfectly people handle a love triangle. One fairytale traded for another.

And to think that IMDB Critics gave this film the same score as Aftersun—an absolute disgrace.