About 160 Pages Into Crime And Punishment And I’m Obsessed With Raskolnikov And Razumikhin’s Dynamic.

be kind to that adult who never speaks at work, who’s strangely quiet at parties and dos.

be kind to the people who never smile, who seem stuck-up, emotionless or cold.

be kind to the person who only speaks when spoken to. who speaks in a very soft or quiet vocie. who speaks awkwardly and painfully.

tell them it’s okay if they can’t speak. tell them you care about them anyway. show them you see their talents.

support people with situational mutism. 🌹🌹

“Eun-hee… When you’re tired or sad, try looking at your fingers. Then, one by one, move them around. It’ll feel very mysterious. You feel like you can’t do anything, but you can move your fingers.”

House of Hummingbird (2018), written and directed by Kim Bora

LITTLE FOREST (2018), dir Yim Soon-rye

disappointed by farewell my concubine tbh!

the absolute funniest plot of nbc hannibal is the fact that the fbi is looking for a serial killer that is highly skilled in evading the police and has been killing for decades in multiple countries, and then they hired a guy who showed up to work like this every day to catch him.

The Quiet Girl ‘An Cailín Ciúin’ (2022) dir. Colm Bairéad

Amores perros (2000)

Dogs shouldn’t have to put up with us.  The characters in Amores perros create a cruel world, or perhaps they think they can only succeed in an illegal manner.  But there are dogs in all of these people’s lives, too.  They come in many forms, but they suffer in similar ways.  Cofi is a rottweiler who has a very “no thoughts head empty” energy during many scenes.  But he is a killer.  In another world Richie is like a toy but suffers because his masters are incompetent.  He gets lost under the ground and maybe dies. Iñárritu understands the experiences of his characters and uses them to great effect.  The dogs in this film are vessels for empathy.  They distill their owners’ existences down to the most powerful truth.  Much blood is spilled but the dogs are constant.  It is a cruel experience for the audience because there is no rest for them; they simply have to survive the film. 

Amores perros represents Alejandro Gonzalez Iñárritu’s best and worst instincts.  It has all his talent but also all his worst impulses.  He adopts a narrative structure like the films of Quentin Tarantino or others, a tapestry of characters interweaving.  The camera moves with a hand-controlled panic to pull us into the world. We constantly bump into other narratives, one line intersecting with the other as these characters affect each other in small or large ways.  Minor details in one moment are important in others.  Iñárritu creates a trap for his characters and then has doubts if he wants to engage.  At times he has great power.  It’s exciting and sad.  I too aspire to be a radical liberal turned doggo-tor.  But it’s incredibly hard to watch the scene when all the dogs in our protect die because Cofi only knows one way of life.  Humans destroy the lives of dogs.  I openly cried for the final minutes.  We cannot learn.  We cannot change.  Young people never learn to find healthy outlets for their emotions.  The only way to succeed is to offend and cause suffering.

THE RULES

SIP

Someone says ‘Cofi’ or ‘pandejo’.

Grainy TV footage.

Crazy baby toys.

An advertisement for Enchant appears somewhere.

Sick ‘00s beat drops.

A sum of money is named.

BIG DRINK

A part title appears onscreen.

The narrative jumps perspectives.

A scene isn’t abjectly miserable.

house of hummingbird (2018)

house of hummingbird is a coming-of-age tale of how an ordinary 14 year-old girl finds herself amidst the relationships she develops with the people around her. in doing so, the film draws on themes big and small, which effectively paints a scarred national psyche and depicts the struggles of normal people as they try to keep apace.

the film can be described as a quiet feminist criticism of gender inequality in a “modern” society. eun-hee and her good friend, ji-soo, are victims of domestic abuse by their older brothers, who have been conditioned by patriarchal notions that empower them to assault their sisters as a means of “reprimanding” them and keeping them in order. when eun-hee and ji-soo are caught for shop theft, ji-soo trembles at the fear of being hit by her brother back at home. when eun-hee bravely tells her parents over dinner, in the first third of the film, that her brother had hit her, her older sister gives her a glance. initially i thought the glance was a glance of surprise and reproach, as if to tell eun-hee to remain silent. but i later realise the glance meant that she herself was a victim of her brother’s abuse, and the glance was a pleasant surprise at her courage. the uncomfortable coexistence of domestic assault and women’s education empowerment (the daughters are enrolled for after-school tuition), points to how society’s claims of modernisation will always ring hollow if women cannot even have basic human rights.

the exhortations of gender inequality are constantly woven in the film. eun-hee’s mother knows that her father is having an extramarital affair, but never explicitly addresses it. nonchalantly asking eun-hee “what was your father wearing when he went out today?” and then checking his closet to see whether he wore his best suit out on a date, eun-hee’s mother is the film’s closest representation of the virtuous traditional asian wife. eun-hee almost walks in her mother’s footsteps - even after seeing her boyfriend flirt with her schoolmate, she takes him back immediately with little questioning. it is only with young-ji’s advice that she needs to not live her life passively that eun-hee starts to assert herself and retaliate. when eun-hee is caught for shoplifting, her father tells him he would rather the shopkeeper send eun-hee to the police station than send some rice cakes over as a “favour”. this is in contrast with her father’s treatment of her brother, offering him money to buy burgers to bribe his schoolmates to vote him as school president.

eun-hee’s relationship with yoo-ri, her junior at school, is less significant as an exploration of sexuality but rather an example of how eun-hee is desperately trying to find true companionship in the people around her. contrasting her friendship with ji-soo (they had a falling out but later reconciled) and her relationship with yoo-ri (yoo-ri fell out of affection and ended the relationship coldly), eun-hee learns that lasting relationships need to be built and are hard to come by. this is why her relationship with young-ji, a teacher at her chinese hakwon (after-school tuition), is extra special. 

it is easy to see why teacher young-ji is a figure of admiration for the impressionable eun-hee. young-ji lives a quasi-ascetic and independent lifestyle - she dresses in baggy linen, brews oolong tea in a set of china, and in their first meeting teaches eunhee “out of all the people you’ve met in your life, how many of them really know you?” in hanja. she quits her job at the hakwon out of the blue, because she felt like it; she is on a long break from her undergraduate studies at Seoul University, because she felt like it. of course, this independence is afforded by young-ji’s privilege (her family is well-off). but her non-traditional behaviour teaches eun-hee that there are ways to live without conforming to society. she never talks to eun-hee with condescension, but treats her as a mature equal and genuinely cares for her in ways that eun-hee has never received.

in terms of style, i very much appreciated the sensitive directing of kim bora, which drew the viewer very close to the protagonist. there were very clever tricks deployed. there is a moment when eun-hee is caught shoplifting and the shopkeeper asks for her father’s number, to which she whispers “555-2589″. when eun-hee frightfully presses this number into the public phone after she sees the bridge collapse, kim borrows this memory, as the viewer knows who she is calling before she even says a word.

but the best moments were always personal. as a 24 year-old asian female, even the slightest scenes were poignant. when eun-hee ended off her never-delivered letter to young-ji with “when will my life start to shine?” i just started crying, because i wanted to tell eun-hee that her beloved teacher probably doesn’t know. i don’t know too. when the film ended with eun-hee having found an internal peace, through young-ji’s words of advice, that would help her navigate life’s tribulations - big or small - i started to cry again. we have all struggled to find ourselves, amongst the many expectations placed on us in the different roles we play in society. even though not all of us have a figure like young-ji when they were growing up, the answer to finding life tolerable is always the same.

i love this film - i really, really do. i am eun-hee when i was 12, i am young-ji now. i love this film with a camaraderie that is shared between all asian women who have struggled and are struggling to find their places in society. –10/10

I think one of the reasons this film resonated with many of us (or maybe it’s just me) is the fact that those of us who crave beauty in the most ordinary things want to spend our lives in a similar manner. In a time where hustling is a desired facet of one’s personality, the movie emphasizes a slow life. An enjoyable life. For those of us who want to stop and stare at the beautiful sunset/sunrise and feel content, we are trying to be part of the beauty too, in ways which we are familiar with. Capturing modest pictures that we find beautiful, treating this little life we were gifted so preciously, leaving little space for extravagance, and looking forward to a quiet life; making the most of those small moments we have for ourselves, contemplating the few books and films we’ve consumed in our lifetime, wishing we lived inside a Ghibli movie, treating life with respect.

We watched the repetitive moments earnestly because, like Hirayama, we too loved watching the leaves sway, light scattering through their gaps, and the dappled shadows, even if it was through a screen, a smile creeping onto our faces whenever Hirayama found a sight worth smiling for.

A lifetime spent searching for beautiful things is a beautiful matter in itself. Noticing the countless crevices on tree barks, recognizing the pattern of veins on a leaf when held up against the sun, feeling the warmth of a sunny day — the more you pay attention, the more these moments find you. We try to embrace love and be engulfed by it; sometimes we lose, and other times we win.

I first heard the word ‘Komorebi’ (木漏れ日) in a Radwimps song, and even without knowing its meaning, I found it very beautiful and would sing that word multiple times. Now that I know what it means, I realize that the real beauty is always there; it’s us who change in ways we couldn’t have predicted.

I'm convinced, that "Koisenu futari" is an extremely underrated show. The importance of its existence is simply enormous. Not only because of the aroace representation, but also because of how it helps allosexual people see what life and relationships can look like from a completely different perspective. How it teaches them to be more open and accepting of people who are different from them. And how it completely destroys all the patterns of modern film industry, considering that even in children's cartoons there is still, not very big, but usually at least some kind of romantic plotline for the main character. I'm so in love with this drama that I just can't