I am not someone averse to elaborate and advanced filmmaking, with blindingly spectacular special effects and an unbelievably high budget, used over a lengthy and exhausting period of production. Laborious, time-consuming and expensive filmmaking was what Hollywood was built on and continues to thrive on. However, as I have never made it a secret before, I have to admit that I do prefer independent cinema a lot more – that isn’t to discredit those hardworking individuals involved in the mainstream Hollywood machine, but rather to say that there is something about independent cinema that just draws me to it far more than big-budget blockbusters. Obviously not every independent film is good, and there are some I outright despise (and lately, independent cinema has become a bit too concerned with showing off its independence, and flaunts how alternative and self-ironic it is, which can be beyond exhausting). Yet, there are some that I adore so much, I just need to gush over them with every bit of praise I can possibly give. One such film is Columbus, a film that proves that a small budget is not a limit or a constraint – it is a challenge of talent and innovation. A challenge that Kogonada embraced fully, delivering one of the very best films of the year.

Jin (John Cho) is a Korean-American translator of English literature who is called back to the United States after his father collapses and falls into a coma. To Jin’s chagrin, this happened in the town of Columbus, Indiana, a town known mainly for its innovative and unique modernist architecture…and not much else. Jin soon encounters Casey (Haley Lu Richardson), a young woman who clearly has big dreams and astronomical aspirations, and is far wiser than her recently-graduated age would suggest – yet she is stubborn, and does not dare take the leap into the wider world, even though she has fantasies of a success she won’t ever be able to achieve in Columbus, Indiana. Through tours and visits to the various buildings of note in the small town, the two become friends and bond over architecture, but for very different reasons: Jin tries to hide his inherent admiration of architecture as some kind of barrier between him and his very famous architect father, and defends himself behind a shield of high-flying, technologically-dependent, aloof millennial swagger, whereas Casey is a small-town semi-Luddite who refuses to accept that life should be lived in the digital realm, but rather out in the open spaces, where we can view and admire the architectural marvels that exist around us – both natural and man-made, and gain meaning and enlightenment through doing so. Through their intense discussions and growing friendship, and what seems to eventually evolve into a slight romance of sorts, they find insecurities and secrets within each other, and start to realize that for every difference that exists between them – career aspirations, family lives, location – they are very similar, and as much as I hate to resort to a dull cliche, through finding each other, they find themselves.

John Cho has gone a very long way from being Harold in Harold & Kumar, and even when he was in those questionable films, I found him to be someone with quite a bit of potential who seemed to be able to do far more than what he was given. Forays into mainstream fare such as Star Trek showed he had great talent. However, it was only when I saw Columbus that I realized the magnificent charisma and magnetic intensity he is capable of. Playing Jin, the reserved but intelligent and philosophical man living in his father’s shadow, Cho finds a character who is complex and profoundly fascinating, and manages to portray Jin as someone searching for meaning, and being forced into an environment that he doesn’t want to be in, but is forced to be in for the sake of family and tradition, we can see his struggles with his own identity – perhaps nothing as notable as questions of racial or national identity, but identity as someone who is willing to do anything to get away from his father’s influence and always being “his son” rather than the person he has made himself out to be. It is an issue that isn’t too massively stated outright, but it is a looming presence, and Cho is absolutely astounding at playing a character that finds complexities in these crises of identity. It is a pity that Columbus is such a small film, mainly because this is the exact kind of showcase Cho needs to become a bona fide leading star, so let’s just hope his tremendous performance here gives him the exposure he needs.

Yet, Columbus does not serve to be a showcase of the young but established John Cho and his potential as an actor. Rather, it is a film that exposes us to the supremely gifted young talent, Haley Lu Richardson. While she did make a mark in films such as Split and The Edge of Seventeen, she was overpowered by stronger, more established actors in the leading roles. Columbus places her right at the forefront, and gives her a character filled with such emotional ambiguity and complexity, and develops her to the point where it goes beyond the archetypal “young person finding themselves in the face of an uncertain future, intent on crushing their dreams” (trust me, this is a stock character present in so many coming-of-age films). Richardson goes far beyond the simplicity of her character and turns in a performance of remarkable restraint and angst-filled uncertainty. The way Richardson delivers her lines, as well as the subtle nuances of her non-verbal performance delivered through gesture and expression construct a character that we care deeply about. She is awkward, flawed and troubled, but she is a genuinely good person, looking for her own place in the world, too smart to remain happily in Columbus, but too scared to venture out into the outside world and reach her true potential. I look forward to seeing where Richardson’s career goes in the following years, because if there is one thing I took away from Columbus, it is that we should all keep a very close eye on Haley Lu Richardson’s career, because it is certainly going place if she is capable of this kind of performance.

Here’s a disclaimer: Columbus is not the most thrilling film. In all honesty, it is a 100-minute film that consists almost entirely of two people talking and musing about the nature of existence while trying to iron out their own flaws and desires for whatever it is that they are pining for. I wouldn’t ever dare call this film “boring”, but it is a deliberately patient and delicate film about human relationships, and thus it concentrates solely on developing the two main characters through their discussions and encounters with others, through which we can start to see their inherent characteristics as well as their insecurities and aspirations. It is a film driven by dialogue, and while others may find this somewhat unstimulating, I found it to be one of the most electrifyingly brilliant films of the year, where the discussions were so deeply profound and fascinating, it was almost impossible to look away. The chemistry between the two leads was remarkable, and the nature of the film was astonishing.

Yet, what was this film about? Surely any film about philosophical and existential musings must have some reasoning behind it? Columbus, while it isn’t entirely clear, is about something extraordinarily profound: the search for meaning. I have argued in the past that nearly every work of art – whether literature, music, fine arts or filmmaking – has some element of a search for meaning. While it isn’t entirely clear what meaning is being searched for in mainstream tentpole blockbusters, there certainly is some element of existential curiosity existing in every work of art. Columbus is very clear in its intentions, showing these two conventional, ordinary individuals thrust together, both searching for their own meaning and an explanation to why they are in the position that they are in. They question the moral and ethical construction of society, much like their deeply meaningful discussions on architecture, where they ponder the reasoning behind the unique modernist style of the buildings that occurred in that small town.

If this isn’t exciting enough, consider that this film, made by mononymic wunderkind Kogonada, is an exercise in deep realism. This is an extraordinarily minimalist film that combines gritty kitchen-sink realism with dreamlike philosophy. It isn’t any surprise that Kogonada has been influenced by the likes of Bresson and Ingmar Bergman and Yasujirō Ozu and many other highly influential auteurs (just a side-note, visiting Kogonada’s website brings up a valuable resource curated by someone who truly adores cinema, so it is always worth a visit). His neo-realist approach to filmmaking hearkens back to the works of Jean-Luc Godard and Vittorio De Sica in its unabashed brutality towards the human condition. There is tragedy within simple existence in the minutiae of our lives, and our protagonists seem to be the only ones aware of the effects of simply living because while life isn’t necessarily made for suffering, escape from the mundane nature of their lives is far from as simple as it seems. Yet, there is always hope, and while I wouldn’t call Columbus a bleak film, it is certainly one that questions the surface of life as being false and goes in search of the deeper meaning behind life. Pretty profound, wouldn’t you say?

Visually, there is something so profoundly beautiful about this film. Kogonada made sure to be economical with the budget of this film, using it where it mattered. The simplicity of the aesthetic of Columbus is astonishing – the way the film navigates this small town and transforms it in a utopia of philosophical realization as a result of bleak suffering is unparalleled. The focus on the buildings in Columbus was far more than just to serve as a backdrop to the growing friendship of the two leads. Much like how Vienna, Paris and the Peloponnese Peninsula served as important factors in Richard Linklater’s incredible Before…Trilogy (a major influence on this film, as evident throughout), the location becomes a character of its own, each building having its own story. This is far from being a film about a love affair with architecture – it is a film that shows that these structures are far more than simply being buildings to be used – they are works of art themselves, whereby the designer conveyed some hidden meaning within them, and this film is preoccupied with determining what existential reasoning is lurking in the unique modernist architecture, and through that, we are able to connect these meanings with the insecurities and aspirations of our main characters. This film is far more than simply being a profound drama, it is one that approaches its unique philosophy in a way that is very rarely conveyed in such a way in cinema. Columbus is probably the greatest architectural romance there is, if not the only one. Yet, that is quite enough of my architectural musings, because this is far from being a film about buildings – its just one that uses them brilliantly to tell the story of two very normal people searching for something larger.

Columbus is a marvel – it is proof that a huge budget is not necessary to make a thrilling and enthralling film, and while it may be a relatively subdued affair, Columbus is extraordinary. Simple and deeply meaningful, it features incredible performances from its two leads and a wonderful screenplay that develops their characters far beyond archetype. Columbus is proof that independent cinema can give birth to incredibly complex and beautiful stories, and it has served to be a home for some truly talented storytellers, intent on conveying their own vision to the screen. I adored this film, and it is most certainly one of my favorite films of the year. While Hollywood is out there, often putting us through unbearably bombastic ordeals, you have films like Columbus that serve to be otherworldly experiences, filled with incredible reflections on life and existence. If you haven’t seen Columbus, then you’d be well-advised to remedy it immediately. It is not a big film, but it is a meaningful one.