For as long as it has been a subject that artists and philosophers alike have explored, the ideal version of love is growing old with someone, spending your entire life in their company and having your entire future defined by the person you consider your soulmate. This is a pleasant and beautiful idea, but one that also leaves out the sadder details on the other side of the scenario, since love may be immortal, but those who experience it are sadly not. This is something that Jo Byeong-man and Kang Kye-yeol had to experience for themselves as their marriage, which lasted an astonishing 76 years, comes to an end after Byeong-man grows increasingly more frail, with his dedicated wife having to face the fact that she is soon going to be alone for the first time in her life when he lifelong companion leaves this mortal plain. They are the subject of My Love, Don’t Cross That River (Korean: 님아, 그 강을 건너지 마오), in which director Jin Mo-young tells their story, filming their lives over the course of roughly a year, watching their lives gradually change as a result of their growing awareness of their advancing age, their bodies slowly losing function, which signals the fact that they are in their final stages of life, and that one of them will have to bid farewell to the other, which is a thought that intimidates and unsettles this pair, who have only known each other, having spent their lives together in a small home nestled in the heart of the most beautiful pastoral setting in South Korea. A simple and deeply meaningful film, My Love, Don’t Cross That River is one of the most extraordinary pieces of cinema produced in the past few decades, a hauntingly beautiful documentary in which every detail carries a message that points us towards a broader understanding of what this couple represents, and how their story is not only inspiring, but an encouraging statement on the power of love, which is something that is very rarely discussed in this much detail, which immediately makes this one of the most impactful investigations into romance produced in quite some time, and a truly extraordinary work of art.

Simplicity is a virtue, and this is something that the director understood implicitly when setting out to make this film, which refuses to become too heavy-handed or convoluted, instead choosing to capture the story of its subjects in a detailed but straightforward manner, which is exactly what they required. The story of Jo Byeong-man and Kang Kye-yeol is remarkable on its own, and doesn’t need any sensationalism to seem more exciting or dramatic. Even just the one-sentence premise that it follows the final few months of a marriage between a couple that has been together for 76 years is enough to tell us everything we need to know about this story and what it intends to explore, and Jin makes sure that he works very closely with the subjects to choose the right moments to show on screen. Filmed over the course of 15 months, there was clearly enough footage to tell any story about this couple as they reflect on the marriage, which has been the embodiment of a success – the responsibility of the director was to choose the most impactful moments, since it was obviously unfeasible to have every detail reflected in the film. Jin does an admirably well in curating the footage to be a masterful and powerful examination of a married couple living their final months together, meditating on the past while taking advantage of whatever time they have left, while quietely realizing that this is the end of what has been a suitably happy life for them – but even the most joyful, long-lasting marriages can bring an immense sadness when we realize that they cannot last forever, and that barring some exceptional circumstance in which they both depart at the same time, someone will always be left behind, and when this marriage has lasted three-quarters of a century, it can be a challenge to come to terms with the fact that you are going to be alone for the first time in your life, which is ultimately the foundation on which the film is built, with the footage being edited around Kye-yeol’s realization that the man she has loved for most of her life is slowly withering away in front of her, and will be leaving her to fend for herself during the final stages of her own life – and if this is not capable of devastating even the most cynical of viewers, then absolutely nothing else will.

However, as deeply sad as it may sound based on the premise, My Love, Don’t Cross That River is not a film that is entirely driven by misery – in fact, the majority of the emotions we find throughout the film are joyful. While losing a loved one is never easy, nor an occasion where sadness is not a major factor in how we react to such a loss, we can’t view this story as one that is defined by tragedy. This couple lived an extremely long life, and experienced every joy imaginable, being the ideal for anyone who sees a future where they give of themselves to another person for their entire life. Jin has spoken about the impetus for this film is not solely based on the concept of a happy ending (which we usually see as being the moment where we find our soulmate), but also an exploration of the years that follow it, which is in many ways a far more compelling approach, since falling in love is easy, but maintaining that relationship is what becomes a challenge. In essence, My Love, Don’t Cross That River is more of a celebration of a beautiful marriage than a downbeat exploration of the process of grieving. We watch as Kye-yeol says a gentle, slow goodbye to her husband over the course of a year, his body gradually losing function until he departs peacefully – and while this is objectively quite sad, these moments are punctuated with humour and lighthearted situations, since it became very clear that right until his death, Byeong-man kept in good spirits, remaining a dedicated and loving husband, just having to adapt to a much weaker body that can no longer provide for his wife as he did before. This film focuses on the beauty of the smallest moments, and we watch as it captures so much intricate honesty, using brief interludes of humour to distract from the sadness, the two working in tandem to create a melancholic but deeply compelling oscillation in tone, which emphasizes both the joy and sadness that comes late in life, especially when looking at people who have been together for longer than the majority of viewers watching would have been alive.

The only way to ensure that a story like the one reflected in My Love, Don’t Cross That River is authentic and not concealed under layers of intentional emotional manipulation is to allow the subjects to tell their own story. Jin’s task as a director was simply to record their lives, and then choose what is shown in the final film – everything else is centred around capturing various moments in the lives of these people, which the director does without ever getting directly involved – outside of likely providing a few prompts in terms of what the subjects discuss, Jin is entirely divorced from the narrative, being a passive observer into this marriage, focusing on creating a very authentic film that we never once doubt as being adequately genuine. He allows Jo Byeong-man and Kang Kye-yeol to tell their own stories, with the latter being most prominent, likely as she is the one who is left behind and does the majority of reflecting, since a lot of the film is shown through her perspective. It’s in the quiet moments when she steps away from her husband to sit in quiet reflection, or when she talks openly about her own feelings and experiences going through the process of losing her husband, which is not sudden but rather a gradual, lengthy journey towards his passing, on which she is his faithful and dedicated companion, that we are given the most profoundly beautiful and deeply heartbreaking insights. Jin was clearly inspired by the cinéma vérité movement, with his process of directing this film essentially being setting out to observe and capture life as it is, and finding the beauty in even the most banal moments. There is very little doubt that My Love, Don’t Cross That River is one of the most strikingly beautiful documentaries (in terms of both subject matter and visual prowess – the way he captures their pastoral life is beyond gorgeous) of the past few decades, and it is one that is delivered in a raw, unfiltered form that shows us the life of this couple in their own words and actions, which is a truly beautiful way of making any film, especially one this profoundly moving.

My Love, Don’t Cross That River was clearly not a film made with a specific ending in mind, but rather intended to capture a few months in the lives of this couple, who are the very definition of finding a partner that will be with you until your very last moment. Love is a difficult concept to explore in art, despite it being universal and often viewed as the ultimate achievement that everyone should be able to experience. This film is not at all interested in disproving this notion – if there was ever a work that perfectly encapsulated that incredible feeling of finding someone who you truly love to the point where you cannot live your life without them by your side, it would be this film, which takes an approach to the subject that is simultaneously heartwarming and absolutely shattering in equal measure. This film is nothing short of devastating, and the final act in particular is an exercise in emotional endurance – if anyone is able to get through the final thirty minutes of this film, they either have a heart of stone or very clear signs of psychopathy, because the accumulation of every emotion presented throughout the film leads to one of the most heartwrenching, but strangely beautiful, depictions of grieving a loved one ever committed to film. Jin navigates these harrowing themes with honesty and generosity, providing nothing but respect for the subjects and their lives, but still giving us unfettered access to their marriage, which is one of the most beautiful, poetic explorations of love we have ever seen, which is not even vaguely hyperbolic, but rather a clear indication of the unimpeachable power of finding that one person that makes your life worth living. A seamless blend of soul-stirring drama and quiet resilience, punctuated with moments of remarkable humour and an abundance of beautifully detailed moments in the lives of these people, My Love, Don’t Cross That River is a truly special film, and quite simply one of the most touching documentaries of the past two decades, and one that only grows to have more meaning the further we are willing to allow ourselves to surrender to its themes, which are both beautiful and thought-provoking in a way that will change our entire perception around love, which has never been rendered more beautifully than it was in this wonderful film.