Much like many filmmakers, Lee Chang-dong opens his most recent directorial outing with a fragment extracted from a literary work, which sets the tone of the forthcoming film by giving a somewhat clear allusion to what will be discussed thematically, but also being ambiguous enough not to reveal the innermost contents of the story, leaving that to the viewer to discover. For his masterful Possible Love (Korean: 가능한 사랑), Lee extracts from the final of the Ten Commandments, with the first words we see upon entering the world constructed by this film being “thou shalt not covet your neighbour’s wife”, which may give us a general impression of what the film is setting out to explore, but also doesn’t even begin to capture the full range of ideas that Lee would be exploring throughout this fascinating and provocative work. The film introduces us to Mi-ok and Ho-seok, a couple who have settled into bland but pleasant domestic life, raising their son together and generally living a relatively conventional life, which seems normal on the surface but is plagued with problems, such as financial struggles caused by Ho-seok being retrenched from his factory job as a result of his participation in a labour strike years before, which has put them in a slightly precarious position, which they attempt to shield from the outside world. In a moment of serendipity, their paths cross with Ye-Ji and her husband Sang-Woo. This evidently more wealthy couple are on their own personal journey, with Ye-Ji in particular being a dedicated documentary filmmaker who is looking for potential subjects for her next film, and finds the idea of crafting a portrait around this seemingly ordinary family extremely appealing. Over the course of a few weeks, the two couples grow increasingly closer – but beneath the veneer of charming dinner parties and elaborate trips, there is a growing sense of unease between them as they start to realise that something much deeper is occurring, which could threaten to put both marriages in jeopardy – but despite noticing the direction in which they’re headed, none of them seems particularly concerned enough to put an end to it. A brilliantly crafted blend of psychological drama and romance, developed by one of the most extraordinary filmmakers of his generation, Possible Love is a challenging work, albeit one that makes it very clear what it is trying to achieve, finding time to be as daring as it is profoundly moving.

Love is perhaps the one subject that art has explored above all else (overtaken perhaps only by the theme of death, but you can easily make the argument that even a film about someone dying or dealing with the grief of someone close to them can be considered a love story to an extent), making it as close to a universal subject as we can find, despite it being far less easy to pin down to a particular set of easily manageable ideas. Possible Love looks squarely at the concept of love as something both ironclad and malleable, depending on the target, since for the characters in this film, it’s not enough to be legally considered someone’s partner, since there are parts of life that can only be defined through emotional terminology, which is what draws these characters so close together. Infidelity in particular is a difficult subject to explore, since it very rarely can be portrayed in a positive light – it may not always be defined as an inherently immoral act that warrants ire, but it’s not an easy subject to interrogate without feeling as if some kind of judgment is being asserted, especially since few filmmakers are going to set out to portray it in an entirely positive light, most notably when we’re dealing with a set of characters who may not be perfect, but are certainly not villainous enough to make it seem like being unfaithful is the right decision to escape them. It’s all about finding the right approach, and the film uses the story of these two couples, and their interweaving relationship, as a vessel for Lee to comment on themes much deeper than just the growing sense of unease simmering between the characters as a result of a growing sense of desire between them. It’s a fascinating deconstruction of marriage from two different perspectives, particularly when the director draws such clear divisions between the two couples: one is comfortable enough to lead a normal life, while the other is wealthy to the point where their friends actually somehow lose respect for them, the excess that casually punctuates their life is a clear indication of their priorities in both their professional and personal lives, which the story grows to intentionally resist. It is a thematically rich, complex story of class, culture and familial structure (all of which Lee has explored extensively over the years), bound together in a harrowing but poetic depiction of two couples weathering a storm from which they feel like they cannot emerge unchanged, for better or for worse.

There is something about Possible Love that is reflected in many of Lee’s films, a quality that exists somewhere between the profound and the peculiar. His stories are such tightly wound deconstructions of the human condition, each fragment telling an expansive and complex story all on its own. It’s not difficult to see exactly why he has been proclaimed one of the most essential filmmakers to emerge from his generation, since no one tells stories quite like him. This film is one of his most interesting experiments – the initial impetus for it was for it to be the second in what is now likely a defunct series of films in which global auteurs were commissioned to write and direct films based on Krzysztof Kieślowski’s iconic Dekalog (which is presumably where the director got the idea to base this around “thou shalt not covet”), but which swiftly took on another form, one that was steeped in a much older story that he had been trying to bring to life on screen. We can pick apart the narrative details, but what truly makes Possible Love so intriguing is how the director weaves the story together, choosing to focus on certain aspects through the execution, which elevates the entire project in its entirety. It’s not difficult to understand why the film has touched so many people – it is tackling quite an intimidating subject, but in a way that is never anything less than utterly entrancing, drawing us into the lives of these people as they interact. So much of the story is told through non-verbal cues – body language, facial expression and gestures communicate so much more than the written or spoken words that any other director would use as a crutch for such a difficult story, especially one that centres so heavily on themes of yearning and desire, which can only be effective if we feel a strong emotional connection to the material and the actors bringing it to life. At no point is Possible Love anything close to heavy-handed, delivering some of its more difficult themes through subtle, nuanced cues – it can often be quite challenging at times, but solely because such a subject is always going to work better when it is handled through a more elegant, nuanced approach. Even at its most harrowing and emotionally devastating, Possible Love maintains its composure, becoming a well-crafted character study that is always firmly in command of its emotions, and never once has to resort to the more obvious techniques, which is a sign of a truly phenomenal artist standing at the helm and guiding it forward.

Possible Love does continue Lee’s fascinating approach to working with his actors, handcrafting memorable parts of the central ensemble and in the process giving them all some tremendous work to do, which has often been one of his most interesting qualities as a filmmaker. His stories are often very much driven by the characters, drawing on a subtle humanity that may not always be comfortable as we’ve noted in this discussion, but is nevertheless extremely meaningful through how it challenges the audience to view the world through the eyes of these complex people. The primary perspective is Mi-ok, a mild-mannered woman who is doing whatever she can to hold herself together, solely for the sake of her family, since her husband has been enduring enormous psychological struggles, leaving her to be the emotional anchor for the family. The other three performers may be giving more traditionally interesting performances, but Jeon Do-yeon is delivering something much more effective, a subtle and nuanced exploration of a woman trying to maintain some semblance of normality in her life, while also resisting the constant urge to succumb to her temptations, which proves to be more difficult the closer she grows to these other characters. Her face communicates more than words ever could, and the film correctly positions her as perhaps the most sympathetic character in the story, an intriguing choice considering she is the person whose crisis of identity leads to the central tension that almost tears both families apart. While she’s not put in focus quite as much, Cho Yeo-jeong is equally as compelling, bringing the part of Ye-ji to life with a kind of sensitivity that has often been found in many of her performances, and which she uses to exceptional effect here, playing the role of a documentary filmmaker who seemingly lacks the knowledge or foresight to realise when is an appropriate moment to pick up the camera (a recurring motif that the film treats as both a source of comic relief and a harrowing statement on the often unethical nature of certain forms of artistic expression that blur the line between fiction and reality), and delivering a very nuanced portrait of a woman who hides behind her craft as a means to distract from what is evidently quite a hollow life. While the women are perhaps the more interesting characters, Zo In-sung and Sul Kyung-gu are not to be dismissed at all, since they deliver spirited performances as men handling their own difficult situations, and despite not being as much the focus as their co-stars, they bring so much heart and soul to the film, rounding out an exceptionally strong cast that helps realise Lee’s uncompromising vision.

It is certainly difficult not to be entirely bewitched by Possible Love, which is just an extraordinary achievement. It seems simple at first, but this is actually one of its most sincere merits, since we find that many modern filmmakers seem to be driven by the desire to push their craft to its limit, under the misguided belief that every story needs to be audacious and memorable through challenging the confines of the medium. Lee is much more of a traditional filmmaker (which is not used here as shorthand for “outdated”, but rather a comment on his clear desire to work with a more familiar set of artistic tools), and therefore his approach was to build a story about ordinary people facing internal challenges that didn’t strive to be revolutionary or provocative, but rather drew our attention through subtle and more sophisticated cues. The results speak for themselves, since over the course of 160 minutes, we’re taken on an immersive journey into the lives of two families who meet by chance but are pulled apart by the same desires that initially drew them together in the first place, exploring their interactions, which move from polite and professional to absolutely devastating, building to a climax that is some of the most extraordinary filmmaking in the director’s illustrious career. It takes a lot of effort to tell such a simple story that somehow contains discussions around so many complex issues – not only is Lee interrogating the concept of love, but he’s also exploring class, gender, psychology, culture and every other theme that would fit into such a story. It’s a bold and daring piece of filmmaking that presents itself as a more intimate affair, concealing the fact that it is very much an expansive, intimidating psychological drama about the lengths to which we will often go to satisfy our desires while also trying to maintain our control over a life that can sometimes spiral in unexpected ways. There are no easy answers to be found anywhere in this film, and Lee relishes in the ambiguity that would be frustrating in any other work – and for this reason alone, Possible Love is an absolutely brilliant piece of storytelling, formal in structure but daring in thematic content, every aspect working together in tandem to create this beautiful, poetic glimpse into the innermost recesses of the human condition, carefully pieced together by truly one of the most important and unique voices we have in contemporary cinema.