Rating: 3.5/5
Hooptober XII | 2/31 | Countries 1/6 | South Korea
At New Hope Bio Apartment, a doorbell rings. Song-hee stops preparing food to find a detective outside her door. Song-hee lives in apartment 301. The detective wants to ask Song-hee about her neighbor in 302, Yoon-hee. She invites the detective in, offering him some of the fried chicken she prepared. The detective reveals that Yoon-hee is missing. Yoon-hee had come over for dinner the week prior, but Song-hee hadn’t seen her since. The apartment security last saw Yoon-hee entering Song-hee’s apartment, and hasn’t seen her since. Song-hee explodes in anger at the implication that she abducted her.
The detective then searches 302, finding it sparse, except for a desk and rows of books. While the detective searches, we see Yoon-hee against the wall at various points, but the detective doesn’t see her. He finds and pockets Yoon-hee’s anorexia medication and typed pages from Yoon-hee on sex. Song-hee enters to tell the detective that Yoon-hee is a writer and will be a great author one day. Yoon-hee would get phone calls that she never answered—the answering machine message was a man begging Yoon-hee to pick up.
The film cuts back to before Song-hee moved into 301, and we see Yoon-hee’s routine. When overwhelmed, Yoon-hee would wander through the vacant 301. That is, until she sees Song-hee moving in. The reverberations of Song-hee’s apartment renovations send Yoon-hee’s books flying off the wall. The noise triggers traumatic flashbacks for Yoon-hee of being SA’d as a child. Song-hee, while decorating her place, remembers packing up her belongings after her divorce. He criticizes her weight gain. So, Song-hee goes on a diet while cooking delicious meals.
The film explores the relationships between Song-hee and Yoon-hee, as well as their respective connections to food and sex.
You must not enjoy sex. […] Not me. For me, sex is just like cooking. I can't control my desire for them.
When Song-hee sees Yoon-hee, she thinks about how thin Yoon-hee is. Yoon-hee thinks that Song-hee must be a slut. Song-hee loves both, while Yoon-hee finds both literally vomit-inducing. While trying to help Yoon-hee appreciate food, Yoon-hee writes dieting articles for women’s magazines that Song-hee ends up reading and following.
Song-hee’s apartment is hyper-modern and sleek, with red accents everywhere. She has a poster on the wall of herself from when she was younger and thinner, serving as a reminder of her motivation. The kitchen is designed to resemble a restaurant kitchen. Song-hee dresses in colorful and stylish contemporary fashion that, frankly, I would love to own—the fluffy yellow pullover with the retro flared sleeves is amazing.
The sound design makes some fascinating choices — organic grinding and digital beeps create a sense of unease and paralysis. The 90s synth-heavy score fucking rules. It sounds like a sultry Mark Mothersbaugh score.
The cinematography is slick, featuring numerous rapid dollies that capture multiple angles without coverage. Shot in Academy ratio, each frame feels tight and carefully composed. The food preparation is beautifully shot, but if you don’t eat meat, the meat preparation (such as decapitating and deboning) can be a bit nauseating. That nausea-inducing quality is likely intentional, although part of it is the greenish hue that Fujifilm has.
My biggest complaint is the pacing of the story — it becomes clear relatively early on the direction it is taking and loses a fair bit of steam on some of the flashbacks. Also, how many times do we need to see Song-hee try to feed Yoon-hee and Yoon-hee throwing up?
Still, this film is a sharp encapsulation of the nightmare of disordered eating.