‘What Does That Nature Say to You’ Review: Hong Sang-soo Family Drama

No figure in world cinema is as productive as South Korean one-man band Hong Sang-soo, or as consistent in exploring variations on similar themes, always from a fresh angle. With such a prolific output — he has 33 features under his belt, all but three of them made since 2000 — they can’t all be perfectly formed jewels. But when the pieces fit together, they can be uniquely satisfying, finding nuance in simplicity, poetry in the mundane, deeper meaning in the most seemingly innocuous exchanges. What Does That Nature Say to You (Geu jayeoni nege mworago hani) is one of Hong’s more captivating recent entries.

The lives of artists, chance meetings, leisurely meals, cigarette breaks and drunken humiliations are all staples of Hong’s films that resurface in this account of the unplanned introduction of a young poet to the family of his girlfriend of three years, who has somehow never mentioned his existence to her parents. Maybe because she foresaw the result. Cruelty and condescension also figure frequently in the director’s work, bringing an acrid aftertaste to this reflection on the insularity of wealth and class, and the naivety of showing disdain for privilege to well-heeled prospective in-laws.

One of the distinguishing qualities of Hong’s films is the naturalistic sleight of hand that makes scripted talk seem entirely spontaneous, giving audiences the sensation of eavesdropping on conversations happening in the moment. It’s that attribute that makes this deceptively straightforward mapping of a fork in the relationship road so transfixing.

Told in eight untitled chapters, the movie starts with Donghwa (Ha Seongguk) driving his girlfriend Junhee (Kang Soyi) to her parents’ house. The awkwardness beneath their mutual fondness hints at Junhee’s hesitation to introduce him to her family and at Donghwa being too embarrassed to suggest it. But when he steps out of the car to smoke a cigarette, he’s bowled over by the size and splendor of her family home, so Junhee decides it would do no harm to give him a quick look at the immaculately landscaped front garden.

What she doesn’t anticipate is her father, Oryeong (Kwon Haehyo), pottering around on the driveway. A handsome, confident man, Junhee’s dad is immediately friendly with Donghwa but seems more interested in his car. He marvels at the ’96 model like it’s a vintage jalopy and insists on taking it for a spin. “It even has a cassette deck!” Oryeong says upon returning, with what seems almost like genuine appreciation. Naturally, he invites his daughter’s beau to stick around for dinner to meet Junhee’s mother, who won’t be home until later.

While Junhee goes upstairs to chat with her older sister Neunghee (Park Miso), who seems to have no discernible interests other than sitting around plucking out tunes on a traditional Korean gayageum, their father ushers Donghwa back out to the garden to smoke. Oryeong seems delighted to learn that Donghwa is a poet, like his wife Sunhee (Cho Yunhee). He even admires the younger man’s mustache (“So pretty”) and goatee, confessing that he’s never been able to grow facial hair.

Grabbing a bottle of the fermented rice liquor makgeolli from his stash in the garden shed, Junhee’s father gives her boyfriend a tour of the grounds. Oryeong tells the visitor that he designed and built the house on a hillside for his mother, who died of cancer some years back, and that he now views the estate as a memorial to her. “Filial love can change a mountain,” says Donghwa, perhaps straining for profundity as Oryeong breaks out a second bottle.

Clearly a man accustomed to having people follow his orders, Oryeong tells Junhee to take her sister and Donghwa out to lunch and to visit a local temple so he can get some things done before Sunhee gets home. That excursion proves pleasant enough, even if a needling edge creeps into Neunghee’s interrogation of Donghwa over bibimbap with pork. She seems especially curious about why he refuses any financial support from his father, a respected attorney, quietly pegging him as a loser who drives a crappy car.

Neunghee and Oryeong both ask the same question of Donghwa: “What do you like about Junhee?” But despite his claim to be a poet, he has nothing beyond generic praise for her.

Hong and his excellent actors — all of whom, aside from newcomer Kang, are members of the director’s unofficial repertory company — keep you guessing as to what point Donghwa’s discomfort kicks in or exactly when Junhee’s family start silently ruling him out as marriage material. It seems significant that both of her parents are reluctant to switch from formal address to more familiar terms with him.

If lunch was a preliminary test, the elaborate chicken dinner turns into juried trial. They remain cordial and let Donghwa basically eliminate himself as a potential son-in-law, while Oryeong keeps pouring him shots of whiskey, on top of makgeolli and red wine. You can tell a regrettable outburst is on the cards, even if it’s delayed when they take a mid-meal break to stroll up the hillside and show their guest the sunset.

Hong flirts with cringe comedy as Donghwa prattles on about trying to live only with what’s necessary and not rely on others, also rhapsodizing about his emotional response to an ancient ginkgo tree at the temple. But his poetic aspirations start to sound flimsy. Sunhee seems to be barely suppressing an eye roll as her mind ticks over. When Neunghee pushes his buttons one too many times about always having his father’s money to fall back on, the now completely wasted Donghwa explodes and is instantly mortified.

This uncomfortable family scenario could have played out any number of ways, from broad comedy to volatile drama, but Hong puts his own sui generis stamp on it. Nothing is ever forced or overwritten. Even the post-mortem conversation between Oryeong and Sunhee after dinner, while hilariously scathing, never pushes for laughs. Hong mainstay Kwon shows the expansive side of his character, but his warm welcome is decidedly conditional, while Cho subtly makes Sunhee the one who calls the shots in the family.

As usual, Hong is his own crew, credited as DP, composer, editor and sound designer, along with writer, producer and director. He’s developed an economy of means and an effortlessness over the years that serve his characters and their negotiation of everyday life well. The predominance of detached, fixed-camera shots allows for detailed observation, with occasional pans and zooms to redirect our attention. His use of low-res video seems designed to mirror the soft focus of Donghwa’s vision when he’s not wearing his glasses.

The farewell scene between Junhee and Donghwa the following morning is affecting, sensitively played by both actors. She shows concern for the deep gash on his arm from when he was out looking at the moon during the night and tripped. But when he locks her in a tight hug to say goodbye, she almost flinches. The open ending is ambiguous, but the outlook on the future of their relationship seems clear, even if at least one of them probably doesn’t yet know it.