brutally kind
past lives, queer ultimatum, and somehow... vanderpump rules
I saw Past Lives a few weeks ago— an absolutely perfect, heart-wrenching film. It follows Nora, who left her childhood sweetheart, Hae Sung, behind in South Korea when she immigrated to Canada as a preteen. They reconnect in their early twenties via Facebook, and engage in a long-distance, emotionally loaded friendship before Nora ends contact; the relationship proving to be too distracting from her burgeoning adult life. Another decade passes— Nora is happily married to Arthur, an American writer she meets at a residency, when Hae Sung comes to New York for the first time to visit her. It is a movie about the way different people know us at different points of our lives, and how those versions of self lay atop of one another while also remaining distinct. It is about the unknowability that remains within the people we are closest to, the way you love differently in two different languages. It is about the beauty of being seen and known, the anguish of not being able to do that completely.
It’s a love triangle devoid of the dramatics that one associates with them. There are no grand betrayals in the film; everyone behaves completely above board— transparent about their feelings and relationships. Nora explains that her childhood love is coming to New York and that she is nervous and excited about it. Arthur feels gently threatened by Hae Sung’s presence but encourages her to spend time with her old friend. Hae Sung expresses wistfulness for what might have been while respecting her marriage and asking questions about Arthur. They all go to dinner together— Hae Sung not knowing any English, Arthur knowing only a few Korean phrases. The woman they both love sits between them, both the translator and the focus of attention. I spent the last thirty minutes of the movie quietly sobbing in the theater. It is a difficult situation being handled gracefully and it is utterly devastating.
It reminds me— and forgive me for this comparison— of the new queer season of The Ultimatum. For those unfamiliar: The Ultimatum is a reality dating show that brings together half a dozen couples where one partner wants to get married and the other isn’t ready. In order to “resolve” this issue they enter a Netflix produced experiment where each couple breaks up and pairs off with half of a different couple for a “trial marriage.” After three weeks of cohabitation and various levels of canoodling, they return to their original partners for a second trial marriage, before deciding if they want to get engaged, “break up forever,” or pursue love with their trial spouse.
It is one of the darkest reality dating shows ever created. Unlike The Bachelorette or Love is Blind, which bring together a chaotic group of strangers to find love and create drama, The Ultimatum casts pre-existing couples on the brink of failure and sets them up to self-destruct on national television. Other shows revel in the heartbreak borne from a short but intense infatuation, but The Ultimatum flirts with the possibility of breaking apart shared lives.