SHREWSBURY FILM SOCIETY
| Director | Davy Chou |
|---|---|
| Country | Korea |
| Year | 2022 |
Directed by Davy Chou, Return to Seoul premiered in the Un Certain Regard section at the 2022 Cannes Film Festival. It went on to garner critical acclaim, becoming Cambodia’s official submission for the 95th Academy Awards and earning distribution deals via MUBI and Sony Pictures Classics, though its original working title—All the People I'll Never Be—was changed for marketing appeal.
Freddie (Park Ji-min) is a 25-year-old adoptee who grew up in France. On a whim, she flies to Seoul, the city of her birth, with no real plan beyond seeking roots. Unable to speak Korean, she is surprised by the duality of acceptance and alienation she experiences, prompting a spontaneous relationship with her hotel receptionist, Tena. Soon, she traces her biological father, discovering deep-seated estrangement; her mother remains elusive. Through a series of visits spanning nearly a decade, Freddie’s identity fragments and reforms—oscillating between chaos, resilience, and evasive vulnerability.
Park Ji-min, making her acting debut, delivers a hypnotic performance as Freddie. She portrays a character who is fiercely magnetic and deeply guarded—her surface confidence conceals tumultuous emotions. Her portrayal is both erratic and elegiac, capturing the resonance of someone who refuses to be defined by cultural binaries. The supporting cast—particularly Guka Han as the intuitive Tena and Oh Kwang-rok as a haunted biological father—adds emotional weight to Freddie’s fractured quest.
Return to Seoul is less a cultural homecoming than a psychological odyssey. Chou uses Freddie’s journey as a lens through which to examine the dislocations of adoptive identity: she belongs to neither France nor Korea, yet may emerge as entirely autonomous. The film develops through episodic time jumps, subverting conventional narratives of belonging and healing. Its tone is alternately anarchic, melancholic, and darkly humorous—Freddie favours self-destructive behaviour and sharp wit, reflecting the complexity of reclaiming one’s story.
Visually, the film is intimate and raw. Chou frequently places the camera close to Freddie’s face—allowing subtleties of expression to register—and frames Korean spaces through her foreign eyes: underground bars, neon cityscapes, sleight-lit backrooms. The nonlinear structure—jumping forward years at a time—mirrors Freddie’s evolving self-perception, eschewing traditional arc in favour of emotional truth. The soundtrack, which juxtaposes post-punk goth rhythms with Korean rock, enhances the mood of uneasy hybridity.
This film is part of a broader cinematic exploration of diasporic identity. Comparable to Past Lives (2023), Return to Seoul offers a more fractured, confrontational take—not seeking solace in reunion, but demanding self-definition on ambiguous terms. Its cultural resonance is especially keen for adoptees and globalised youth navigating multiple inheritances. Freddie’s unresolved struggle asks us to question: is identity fixed, or perpetually in flux?
Return to Seoul is a courageous, elliptical film that avoids tidy conclusions while delivering profound emotional impact. Park Ji-min’s electrifying debut lifts a narrative rich in contradictions—of belonging and estrangement. In refusing to present identity as a puzzle to be solved, the film celebrates its messy, luminous actualities. It remains an unforgettable journey—raw, unsettled, and entirely alive.
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