In recent years, Hong's accelerated his productivity, partly because of a messy and very public affair with leading lady Minhee Kim (long story short: Hong's wife will not grant him a divorce). Now many American reviewers (understandably) praise the prominence and versatility of actress Kim in Hong's movies. Unfortunately, many of Hong's recently imported dramas—even superior efforts, like "Claire's Camera" and "Hotel by the River"—inevitably stop being about unattainable, but free-spirited women and continue being about Hong's, I mean his stand-ins', failure to get over themselves. These movies are only superficially about women who get roped into relationships—platonic and otherwise—with Hong-like dudes; most are just about his, I mean his characters', inability to control themselves. (Hong used to have a reputation for awkward, booze-fueled social interactions at and around film festivals.)
Thankfully, "Grass"—Hong's latest movie, and the 14th or 15th by him that I've seen—is one of the best expressions/variations on Hong's usual formula. A black-and-white drama, "Grass" follows a series of characters as they congregate in and around a cafe. They're not legally allowed to drink there, but they do anyway (the owner says it's ok). They also accuse each other of being responsible for their loved ones' suffering and generally act embarrassed when their friends indelicately air out their dirty laundry. Sometimes, it seems like one character is imagining what the others are saying; other times, it's apparent that they're just daydreaming in close proximity to each other. One sketch-like subplot begins moments before another ends ... only to pick up again later on. These characters' conversations overlap and inform each other, but never really progress, because these characters don't really grow before your eyes (or inevitably regress, thank goodness)—they just stew in their emotions.
Once again, Hong's male protagonists try to feed off of their female counterparts' creativity; but Hong's women, led by a characteristically versatile Minhee Kim, can't submit themselves to that kind of emotional blackmail anymore, and are often forced to say as much. All of these characters worry about each other, even as some accuse others of their own personal failings: You don't know him like I do. You didn't love him like I did. Can I stay with you a while? Want to be my writing partner? Sorry, I can't do that. Please, control yourself. Oh, that's a shame. Want another drink?
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