Little is wonderful and brilliant In Front of Your Face (Dangsin-Eolgul-Apeseo), the eleventh movie of South Korean essayist chief Hong Sangsoo to be welcome to Cannes. A simple movie to ignore in its nuance, it’s anything but a typical day for a moderately aged entertainer who, on the pregnant cusp among life and demise, consents to meet a somewhat stupid movie chief in a bistro. Run of the mill of Hong’s work, the laid-back enemy of narrating allows day by day life to stream gradually by without occurrence, until a dramatic curve in the final venture gives the film its importance. It will unquestionably interest his celebration fan base however amateurs be careful: It takes persistence to get to covered up facts, and even so they are probably just about as clear as a Zen koan.To say that Hong is a productive producer is putting it mildly: His innovative yield part of the way through 2021 so far incorporates not just the current film bowing in the new Cannes Premieres area, yet the 66-minute show Introduction, which won the Silver Bear for Best Screenplay at February’s Berlinale. Working with an expert cast, Hong handles coordinating, scriptwriting, cinematography and even music forming in a natural limited show. It’s an accolade for his technique and abilities that the film, yet limited to a couple of straightforward sets around Seoul, has the satisfying look of expert quality.Sangok (played by Lee Hyeyoung, a main South Korean entertainer of the ’80s) is visiting her sister in Korea and resting on the couch. Following quite a while of living in the U.S., where she quit any pretense of representing straightforward work, she has returned home on an uncommon visit. A hidden pressure surfaces with her sister (Cho Yunhee) during a morning walk and mindful watchers will see that she is by all accounts keeping something down as they talk. We hear her musings: “This second is beauty; heaven.” She is making a decent attempt to live carefully in the present, without the interruption of the past or what’s to come.
This way of thinking is scrutinized when, in her nephew’s noodle shop, she spills a drop of soup and messes her rich pale pink pullover. Her sister figures she should change garments before her lunch meeting with a producer, yet Sangok releases it, recommending that appearances don’t make any difference to her.
The wandering exchange between the sisters has the legitimacy of comedy, bringing their differentiating characters out firmly. Sangok has a Zen-like care and ponders all that she does; sister Jeonok appears to be amazed at herself each time she has an idea — like the unexpected mindfulness that they scarcely know one another.
Reality turns out in the fundamental scene, set in an unfilled bar, among Sangok and the chief (played by Hong standard Kwon Haehyo). It’s their first gathering and he clumsily communicates his profound deference for her presentation in an old film he cherishes. They are in isolation — he knows the proprietor and has been given a key to secure — and both are quite smashed on soju. It is then that Sangok uncovers why she can’t make arrangements to shoot a film with him. As they leave the bar, they are trapped in an abrupt storm, which neither appears to think often about.
Be that as it may, the film’s genuine revelation comes promptly the following morning. Sangok is at her sister’s place, trusting that the chief will get her. He has proposed they go on a short outing together so he can film her. (He has likewise conceded to a more close to home interest.)