Messages from an Endlessly Tragic World
Busan is a fantastic and magical place for lovers of Asian cinema. It is one of the most important Asian film festivals today, where censorship has no say in what films are screened. The program is so generous (278 films were shown in this year’s edition) that even the pickiest cinephiles can find plenty of films to match their taste.
I must also mention some other factors that contribute to the magic of Busan: the ocean and the food. These are not separate from the film experience – since a happy festival-goer is likely to be a better, more attentive viewer as well. The beautiful weather and the amazing hospitality of the festival staff made our stay, and our jury work, a truly pleasurable experience. I emphasize this because the competition program we watched depicted so much suffering and tragedy on both personal and collective levels that we really needed some positive experiences outside the screening halls to balance our emotions.
The main competition program of BIFF is the New Currents section, which showcases up-and-coming Asian filmmakers’ first or second features. All 10 films in the competition had their world premieres in Busan. Japan, Indonesia, Myanmar, China, Kazakhstan, South Korea, Iran, and Hong Kong were represented by the competing films.
The majority of the films – five of them, I would say – fell into the category of (melo)dramatic contemporary stories about personal suffering. These included tragic family stories about sick (For Rana, Iran) and orphaned (Waterdrop, Korea) children, desperate acts of self-sacrifice to save one’s family (The Land of Morning Calm, Korea), and heroic, everyday struggles with past mistakes (Kaneko’s Commissary, Japan) and the challenges of motherhood (Montages of a Modern Motherhood, Hong Kong).
Although some of these films had memorable moments and occasionally superb performances by their actors, their overall artistic impact felt somewhat unbalanced. Most of the time, I missed true visual storytelling – a more fully developed visual concept that could support the otherwise emotional and dramatic stories, making them a richer visual experience as well.
I would categorize the next group of films as contemporary trauma films, where ghosts from the past connect traumas to the present. The Japanese film The Height of the Coconut Tree, directed by DU Jie – who began his career in China as a cinematographer for commercial blockbusters – embodies a strong desire to avoid anything that feels remotely commercial. This artistic, festival-oriented directorial debut, however, results in a somewhat unconvincing puzzle, with long and slow conversations, time travel, and mystery. Overall, it resembles an unfinished art project where the pieces have yet to find their proper place.
The stronger film in this category, which was also on my shortlist for the final award, was As the River Goes By (China, Charles HU). This delicately crafted and balanced piece combined memory, trauma, and imagination into a captivating visual and emotional flow. If I had any criticism, it was that the film reminded me of many recent festival successes leaving me with the impression that it wasn’t entirely original. Nevertheless, I am very much looking forward to the next film from this talented director, who possesses all the tools and sensibilities needed to produce a truly remarkable work.
I saved for last the films that address collective struggles and traumas, dealing with historical and contemporary social conflicts – particularly as the FIPRESCI prize winner belongs to this category. MA – Cry of Silence (a Myanmar–Korea–Singapore–France–Norway–Qatar coproduction, directed by The MAW NAING) is an essential film that chronicles the struggles of everyday people in Myanmar amid contemporary political and social crises. Following the realist tradition of social problem films, it portrays the harsh conditions in which women and young girls fight to support their families by working in a garment factory under often intolerable conditions. When they finally reach a breaking point, fed up with sexual harassment and unpaid wages, the workers go on strike, and the film transforms into a powerful tableau of strong women fighting against all odds for their rights. The haunting images of the protesting women standing up to faceless authorities linger long after the film concludes.
The Kazakhstani entry, Abel (directed by Elzat ESKENDIR), is also a work of social criticism. Set in Kazakhstan after the Soviet Union’s collapse in 1993, it tells the story of an individual confronting a shifting political landscape marked by corruption, deception, and violence as capitalism arrives in the lives of farm workers. The film is beautifully crafted, with long takes that document the title character Abel and his family’s struggles. This is a significant film in its artistic rendering of crucial historical events of the late 20th century, intended to be inscribed into collective memory. Many former Soviet Union countries, as well as former Soviet Bloc nations in Eastern Europe, share similar experiences with the abrupt arrival of capitalism, which often shattered lives, livelihoods, and communities, leaving behind a sense of bitterness toward the newly acquired ‘freedoms.’
The FIPRESCI award winner, Tale of the Land (an Indonesia–Philippines–Taiwan–Qatar coproduction, directed by Loeloe HENDRA), is a poetic, visually captivating exploration of the fractured harmony between humans and nature, intertwined with a personal journey marked by trauma. May, the central character, lives in a rundown house floating on the sea, having lost her home and her parents due to mining development. Traumatized by these events, she is unable to set foot on land, though she longs to return to her former life and the land she misses.
The deeply poetic story addresses critical contemporary issues: the destruction of the environment due to industrial activities and the disruption of the lifestyle and space of native communities. The tension between a house floating on water and the possibility of life on land evokes the powerful forces of nature and, through this, the theme of climate change. Throughout the film, there is a strong emphasis on visual storytelling –we see fascinating tableaux that explore the relationship between humans and nature, as well as humanity’s vulnerability to nature. The story also emphasizes the importance of symbiosis and balanced coexistence between humans and nature. It elevates the narrative and its motifs into a mythical register, turning the work into an allegory of humanity’s relationship with nature, with global implications. The motif of May returning to the mainland at the end of the film suggests a hopeful outcome, yet also reveals the painful struggle she endures.
The competition program offered a snapshot of what interests emerging Asian directors and revealed the tragic nature of their worldview. One question haunted me throughout the screenings: why is there not a single moment of laughter, or at least a faint smile, in these films? Jia Zhangke’s film Caught by the Tide was featured in the program in Busan, where he quoted Mark Twain: ‘The human race has one really effective weapon, and that is laughter.’ How true – laughter could indeed be used as a critical weapon. I would be very interested to see young Asian filmmakers wielding this tool.
Teréz Vincze
©FIPRESCI 2026