Horoomon: the Japanese word for grilled offal, derived from "something to be thrown away." There were people who picked up discarded animal intestines and ate them—Koreans who moved to Japan during the Japanese colonial era. The Japanese looked down on them for grilling and eating offal, but today, it has become a beloved dish for all. For Zainichi Koreans who have lived in Japan, horomon carries the sorrows and history of their lives.
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The power of people lies in the power of stories, and the power of those stories lies in the power of the work. This film does not rely on shaky camera angles or frenzied cuts to show its formidable strength. Shin Sugok—her presence and the history she carries—stands tall on the solid foundation of director Lee Ilha's careful, layered storytelling, each detail locking into place like Lego bricks. And as we watch, we start to see that the "our" history we so casually refer to is not really "ours." Still, the film leaves us with a sense of duty—a feeling that "we" can and should still walk alongside her.
Elegant, recurring dance sequences and the familiar J-Pop tracks in the film do more than support the storytelling of this film. They hold the chaos of the era, the sharp contours of history, and the lives within it. Through Shin Sugok's journey—from a successful businesswoman to a social activist—and through the stories of two generations of Korean-Japanese women before her—her grandmother and mother—we find ourselves walking through central square of survival and history that never stopped moving forward. (PARK Taejoon)
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LEE Ilha | exposedfilm2000@gmail.com
LEE Ilha
