This review is part of Honi Soit’s continued coverage of the 71st Sydney Film Festival, 5-16 June. Read the rest of our reviews here.
Oh Jung-Min’s directorial debut offers an exciting insight into the process of tofu-making. Set against the backdrop of the picturesque Daegu mountains in South Korea, House of the Seasons (2023) follows Seong-Jin (Kang Seung Ho) and his family’s varied expressions of grief, tradition and betrayal.
Over three chapters, marked by visually striking depictions of summer, autumn, and winter, Oh Jung-Min invites the audience to observe the Kim family, as they navigate domestic turbulence. The film begins with what appears to be a blast of snow enveloping the screen, but is in fact, a steam engulfed tofu factory. Patriarch of the Kim family and grandfather of Seong-Jin, (Woo Sangjeon) inspects the production line from soybean fermentation to final packaging. Despite being retired, he can’t keep himself away from his life’s work.
Near the factory the Kim family prepare for the Rites, an ancient tradition that honours their ancestors. For the occasion, Seong-Jin, certified favourite grandchild, is returning home for a brief visit. But being the favourite doesn’t protect Seong Jin from his father’s ridicule over his D-grade acting pursuits. As the night progresses, the question of the succession of the tofu factory is raised and Seong-Jin’s disinterest causes a clash with his drunken dad. Returning to Seoul the next morning, Seong Jin steps over his passed-out father, and walks with his grandparents to get a taxi. He promises to call. His grandmother says “he won’t”.
The transition from summer to autumn signals a shift in tone, as Seong-Jin’s next visit home is provoked by a death in the family. Suddenly, all family members inherit new responsibility, and the film recalibrates around the pursuit of a crucial missing bank book. A harrowingly freezing winter traces the Kim family’s descent into fracture. A thematic exploration of the disruptive force of money in the familial context is juxtaposed against shots inside the tofu factory. A tactful motif of the tedious process.
The pace of the film — its definitive slowness — works in its favour, as Oh Jung-Min plays with the duration of shots to offer relief and allow the audience time to contemplate the intricacy of the familial connection. Though not a fast-moving film by any means, convincing and emotional performances from the cast but notably Kang Seung Ho, Oh Man Seok and Son Sook captivate the audience.
The final shot of the film is a ten minute wide shot of Grandfather Kim walking into the snowy mountains, as he embarks on his journey home. As he gets to the edge of the screen, the camera pans to encompass more of the snowy landscape and slowly he blends into the background, becoming less distinctive to the eye. These last minutes of the film, spent observing this banal act, grounded my belief in the normalcy of this story. This style is reminiscent of the practice of slow cinema, echoing filmmakers like Tsai Ming-Liang, who favour long takes and slow burns for the authenticity of the story to emerge.
The film deals with themes of death and family fracture, but is buoyed by an undercurrent of comedic relief. I laughed at the clear display of favouritism of Seong-Jin by his grandmother — only turning the aircon on when he arrived home — on a blistering summer day. In another scene; an endearing conversation between the female family members where they agree that Seong-Jin could one day be president, nodding to Reagan’s transition from actor to the White House.
The character of Seong-Jin is deeply complex. We know he doesn’t want to work in a tofu factory, and we know he cares about his family, but we don’t know much about his life outside of this familial context. Perhaps that is a cultural commentary on the obligation of his being the eldest male child, as Seong-Jin can only be perceived within the context of his responsibilities.
Indeed, in Korean the film is titled “Jangson” which literally translates to “The Eldest Son” in English. When asked about this during the post-film Q&A, Oh Jung Min explained that this direct translation lacks nuance, and that he chose House of the Seasons because it encapsulates seasonal change, while the house (the family unit) remains the same.
Oh Jung Min went on to explain that the tofu serves as a metaphor. “It takes a lot of effort to make, but it’s just as easy to break” — finding continuity between the fragility of tofu, and the fragility of family.
