'Il Mare' is a beautiful film -- beautifully shot, beautifully written, beautifully acted. It's as romantic a film as I've seen in years.
Two attractive young people live in an isolated beach house two years apart. Each is hiding from unhappiness and lack of fulfillment. When the young woman moves out she leaves a note in the house's ornate mailbox asking the house's next occupant to forward her mail. She is hoping for a letter from her lover, who is studying abroad and from whom she has not heard in some time.
When she gets a reply, it is from a young man who claims that he is the house's first occupant and he doesn't know how her letter got into the mailbox, but that he'll keep his eyes open for her mail. The young woman moved out of the house in 1999; the young man's letter is dated 1997. They are living two years apart, but the house's ornate mailbox somehow makes it possible for them to correspond.
Over the course of their correspondence they open to each other and it becomes obvious that they are soulmates. But . . . they are living in parallel universes, separated by two years. She tells him exactly where she will be on one day two years previously, and he goes and sees her, but of course she has no idea who he is.
The story moves forward inevitably but unpredictably, and there are almost guaranteed to be tears at the end. But more than the story, and more than the strength and beauty of the film's stars, what impresses is the way the story is told: through ravishing colors, perfectly composed images, amazing cinematography, even beautiful music. (Music can be the downfall of Korean romantic films.) There is hardly a frame of this film that could not be frozen and framed.
See it, before Hollywood gets hold of it and spoils it. (It's all over eBay, with perfectly good English subtitles.) This is one to own.
Two attractive young people live in an isolated beach house two years apart. Each is hiding from unhappiness and lack of fulfillment. When the young woman moves out she leaves a note in the house's ornate mailbox asking the house's next occupant to forward her mail. She is hoping for a letter from her lover, who is studying abroad and from whom she has not heard in some time.
When she gets a reply, it is from a young man who claims that he is the house's first occupant and he doesn't know how her letter got into the mailbox, but that he'll keep his eyes open for her mail. The young woman moved out of the house in 1999; the young man's letter is dated 1997. They are living two years apart, but the house's ornate mailbox somehow makes it possible for them to correspond.
Over the course of their correspondence they open to each other and it becomes obvious that they are soulmates. But . . . they are living in parallel universes, separated by two years. She tells him exactly where she will be on one day two years previously, and he goes and sees her, but of course she has no idea who he is.
The story moves forward inevitably but unpredictably, and there are almost guaranteed to be tears at the end. But more than the story, and more than the strength and beauty of the film's stars, what impresses is the way the story is told: through ravishing colors, perfectly composed images, amazing cinematography, even beautiful music. (Music can be the downfall of Korean romantic films.) There is hardly a frame of this film that could not be frozen and framed.
See it, before Hollywood gets hold of it and spoils it. (It's all over eBay, with perfectly good English subtitles.) This is one to own.