1994 was an eventful year. Soccer World Cup, North Korean dictator Kim Il Sug died ("Should you celebrate?" Asks the South Koreans) and Seongsun Bridge in Seoul is raging. Everything figures here but it is above all the latter that affects the life of 14-year-old Eunhee; it is the consequences of the accident that retroactively (it happens in the end) give the film its dull basic tone and reinforce the feeling of taking part in a depressive teen's diary.

Otherwise, not much happens. And at the same time a lot. We follow Eunhee during that year, at school, at home, with boyfriend and girlfriend (she tests herself chastely) but nowhere does she find a harbor or arms to rest in.

She has a miserable life - which is still okay. The father is aggressive, but not very so, the mother escaping, the brother beats her, but only occasionally. Sure, it sounds bad but presented in a measured, distanced way.
No one communicates, not really.

At school she is an outsider, but not directly bullied. The class director does not contribute any hope in the mental practice: “We die a little every day. Today is the first day on the road to your death, ”he begins the lessons.

But Yong-Ji, the woman who jumps in as a substitute for the extra lessons in Chinese, makes Eunhee's existence brighten, temporarily. In her slightly slightly clouded revelation, the teen finds a soul mate, a burgeoning hope that there are more like herself out there in the world.

The small conflicts are many, but no one really flames. As in an early Hirokazu Koreeda movie where the ethereal is of greater importance than the physical (thus before he stepped out to the rest of us and made much more easily accessible Cannes winner Shoplifters and now the latest in French Truth).

But we see that there is more going on under the surface, which creates a fruitful friction for the film, and a feeling of powerlessness that many teenage parents can probably recognize themselves. To stand outside and realize that there are lots of things going on inside that probable supervision, but not be able to do something about it.

Which is seriously frustrating, in reality, but as a storytelling strategy it requires even more of both filmmakers and viewers. The former must succeed in delivering strong emotions with small everyday maneuvers, the latter having to try to carve their way through the valium surface to find the pulsating core. It can be quite brilliant film art if you find it in there, but here the distancing eventually takes the head of drama.

It is not an autobiographical story, but long-film debuting Bora Kim (also script) has previously made a short film about a girl of the same name and family, so much so. Bora Kim and her (possible) alter ego keep my interest alive almost all the time, but she could well have cut at least a fifth of the film's almost five half hours.

Three better films about young peddlers:

Tomboy, by Céline Sciamma (2011)

Virgin Suicides, by Sofia Coppola (1999)

Welcome to the dollhouse, by Todd Solondz (1995)