The final three minutes of ‘Past Lives’ unfold wordlessly in front of our eyes. This moment serves both as a bittersweet conclusion to the story of Nora and Hae Sung and the inception of a new narrative; one about the people whom we choose to love, the days we choose to live, and the responsibilities we’ve inadvertently taken on. A haunting, quiet, yet profoundly contemplative exploration of how our past continues to resonate in our present, ‘Past Lives’ (2023; directed by Celine Song) unflinchingly delves into the complexities of living with nostalgia and regret.
Subtly precise, the final scene of the film features Hae Sung, the morning after bidding farewell to Nora, gazing out from his taxi at the speeding signs of New York, before cutting to the credits. In this painful but necessary cut, ‘Past Lives’ brings itself to a close, offering a deep and authentic contemplation on the essence of humanity: our choices. Above all, it is a film about living with ourselves and what we have chosen to make a life out of. As Hae Sung reels through the foreign city on his way home, we confront the crucial truth: both he and Nora have chosen to live, rather than relive, their lives. It is no longer dictated by circumstance or hurried farewells, but a conscious dedication to the present that renders ‘Past Lives’ profoundly heartbreaking, unromantic, and ultimately, human.
Taking a step back three minutes before the film’s conclusion, we find a roughly two-minute scene depicting Nora walking away from Hae Sung’s Uber, leaving behind both what might have been and what could have been. In this expansive shot, Nora approaches and passes by apartment 46. The recurring theme of twelve-year cycles in the film (the characters first meeting at 12, reuniting and parting at 24, and finally coming together in the present day at 36) imbues the number 46 with immense significance and hope for the appearance of 48, signalling Nora and Hae Sung’s potential reunion twelve years into the future. As the camera meticulously follows Nora in this unhurried shot, we see apartment 46 prominently displayed, followed by apartment number 50 situated beside it, partially obscured behind a low gate. The absence of the expected 48 becomes a silent yet resolute confirmation that the twelve-year cycles that have kept Nora and Hae Sung intertwined in each other’s lives have now been irrevocably severed.
As Nora breaks down in tears, a quote that predates ‘Past Lives’ seems to me to encapsulate the core dilemma of the film:
“I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want […] And why do I want? I want to live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in my life. And I am horribly limited.”
(The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath)
The return of her childhood best friend and almost-lover bisects Nora’s world as she wavers at a pivotal crossroads: to stay or to go. Much like Plath, Nora’s cries seem to convey the feeling that one is ‘horribly limited’ in life, ‘limited’ in one’s capacity to live, simultaneously, what is, what was, and what could have been. When we remember, however, Nora’s admission that nobody cared if she cried, we must also recognise that her breakdown in front of her husband is not really, at least not completely, a result of her ‘limitation.’ Instead, the film closes by substantiating the simple truth that love and connection can be found in the decisions we make, despite the decisions we’ve made — in the people we’ve chosen for partners, for friends, and even if such choices do not feel cosmic, fated, grand.
‘Past Lives’ deals with the question of how we accept the roads not taken, the people we couldn’t love, and the lives we did not lead. Without divulging any answers, Song transforms limitation, regret and tragedy into a gentle and imminent aspect of life. Alongside the what-ifs and might-have-beens, there run the threads of what did happen — and what did happen encompasses a life filled with doubts, struggles, regrets, losses, moments of joy, laughter, and love. Amidst this haze of the mundane, the boring, and the ordinary, we sometimes glimpse through it with a contented sigh and think to ourselves, this is my life.
