[Dispatch=Reporter Jeong Tae-yun] Everyone comes into the world through someone's support. We eat, wear clothes, and sleep in our parents' care. As we grow, we eventually become people who care for our parents, and when we have our own children, we support someone again. From child to parent, from parent to child, sometimes from grandparent to grandchild. Support does not flow in one direction. The film "Coming of Age" (Director Jeong Seung-o) observes that peculiar cycle. Jeong-mi (Ha Yun-gyeong), a daughter caring for her ailing father Chul-taek (Ki Ju-bong). Hyun-suk (Yang Mal-bok), who was enjoying single life instead of her separated husband, and her mother Ok-nam (Won Mi-won), approaching her ninetieth birthday. And Kwan-taek (Kim Jong-gu), Chul-taek's older brother who looks after his grandchild. While each has their own circumstances, no one is completely free.

Looking at the subject matter alone, there is nothing special about it. The father gets cancer, the daughter cares for him. Siblings bicker over who will take care of their aging parents. It is a story that has become so familiar it could be considered trite. Yet "Coming of Age" makes this familiar family drama something special. It does not push toward melodrama. It moves between laughter and tears, then confronts reality. Emotion is not pulled in one direction; comedy and tragedy flow endlessly. Because of this, the family in the film feels unusually realistic. Life does not stop even when something serious happens to the family. Even if the father has cancer, Jeong-mi must go to auditions. While worrying about medical bills, she has to land a minor role. Hyun-suk also does not want to give up her solitary life even as she must care for her mother. Life does not divide tragedy and comedy cleanly.

This is especially true of Jeong-mi's thirty days of caregiving. On the surface, Jeong-mi is a dutiful daughter. But she does not wear the face of a dutiful daughter. She does not hide the expression of being exhausted to death; she gets irritated, angry, and sometimes resents her father. Perhaps that is the most honest face we have. Just because we love our parents does not mean their care is always joyful. "Coming of Age" does not define that feeling as unfilial. Rather, because of that immaturity, the characters come alive. With hospital bills of thirty million won needed, Chul-taek only has about three million won saved. Jeong-mi eventually cannot hold back and shouts at him—what did he do instead of saving money? Chul-taek maintains a strange expression in silence, then much later pours out the words he has accumulated. He speaks of the tuition for his daughter's college, the car, the money that went into the house, and asks in return, "Did you spend that hard-earned money just to sit quietly in front of a camera?" Even as they hurt each other this way, when night comes, Jeong-mi lies down again on the caregiver's bed. Then she speaks to her father as if nothing has happened. Chul-taek, too, quietly says he is sorry. That is what makes them more like family.

The strength of "Coming of Age" also comes from the actors performing these relationships. Ha Yun-gyeong does not explain Jeong-mi's emotions with a single expression. She shows the heart that worries about her father while feeling irritated, is exhausted from caregiving yet cannot abandon her dreams, through subtle shifts in tone and the temperature of her face. Ki Ju-bong also does not simply make Chul-taek an irresponsible father. He moves naturally between being shameless and becoming embarrassed, being angry and becoming apologetic, and the complex face of a man who buys lottery tickets even as death approaches.

Their acting is good not only in scenes that bring tears. In the moment they fight then casually bring up lottery tickets, in the moment they worry about each other yet unnecessarily show irritation. These small movements accumulate and make the father and daughter seem like people who actually exist somewhere. Hyun-suk's sense of injustice and resignation, Ok-nam's stubbornness and peculiarity, Kwan-taek's sense of everyday life. Even characters who appear briefly, like hospital doctors and nurses, workers at the neighborhood office, seem like people living their day before stepping in front of the camera.

Hyun-suk's story is no different. She enjoys living alone, but her siblings say: since you live alone, shouldn't you be the one to take care of Mom? Not everyone readily accepts the duty of supporting aging parents. But the moment you say you do not want to, you feel like you have become an unfilial child. The film does not hide that feeling. When Hyun-suk finally agrees to take her mother, Ok-nam says she does not want to. Hyun-suk tries hard to suppress her rising smile. That appearance is immature but not hateful. Rather, it is so honest that it makes you laugh. That brief expression alone explains the humor this film possesses.

Finally, Ok-nam's recitation opens another possibility in this cycle. Over the voice reading a passage from Park Wan-seo's novel "My Most Shameful Thing," images of the Japanese colonial period and the democratization movement overlap. A woman who had to postpone her own life in order to live through an era, now approaching her ninetieth year, speaks of her life for the first time. Ok-nam asks, "I also want to live alone. You are my past. Shouldn't I also be allowed to imagine a future for myself?" It is a declaration to step back from the duty of support that was taken for granted under the name of family, and finally to choose her own life.

So the ending of the film is rather light. Jeong-mi parts ways with the ghost hallucination that had been following her, and Chul-taek and Hyun-suk settle their ties through divorce. The grandchild whom Kwan-taek cares for begins to grow succulents. Now he too is becoming someone who cares for something. Over Ok-nam's calm voice saying "A new day has dawned," Han Young-ae's "Moon" flows. The final music after passing through a heavy story is strangely light. Family still must support each other. Someone is sick, someone grows old, someone must take responsibility for someone else. That fact does not easily change. Yet we laugh, complain, dream, and sometimes live without coming of age. Perhaps that too is a way of living. That it is okay to live my own life. "Coming of Age" grants that small permission. "The most immature face is family" (Coming of Age ★★★☆)

<Photo credit=Indie Story, Jumadaeng Film>