House of Hummingbird

"I FELT THAT I WAS WATCHING MY HIGH SCHOOL LIFE ON SCREEN." "WAR OF PUBERTAL HORMONES" The story is about 8th grader Eun-hee and her high school life. Themes such as puberty and coming of age are present. This is a typical story of not all but almost all Asian and Korean high school students—typical family problems and conflicts, and how they are being resolved quickly most of the time. The skyrocketing hormones affect the emotions brought on by puberty. Sexual identity is being established by these youngsters at this time. Puppy Love and high school friendships, Stealing, which is a common occurrence during puberty, are tackled. I would also like to point out how accurately they describe parents' emotions when it comes to health problems concerning their children. The stages of despair (when they found out Eun-hee needed a surgical procedure) and acceptance (when the family gathered for dinner and tried to cheer each other up) were relatable.

Includes examples of how misogyny is woven into our cultures, including the silencing of girls and women and the beating of sisters by their brothers. We forget that that kind of hatred and abuse is not natural nor necessary nor admirable.

I absolutely loved it. I wish it went for another hour or better yet, a series.

It's length doesn't do it's normalization of domestic violence any favors, but it's character's arcs and it's gentle cinematography make a well worth the time. 4.7

A South Korean film, 'House of Hummingbird', is too long, but it's beautiful from start to finish and in a myriad of ways. At it's heart, we have a coming of age tale, but some of the plot elements are forced and just don't feel natural. Set in 1994, a 14 year old girl is in search of truth and it's a long journey. Final Score: 6.0/10

made it about 50% through and gave up. maybe the ending had something that warranted these exceptional reviews.

Beautifully done but so hard to watch. It's so sad. The scenes are so exquisite but I would not recommend to someone who is depressed.

June 26, 2020 Is there a more tumultuous or uncertain time in our lives than the eighth grade? I personally remember this year being particularly difficult, one that was probably crucial as far as being formative but nevertheless painful to endure. And my experience was hardly unique, for one need only consider the plethora of stories across all entire entertainment landscapes as evidence of just how universally traumatic and indelible this period of our lives can be. Several TV shows ("The Wonder Years") and Hollywood movies, not least 2018's aptly titled "Eighth Grade," often depict this time with painstaking accuracy. When they're done well, they can serve as comforting reminders we weren't alone in our prepubescent struggles. Given all the mainstream examples out there, we might think the concept of "eighth grade woes" is exclusive to Americans, but the latest addition to this ever-growing list is Bora Kim's heartrending "House of Hummingbird," which debuted in its native South Korea in 2018 and has just found its way into virtual cinemas in the United States. This is fortunate for us because "House" is a treasure of a film, one that Kim has crafted with the utmost care and balance. Her deeply personal screenplay, which draws on her own experiences growing up in Seoul, brings a lot of rich and complicated matters to the table, so much, in fact, there were times when I thought the story might be taking on more that it could handle. But Kim shows she's in complete control of her resources and exhibits the right amount restraint so that any character or plot development stays within the film's own reality. And any scenes that perhaps do feel melodramatic can be justified as metaphors for the protagonist's stormy feelings and dubious interpretations of her situations, which will be relatable to anyone who's ever been 13 or 14-years-old. Ji-hu Park plays Eunhee, our sympathetic eighth grader, and her performance is so raw and nuanced that we get a sense of Eunhee's vulnerability, fear and insecurity in the very first shot. She is lost, confused, angry, lethargic, playful and sad all at once, and it's her frustration with not knowing which emotion is the right one to have or display at any given moment that puts her on edge. She's cautious and self-conscious about everything she says and does and we feel for her because we've all been there. For eighth graders, one false move in any area of life can be a recipe for disaster. But for all the tension brewing within Eunhee's mind and body, she remains quiet, withdrawn and distant because, like most eighth graders, she doesn't feel there's anyone to whom she can really express herself. She certainly can't rely on her family, which includes an irritable and often screaming father (In-gi Jung); a chronically depressed and docile mother (Seung-Yeon Lee); a physically abusive brother (Sang-Yeon Son); and a philandering sister (Soo-Yeon Park). Eunhee is the youngest and routinely feels like an outcast among this dysfunctional clan; she's all but a mute around the people who are supposed to love and support her the most. Eunhee and her family live in one of those cramped, high-rise apartment buildings that are now so common in cities like Seoul. It's a carbon copy of several hundred others next to it and a short distance from the parents' store, which generates enough income, but even so, there exists a coldness and despondency inside their home. Each family member fulfills more a business role than a familial one and it appears as though mom, dad, brother and sisters are just going through the motions of what their lower-middle-class society expects of them, devoid of any collective laughter or enthusiasm. They only ever seem to be joyful when they're alone and assume no one else is watching. School doesn't provide Eunhee much of a sanctuary either. She has a friend named Jisuk (Seo-Yoon Park) but she, like Eunhee, is caught up in her own world and attempting to reconcile the abusive issues she too faces at home. Eunhee also has a boyfriend, but their relationship is mostly cute and superficial, stuck in an endless loop of smiling and giving each other mixtapes. Plus, Eunhee isn't even sure she likes boys. She has a range of desires and despite not knowing which ones to act on, she's smart enough to know which are true. On top of her emotional and relationship troubles, Eunhee notices a lump on the right side of her face, the diagnosis of which isn't good. However, what's worse than the potential physical side effects of such a lump are the prospective social ones, for Eunhee is of the age when any change to a young person's physical appearance feels (at least to them) like a matter of life or death. Based on what I've told you, you might be thinking "House of Hummingbird" lays on Eunhee's problems a little thick, but Kim approaches each of her young hero's dilemmas with directness and honesty. None is too grand or farfetched, and in fact it's our being able to see them as possible, even typical, that allows us to make a connection with Eunhee. We feel like we've been her at some point in our lives, including the moment when she finally "lets it all out." Like so many scenes in the film, Kim waits until the time is right in the context of the story for Eunhee to react to how she's feeling and not necessarily when the audience craves vindication. Kim's understated, down-to-earth strategy makes us believe the events of "House of Hummingbird" are happening in our world and not within the confines of a screenplay. Her direction with the actors and Zoe Sua Cho's meticulous editing, particularly her choices of when to show certain scenes and how long to hold on each shot before cutting away, give the film a flowing, inclusive quality. We feel like we're living the narrative instead of simply watching it unfold. As Eunhee seeks hope and recognition through all her turmoil, we're right there with her. Even though "House of Hummingbird" is clearly a serious drama, it's not all somber and melancholy. There are many uplifting and hopeful moments too, which speak to Kim's knowledge that coming of age is a series both ups and downs. One of the ups is Eunhee's exploration of her sexuality with a fellow female classmate named Yuri (Hae-In Seol). They share a tender exchange behind a closed curtain in the hospital, a scene that comes across so naturally I wonder if Kim even had her young actresses rehearse or just improvise. The film's best and most memorable scenes, however, involve Eunhee's relationship with an adult: the angelic Ms. Kim (Sae-Byuk Kim). She's Eunhee's Chinese language instructor who's on temporary leave from Seoul University. Through carefully framed closeups and reaction shots in their tight-knit classroom, and a limited use of sound, Kim subtly reveals Eunhee's slow infatuation with and trust in her teacher. It's obvious Ms. Kim inspires Eunhee for all the usual reasons a teacher inspires a student, but Ms. Kim is even more special because this the first time in Eunhee's early adolescence when someone has taken the time to respect and listen to her. They develop a touching friendship and Kim interweaves their bonding through and across several other developments so that whenever the story does come back around to Ms. Kim, her gentle, smooth face is like a breath of fresh air to both Eunhee and us. Decisions like these confirm Kim knows what she's doing storytelling-wise and they allow the film to really send home Ms. Kim's sage advice to Eunhee that the world can be beautiful, often when we least expect and need it to be the most. I should mention "House of Hummingbird" takes place in 1994, which is important to know because Kim deliberately wanted to show a girl coming of age in a South Korea that was also coming of age. It was during this time the country was entering a period of technological modernity and economic expansion, which, as we see in the film, had far-reaching effects on everyone on all rungs of the socio-economic ladder. It recounts two particularly major historical events that are sure to be imprinted onto Eunhee's memory. But as significant as the historical era is, Eunhee's journey ultimately feels timeless, which illustrates the film's power as a universal human story. The best coming of age tales, of which "House of Hummingbird" can now be included, are those that shed a fresh light on our understanding of who we are and how far we've come. In this case, the focus is on that awkward transition from childhood to adolescence, which we all know can be one of the most urgent times in our lives. Kim captures it pointedly and unaffectedly; she renders drama simply by relaying truth, which makes "House" one of the more moving and effective films of recent memory. And just Like our memories of eighth grade, it'll stay with us for the long haul.

كسم الضحك مش فاهم حاجة

Luckily in "House of Hummingbird" the huge depression is matched by beauty. A suave direction, a camera that works with the characters and surrounding, soft dialogues and the saddest songs ever written: and all this is just magnetic.