Bukchon, also known by the self-explanatory name of Bukchon Hanok Village, is an area in Seoul where the tradition of Korean houses, Hanok, is still a living and working space.
It’s situated between Gyeongbokgung Palace, Changdeokgung Palace, and Jongmyo Shrine. Bukchon means “northern village” and got its name because it is located north of two significant Seoul landmarks: the Cheonggyecheon Stream and Jongno. Bukchon offers a glimpse into Korea’s past, with its narrow alleyways, traditional homes, and cultural heritage. It is a popular destination for both tourists and locals who want to experience traditional Korean architecture and culture.
Bukchon has served as a backdrop in numerous TV dramas and films such as High Kick through the Roof (2009), Personal Taste (2010), I Need Romance (2012), Architecture 101 (2012), Assassination (2015), and Another Miss Oh (2016). As a setting Bukchon adds an ambiance to the stories, something sweet, cozy, safe, longed for, and even mysterious. In Hill of Freedom (2014), however, Bukchon is not just a backdrop but a main character that forms a dynamic relationship with other characters.
The artistic visionary of Hill of Freedom is Hong Sang-soo, a well-known Korean film director in the international art house cinema circuit.
He is known for his simple style of filmmaking that betrays an initial impression and demands multiple viewings that do not lead to a clearer understanding of his directorial intention. His films are full of repetitions, with dialogues that do not seem to have any particular weight of poetic, philosophical, or political significance.
Hill of Freedom is no exception. In the film, the main character, Mori, a Japanese man who used to work as a Japanese language instructor in the Bukchon area, returns to rekindle his relationship with the Korean woman with whom he has lost contact. The film shows Mori’s endless walks through Bukchon in search of the woman. He repeatedly visits the place he believes is hers to leave a note asking her to contact him and frequents the café, named the same as the film title, to collect his thoughts while reading a book about time that says time is a construct.
In the alleys of Bukchon, Mori seems completely lost. His yearning to reunite with the woman he confessed to have respected and admired feels like an impossible endeavor that he should not have embarked upon in the first place. As if it were a rather ill-conceived expedition to look for a lost city of gold and ivory, he wanted to meet a woman he pictured to be perfect in his imagination. Such foolhardy plans often meet a dead end sooner or later. Hong’s film never gives away a clear ending. But as far as I can see, what Mori ends up with is, in fact, a flirtatious café owner who looks for easy comfort away from her domineering boyfriend.
Those who visit Bukchon want to see the past of Korea that displays antiquated and unassuming beauty exuding from the delicate balances of stone, wood, and black roof tiles. Some may see the old lifestyle, collective and sharing, in Bukchon Hanok Village. Some may see the environmentally friendly housing style. And some may see the exquisite pre-concrete era craftsmanship. But aren’t the ways we experience Hanok influenced by contemporary concerns such as climate change, individualism, and so on? Like Mori’s quest to find his ideal woman, it cannot but fail to discover what is not there in the beginning. Bukchon will continue to welcome locals and tourists, serving as a picturesque background for photos. However, the reasons people visit and what they seek in Bukchon will evolve over time.
The village serves as a bridge between the past and present, offering a living narrative that continues to unfold. For visitors, Bukchon is a place of nostalgia, beauty, and cultural introspection. While it remains a steadfast symbol of Korea’s heritage, the meanings and experiences derived from it will naturally shift with changing societal values and concerns.