‘By the Stream’ Review: Hong Sangsoo and the Art of Subtle Drift

In what could be seen as a kind of return to a mode of filmmaking — in structure and themes — that the director himself explored decades ago, By the Stream brings back the Hong Sangsoo of the art world, the universities, the awkward relationships between professors and students, and the long tables surrounded by countless bottles of soju, beer, and even wine. It’s not a radical turn or a particularly striking change — his films from the past ten years also contain many of these elements — but here he seems especially faithful to a world he had gradually drifted away from as his style and themes evolved.

This is pure, unfiltered Hong territory, as if By the Stream were the film that came right after Tale of Cinema — only with far fewer zooms. For the most part, it unfolds within a university over a few autumn days, following Sion (Kwon Haehyo, a regular in Hong’s troupe), a well-known actor who now lives, as he claims, semi-retired as the owner of a bookstore “that no one ever visits.” He’s come to see his niece Jeonim (Kim Minhee, Hong’s real-life partner), who teaches at the same institution. Jeonim has asked him to fill in for another instructor who, for reasons that will soon become clear, has had to abandon his class. It’s not a permanent position but a short-term task — just a couple of weeks — to prepare a group of female students for a theater festival where they’ll present a short play (referred to here as a “sketch”) that Sion himself must write.

Although uncle and niece haven’t seen each other in years, their reunion is warm and easygoing. Things get a bit more complicated, however, with the arrival of Jeong (Cho Yunhee), Jeonim’s boss at the university and a self-confessed admirer of Sion. “I’ve seen all your plays — the ones you acted in and the ones you directed,” she tells him during their first encounter, which, predictably, takes place in a restaurant over food and drinks. Much of By the Stream unfolds in such settings — a succession of dining rooms where the three main characters (and later, in a long and remarkable scene, the students as well) talk, eat, drink, and, with the help of alcohol, gradually open up to one another.

It’s never entirely clear what happened, but something controversial clearly derailed Sion’s acting career. Jeong’s admiration seems to awaken his old seductive instincts. Hong keeps this dynamic in the background, but there’s unmistakable sexual tension between them — a tension that Jeonim doesn’t quite know how to handle. As we’ll eventually learn, certain things have happened at that university — all linked to the complicated relationships between teachers and students — and it’s best to avoid anything that might draw attention or cause trouble. What Seonim doesn’t realize is that the real problems will come from an entirely different direction.

As its English title suggests, By the Stream flows like a gentle current — a slow narrative drift carried along by conversation. Hong is a filmmaker who uses dialogue not so much to push the plot forward or introduce conflict, but to reveal his characters — their quirks, contradictions, and vulnerabilities — as they express themselves freely. A kind of confessional exercise between Sion and his students works exactly in this way. We know almost nothing about these four young women beforehand, but in that scene we listen to each of them speak about their dreams, fears, and desires — and we’re moved by the simple honesty of their words. Few filmmakers would choose, at what seems like a crucial point in the story, to take such a detour. Hong does. And that’s what makes him unlike almost anyone else.

In that and other scenes, alcohol acts as a release valve for everything the characters keep inside. Perhaps the biggest difference between this film and the ones Hong was making a decade or so ago is that drinking no longer leads to arguments or confrontations — it just means people end up having to sleep in odd places because no one is in any condition to drive. It happens more than once: someone wakes up not knowing how they got there or where the others have gone. But nothing strange or serious ever comes of it. In that sense, the film’s final shot and final line are telling: where most directors would turn toward tension or drama, Hong chooses to drift elsewhere.

Hong avoids making grand statements through his characters in this “narrative stream” he proposes. This is not a film about sexual harassment or cancel culture, even if those subjects hover around the edges of the story. It’s more about the limits of what one can say or do — and the social rules that quietly shape behavior. A line in a play might be misunderstood or deemed inappropriate; smoking in the wrong place, drinking before driving, having a relationship with a student (even if technically legal), or spreading a rumor could all jeopardize someone’s standing or relationships.

Still, Hong isn’t complaining about the constraints of “political correctness” — this isn’t a “they won’t let me say anything” kind of movie. Instead, he’s tracing the ambiguities and contradictions of modern life, and the ways people try to adapt as best they can. It’s obvious that Jeonim shouldn’t drink before driving — but it’s equally understandable that after a grilled eel lunch, she’d want to have a beer (apparently they pair well). Perhaps in that seemingly trivial dilemma lies the quiet secret of this elusive, quietly enchanting film.