SYNOPSIS
A south-facing house stands in Gyeonggi Province. Within its walls reside four people: mom, dad, grandpa, and me.
REVIEW
This film is a spatial essay, capturing the movements and actions of a middle-class family within their home. It begins in the kitchen, where a middle-aged woman washes dishes, and moves through the living room, filled with the sound of a television, where an elderly man alternates between heating an electric kettle in the kitchen and returning to the living room. The film then explores the room where the woman prays, the corner where a man watches YouTube after work, the room where he lays out his bedding, the bathroom, and the bedroom with a movie poster on the door. As the film progresses, the house’s layout and its inhabitants become clear. Each family member performs their roles without encroaching on one another. The film observes, with a detached eye, a home where the coexistence system functions smoothly. In this film, people are elements that compose the house. Their movements and sounds, combined with the shifting light and the creaks of furniture, create the house’s rhythm. Another layer of interest is the camera’s position and role within the house. The camera never leaves, leaving the viewer uncertain whether this home is in Gyeonggi Province or if it even faces south, as the title suggests. This ambiguity is the film's paradox and subtle draw. A South-facing House in Gyeonggi Province represents just “any” typical home in our lives.
DIRECTOR'S NOTE
At some point, I discovered I could comprehend my family's activities outside my room simply by listening, without needing to open the door. I reached a level where I could discern a person's daily routine merely through the sound of their voice, their distinct habits like footsteps and coughs, the videos they watched, and the rhythm of doors opening and closing at particular times. Yet, this acute awareness led me to question: What exactly was that person doing? Were they truly who I thought they were?
