Set in the backdrop of an expanding Seoul in 1994, House Of Hummingbird follows a 14-year-old girl named Eun-hee (Ji-hoo Park), who is navigating the complicated space of adolescence, dealing with things common in coming-of-age stories like crushes, getting into trouble with her friend, the pressures of school and society’s expectations for her. However, on top of all that, Eun-hee is a very isolated girl. She is a bit closed off and emotionally detached; experiencing a sense of loneliness that is amplified by the day-to-day cruelties rooted in the seeming apathy from everyone around her, including her abusive household.
It isn’t until she meets a new teacher, Young-ji (Sae-byuk Kim), that she feels like she is really being acknowledged and listened to. Even before being properly introduced, Eun-hee first sees her smoking by an open window, which is already pretty cool. Young-ji reflects Eun-hee in many respects. She is also somewhat reserved, and considers herself to be a bit of a loner, but one that seems to have things together, at least in Eun-hee’s eyes. Her advice may not automatically fix all of Eun-hee’s problems, but it bring her some semblance of validation that can make the complicated nature of growing up at least a bit more bearable.
On paper, the film seems incredibly bleak, and at points, it most definitely is, especially during the moments where Eun-hee or her sister experience some form of abuse from their father or older brother, even if most of the more violent stuff being done off-screen. However, what writer/director, Bora Kim, does here – in her feature debut no less – is explore Eun-hee’s experiences from a way that puts you in her shoes and her headspace, allowing you to really relish in those moments of joy, though they may be fleeting and few and far between.
The film covers a fairly broad span of time throughout the year, but instead of following explicit plot beats, and overt character arcs that you might expect with similar movies about kids with rough backgrounds and their relationship with an inspiring mentor, it is largely driven by feeling. It’s like the film itself it tapping into lingering memories of a time that has long gone by. That feeling is accentuated by the observational cinematography from Guk-hyun Kang and the occasional foggy electronic flourishes by composer Matija Strnisa. Though not overtly stylish, it’s beautifully made precisely because it’s all done with purpose and in tune with its character.
Speaking of, Ji-hoo Park is wonderful in the lead. It’s a role that demands a lot because it requires so much interiority to be expressed through looks, glances, and little dialogue, and Park is clearly up to the task. Her expressions and the way she utilizes her physical presence on screen in contrast to the environment does a beautiful job at visually displaying her journey through the course of the film. It shows a lot of faith between Kim and Park, as well as their faith in the audience to pick up on the intricacies of her journey without the need of spelling things out.
The basic ideas that House Of Hummingbird touches on might not be the most unique, but Bora Kim tackles them in a way that is incredibly empathetic, warm, and tender, breaking through moments that would potentially seem tropey or well worn territory for the genre. It’s a deeply moving portrayal a girl’s loneliness and longing for something better at a moment of significant change, mirroring the changes that the city around her is going through as well. There might be cultural nuances I could be missing, but it’s focus on character allows it to be just as emotionally engaging as any other coming-of-age film, and it makes Bora Kim a filmmaker to keep one’s eye on. It may be bittersweet in every sense of the word, but it is honest, striking, and sensitive.