Kogonada’s feature directorial debut
Columbus (2017) follows Casey (Haley Lu Richardson), a high-school graduate librarian living with her fragile mother who is passionate about architecture; and Jin (John Cho), a Korean-born man visiting Columbus, Indiana, where his estranged renowned architect father has recently fallen ill. They strike up a friendship as the film mediates on what it is to have passion, a sense of home, and examines parental relationships in turn. Yet, the film engages the viewer through passion rather than architecture, as Jin isn’t interested in it but tells Casey that he is instead ‘interested in what moves you’.
Columbus reflects a contemporary crisis of passion and interest from the individual. This is examined through the depiction of architecture, in which the protagonists’ enthusiasm is extended throughout the stylistic elements of the film. Moreover, Kogonada views the topic of drive and passion interestingly through the lens of parental relationships and guilt. By interweaving these topics, the film speaks to the complex relationship between the romance of individual ambition and the brutalism of the quotidian.
The film brings attention to architecture through the film’s subject, and this is reflected in the structured, at times brutalist, cinematography. Furthermore, the symmetry of framing in the film displays a deep passion for architecture which reverberates from the filmmaker to the protagonist. Passion becomes symbiotic as the viewer falls in love with architecture themselves, as buildings in the film are invested with importance and character on par with the characters. The emphasis on transparency in buildings such as Eero Saarinen's famous glass bank are qualities equally invested in the characters, as honesty and truth are at the crux of the film.
The camera work is indeed one of the most defining aspects of the film, the spaced-out camera shots, and its attention to (negative) space contrasts to the warmth and intimacy of the piece. Kogonada has spoken to the use of negative space in the film, asserting that ‘architecture is the structuring of emptiness’, which he compares to the spectrum of human emotion. This resonates with the film’s music, an original score composed by Hammock. Kogonada said he sought out Hammock for the score because ‘they were talking about the relationship between absence and presence in their music’. This connection is resonant throughout the film visually and binds the architectural motifs of negative space to 'absence and presence' in interpersonal and family relationships. Such notions of negative space are furthered through recurring moments of division. This is evidenced in Casey and Jin's first introduction walking parallel to one another on opposite sides of a fence where they come face to face at the end. Thus, themes of division and unity are indicated and played out through the human relationships within the piece. Kogonada extends this motif to concepts of the Self and interiority through the presence of reflections and mirrors. The absence and presence in architecture gives insight to the film's meditation on the passion of the individual and how this works in relation to family relationships and quotidian hardships.
Finding the balance between passion and the struggle of everyday life is at the core of this film. Casey’s co-worker Gabriel (Rory Culkin) asks her ‘Are we losing interest in everyday life?’, in which the script speaks to a cultural crisis of interest in the contemporary age. In what amounts to a particularly affecting scene, Jin asks Casey what moves her about her favourite building, in which the sound cuts out as she explains, and Hammock’s ethereal score plays over it. The music denies the viewer from Casey’s reasoning, and instead forces her passion to be understood through the conveyance of feeling and emotion rather than through verbal articulation. This entrusts the viewer with the emotion of the scene without over-explanation and keeps an attention on what moves a person.
The film deals with the complexity of parental relationships, especially through the dimension of guilt and obligation. Casey's and Jin's contrasting attitudes towards their respective parental figures and complex senses of loyalty provide a complicated view of family relationships and draws a link individual passion through this. While Casey feels she cannot leave her recovering addict mother because of a sense of responsibility for her, Jin feels a defensive and repressed guilt over his distant relationship with his father now he is in a liminal state of life and death. These relationships demonstrate both positive and negative impacts of pursuing individual passion over familial obligation. Jin bears resentment towards his father for always prioritising his work over him and their relationship, whereas Casey comes to the realisation that she must strive for her own desires and untether herself from the trauma of her mother. Towards the final act of the film there is a visual focus of bridges, signalling a transition is approaching as Casey makes the decision to leave her mother and her hometown for to study her passion at college.
Ultimately, I’ve thought about Columbus a lot since I first saw it, as it is technically flawless and masterfully marries a meticulous and structured design to a very human plot which deals with its issues with a refreshing bout of honesty. Upon recent rewatching, the film held up and I even enjoyed it more than the initial viewing, the perspective of a directionless graduate struggling with parental guilt resonated with me more than when I first found this film several years ago. While I’d understand if someone found this film slow paced and dull, I think what it lacks in action and excitement it compensates for in heart and thoughtfulness. This film brings the beauty of complex human emotion to the intricate and brutalist landscape of architecture and speaks to what motivates us and how we perceive the everyday world surrounding us.
Tess Dinnage
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