“I’ll see you then.”

In an upscale bar, three people sit together. On the left is a Korean man, Hae Sung (Teo Yoo), who appears to be engaged in lively conversation with Nora (Greta Lee) in the center, also Korean and a bit less animated. Distinctly not Korean sitting on the right is Arthur (Johnny Magaro), closest to Nora but looking disconnected. As these three are observed by strangers noticing them, questions are asked. What is happening? Who are these people to one another? Are relationships beginning, ending, or both? As Nora appears to notice she’s being watched, her expression betrays nothing as a story spanning twenty-four years nears a conclusion.

There’s a freshman element to this production as suggested by the opening scene; it plays out like a story prompt, an idea provided to kickstart a student screenplay for practice rather than yield an actual film. The truth is surprisingly accurate: it’s a semi-autobiographical tale told by first-time feature writer/director Celine Song. Dealing with romance, immigration, life goals, and opportunity, the narrative explores choices made over a lifetime along with all the doubts that can sabotage even the best relationships. In a clear case of writing what you know, the plot points may not resonate precisely with the life experiences of most viewers, but will audiences draw the parallels to their own lives from the details of these three characters?

Nora’s life has been a combination of changes and opportunities, from emigrating from South Korea to Canada as a child, moving to New York City to pursue a writing career, and entering into marriage… and she’s good with that. Hae Sung, on the other hand, remembers “the girl Nora” whom he grew up with before she moved away, still drawn to her after reconnecting with her online a decade earlier. Husband and fellow writer Arthur thinks too much for his own good, wanting to be closer to Nora while knowing there’s a part of her he can never connect with… the same part that Hae Sung always will. With all the trappings of a romantic love triangle, the narrative skews toward the less-explored drama: how do we move forward from here? With aspects to cheer for and fear for in each character, this personal production believably bleeds angst and regret, earning the extra time taken to tie everything together.

Following the prologue at the bar, the story leaps to the past with Nora at age twelve, hitting the necessary beats before jumping ahead twelve years; these parts are edited to the bone and move along well. Once everyone is in NYC, the unspoken scenes begin to drag, feeling more like overlong establishing shots than meaty storytelling. This time might have been better spent on how the relationship with the mentioned girlfriend in Korea ended, telling us more about Hae Sung’s headspace. Was there an argument? Did he ghost her thinking of Nora? “Unicorn” Arthur gets a soul-baring moment establishing his perspective, but since the story never limits itself to Nora’s perspective — the audience is privy to scenes she is not — knowing only that “the girlfriend thing” was over may have been a missed opportunity for insight.

What a person chooses to share with or withhold from their partner is always an intimate choice, especially when casually throwing around phrases like “you can tell me anything” or the dreaded “it’s fine” — cue Hagrid saying “I should not have said that.” Whether it’s pride, personal trust, or fear of judgement, where a person stands in a relationship toward someone else carries weight… and sometimes complete honesty is not always the best policy toward new loves and old.

Past Lives is rated PG-13 for some strong language, strong decisions, and strong emotion.

Three skull recommendation out of four