The premise of is deceptively simple, fitting Hong’s minimalist ethos. Isabelle Huppert plays Iris, a French woman adrift in Seoul. She is penniless, having run out of funds, and resorts to an unconventional method of earning money: she teaches French to two Korean women.
As the narrative unfolds, or rather, as the film drifts through a series of encounters, we watch Iris navigate the geography of Seoul and the geography of her own isolation. She carries a large bag, a physical burden that becomes a central motif of the film. She interacts with a neighborhood drunk, a kindly woman who loans her a reclining chair, and a trio of judges in a park. The plot is not driven by conflict in the Hollywood sense, but by the gentle friction of human interaction and the barriers of language.
In the ever-expanding universe of South Korean auteur Hong Sang-soo, familiarity breeds not contempt, but a unique form of contemplation. Since his debut in the late 1990s, Hong has crafted a cinematic language so distinct—replete with zooms, soju-fueled conversations, and narrative repetitions—that his films often feel like variations on a jazz standard. Yet, every few years, a note is struck that resonates with a profound, often melancholic, new clarity. Enter , a film that premiered at the 74th Berlin International Film Festival, winning the Silver Bear Grand Jury Prize, and stands as one of the most beguiling and tender entries in his recent filmography. A Traveler-s Needs- Hong Sang-soo -2024-
But the film’s true legacy may be commercial. Released by Cinema Guild in the US in May 2024, A Traveler’s Needs became Hong’s highest-grossing film in a decade, suggesting a growing appetite for slow cinema in an era of franchise fatigue. More importantly, it sparked a wave of think-pieces on “the ethics of the expat”—a timely conversation given post-pandemic debates about digital nomads and gentrification.
A Traveler’s Needs (2024): Hong Sang-soo’s Minimalist Odyssey of Connection The premise of is deceptively simple, fitting Hong’s
As the title suggests, A Traveler’s Needs asks a deceptively simple question: What does a person passing through actually require? The answer, Hong suggests, is not shelter or money, but the permission to simply be .
The film follows (Huppert), a woman who finds herself in Korea with no clear past and dwindling resources. To support herself, she begins teaching French using a highly unorthodox, near-therapeutic method. Rather than teaching grammar or vocabulary, Iris asks her students probing questions about their deepest feelings—such as how they feel when they see a flower or hear a piece of music—and then translates their responses into poetic French phrases for them to memorize. Isabelle Huppert on Hong Sangsoo's A Traveler's Needs As the narrative unfolds, or rather, as the
Starring the incomparable Isabelle Huppert, reprising a collaboration that began with In Another Country (2012), A Traveler's Needs is a meditation on language, loneliness, and the strange, performative nature of simply existing in a place where you do not belong. This article delves into the thematic richness, the aesthetic choices, and the existential queries posed by Hong Sang-soo's 2024 masterpiece.
Parallel to these lessons, Anne wanders Seoul. She befriends a young musician (played by Lee Hye-yeong), drinks makgeolli in a park, and has a tense, cryptic reunion with a former lover (Kwon Hae-hyo), a composer who seems both fascinated and repulsed by her presence. The film’s “plot,” such as it is, involves Anne’s desire to renew her visa, which requires a letter of recommendation—a piece of paper that proves she is “useful” to Korean society. The irony, of course, is that Anne is profoundly useless. And she knows it.
Since its premiere at Berlinale in February 2024, A Traveler’s Needs has divided audiences predictably. Admirers praise its subtlety and Huppert’s fearless performance. Detractors call it “navel-gazing” and “willfully obscure.” On Metacritic, the film holds a respectable 82, with The Guardian calling it “a miniature masterpiece of existential comedy” and Variety dismissing it as “Hong on autopilot.”
Critics who dismiss Hong’s work as “more of the same” miss the point entirely. A Traveler’s Needs deliberately uses his signature techniques—the static shots, the awkward silences, the repetitive dialogue—to create a meditative rhythm. This is cinema as ritual. We know what to expect, yet we are still surprised.
