“Hong Sangsoo Works like a Painter Composing His Palette”

Interview with Isabelle Huppert

After In Another Country [2012], shaped day by day in Korea, and Claire’s Camera [2017], filmed in Cannes as if in a dream, Isabelle Huppert reunites with Hong Sangsoo for A Traveler’s Needs, winner of the Silver Bear at the Berlin Film Festival in 2024. On the occasion of its French release,1 the actress reflects on her work with the prolific director – his approach, which blends improvisation with precision – and her own vision of acting, her quest for “living access points.”

In the thirty-second film by Hong Sangsoo, which is also his third with Isabelle Huppert, she plays a French woman alone in Seoul, somewhat lost, struggling to make a living by teaching language classes. Wearing a green cardigan and a short dress that make her appearance as distinctive as her situation – her reasons for being in Korea remaining uncertain – Iris drifts through a series of encounters, whether with her students or in the streets and parks of Seoul. These moments gradually unfold a strangeness that is both unsettling and amusing, a mystery made all the more profound by its lightness, surfacing in a drunken conversation or a drowsy flirtation. A Traveler’s Needs thus crystallizes the remarkable poetic energy of Hong Sangsoo’s cinema.

In Paris last March [2024], shortly after A Traveler’s Needs won the Silver Bear at the Berlin Film Festival and while she was performing Bérénice, directed by Romeo Castellucci at the Théâtre de la Ville, Isabelle Huppert shares how she worked with the prolific Korean filmmaker and explores the unique methods of one of contemporary cinema’s greatest artists.

Jean-Michel Frodon: A Traveler’s Needs is your third film with Hong Sangsoo. Do you remember how you met him?

Yes, I remember it very well. It was in 2010, in the lobby of the MK2 Bibliothèque cinema in Paris, in the company of Claire Denis, who is very close to him. That’s where I met him for the first time. Later, I was in Seoul for the exhibition La Femme aux portraits, which toured worldwide. I had the idea of sending him an invitation to the opening in May 2011, and he came. He suggested that we meet again; the next day, we had lunch together, and he took me to a strange place with car roofs on the ceiling. I asked him what he was going to do, and he told me he was about to shoot a new film but had no idea what would happen in it. He only had the idea of the location, a place he liked, a small hotel by the sea in the coastal town of Mohang-ri. This is very characteristic of his approach: most filmmakers start with a subject or a plot idea, but he can build an entire film simply from his fondness for a place.

Did you know his cinema well?

Not really, I had seen a few films after my amazed discovery of The Power of Kangwon Province in 1998. I hadn’t followed his entire career film by film, but I knew that I deeply loved the idea of cinema he embodied. And so, during that lunch, he suddenly asked me if I wanted to act in his film. At that moment, there wasn’t even the beginning of a story, but I said yes. And that was it. I went back to Paris, and from a distance, we set the filming dates: fifteen days at the beginning of July. Then, he sent me fragments by email of the first two episodes of what would become the feature film in three parts, In Another Country.

Did you ask him questions?

Yes, especially about the costumes. He told me to send him photos of clothes I own, but he didn’t give me a clear answer, so in the end, I went with a bunch of different outfits, several suitcases. He also asked if I was okay with coming alone, which suited me just fine. He told me he would introduce me to a makeup artist and a hairdresser once I arrived. I get there, and he comes to pick me up at the airport himself – which never happens, usually directors don’t come to meet me – and on top of that, he’s accompanied by Yoo Jun-sang, the lead actor, who is a celebrity in Korea. This is nothing like the way most film shoots operate, and I really like that.

At that point, is there at least the beginning of a script? Hong Sangsoo’s films always give off a strong sense of improvisation.

Oh, not at all! Everything is written very precisely. But I only discover the script during filming, each day for the following day.

And so, you met the makeup artist and the hairdresser...

Hong Sangsoo took me to a hair salon, where a beautician did my makeup and a hairdresser took care of my hair. He asked me what I thought, and I said it was perfect for me. He then said, “Alright, we’ll take them,” and they ended up accompanying the entire shoot. It was only later that I realized they weren’t film industry professionals but actually employees of that hair salon. They didn’t really know who Hong Sangsoo was. But everything went very well.

And then?

I showed him all the clothes I had brought, and he was like a painter selecting his tubes of colour, composing his palette. He spotted a blue shirt I had bought in a supermarket in the Philippines the previous year while filming Captive [2012] by Brillante Mendoza. I didn’t particularly like that shirt, but he said it was exactly what was needed for the character in the first episode. The same happened with an orange dress I had bought in Las Vegas and a dress from Zara. He saw the combinations, the language of colours, the beauty, and the humour.

Then we set off by car and arrived at a small, very rustic hotel. The next day, we started shooting. He gave me the description of the first scene, with all the dialogue, and we just went for it. We were supposed to shoot for twelve days, but after nine days, he said, “It’s done.” I later realized that he had made the feature film In Another Country using the money that had been allocated for something else, a short film. He used the remaining three days to shoot that short film, which he was supposed to deliver, with one of the actresses from the feature. And that was it... And I absolutely loved the result.

Hence the second film, Claire’s Camera, in 2017.

That year, he and I realised that we each had a film at Cannes. He with The Day After and I with Elle by Paul Verhoeven. He suggested we take the opportunity to shoot a film on the spot in six days, and I immediately said yes. I arrived early for my commitments with Haneke’s film [Happy End (2017)], and he had rented me a small flat in Cannes, away from the Croisette. And just like that, along with the actress Kim Minhee – whom he had met not long before and with whom I got along so well – we shot a film during the Cannes Film Festival, almost without even noticing. It was a bit like a dream. This time, there was no script at all. He truly invented Claire’s Camera as we filmed it.

And then, the third film…

In February 2023, there was a complete retrospective of his work at the Cinémathèque Française. I wasn’t in Paris at the time – I was filming in the provinces – but I returned to see him. We talked a lot, and after two hours, he said: “It would be nice to make another film together.” I immediately said yes. He went back to Korea, and at the beginning of April, he sent me a plane ticket for a departure on the 11th of June. I left without knowing anything about the film, absolutely confident and delighted.

He hadn’t given any indication?

Yes, about the costume. He insisted it had to be a dress, and a short one. I sent him photos, but nothing suited him. The day before we left, after packing, I took a walk around the shops near my place, and in a store I would never normally go into, I saw a dress in the window. I tried it on, sent him a photo. His response: “Perfect!” The saleswoman said: “We also have some cardigans that might go with it,” and she brought out this green cardigan, which ends up being so present in the film. I sent him a photo again. That was exactly what he wanted. And off I went.

At that point, you knew nothing about the character?

Absolutely nothing! The first evening, he gathered all the actors and the whole crew at his place (besides Kim Minhee, who now handles production, there are only two other people – one for sound and one assistant), along with my interpreter. It was a very warm gathering, but I still didn’t know much more. Then he gave me the script for the first day of shooting, which was the next day. That’s when I realized there was a huge amount of dialogue to learn.

Everything is written? The film feels like it’s being invented during the shoot.

Everything is written, it’s extremely precise. And it’s very staged, there’s a tremendous amount of work and rigor. Nothing is improvised, and yet there’s an immense freedom within the strict framework he provides. Everything is at once very light and very structured. It’s fascinating. Personally, I’d happily make ten more films like that with him.

Does he do many takes?

Yes, a lot. Without giving any specific direction about what should or shouldn’t be done, he searches, and has us search with him. That’s where the freedom comes in. He doesn’t make major changes between takes of the same scene; he’s looking for a tone, a colour, a rhythm, and we, the actors, search along with him. This process is also what allows us to reach those moments when a scene becomes funny, even though there’s nothing inherently comedic happening.

The sets, the interiors, also seem full of meaning…

But they’re the actors’ real apartments! The three main interior locations are where Lee Hyeyoung – who plays my second student – and Ha Seongguk – the young man my character is staying with – actually live. The first apartment is actually that of Kwon Haehyo, who plays Lee Hyeyoung’s husband. This is all part of the principle of always going for what’s simplest and cheapest, but Hong Sangsoo experiences that as a strength, not a limitation.

That’s also true when it comes to the crew.

Yes, there are now only three people working with him. He manages to create beautiful images without a director of photography, using a tiny camera that sometimes you can barely even see, and no lighting equipment at all.

He always manages to make the most of natural light, but that must make him dependent on the weather.

That’s true. In fact, one day it rained, and we didn’t shoot. It’s an incredibly luxurious decision, production-wise, but he didn’t want that light that day. He said: “We’re not shooting, we’ll wait until tomorrow.” And we only had thirteen days of filming in total!

In this film, maybe more than usual, a lot happens through the tone of your voice, especially as it shifts between English and French, and under the influence of alcohol.

Absolutely. It’s not entirely controlled. It’s partly a kind of chemical reaction, also influenced by being in Korea, in a country whose culture is so far from my own. And I’ve noticed, without intending it, that there’s a kind of constant sense of wonder or questioning in the way I speak, which comes across in how I often say things like “Oh! Really?” And that creates a kind of gentle distance from what’s around me, even if at times there’s sadness, worry, humour… It fits the character, but also reflects my own situation.

Another strong characteristic of your character, or at least of your performance, is the way you walk.

Absolutely! That’s extremely important to me. I always think about it; for every role, I work on my way of walking. In this film, I’m wearing those heeled sandals I bought in Madrid, and they become a dramatic element in their own right.

Your character drinks a lot of that Korean rice alcohol, makgeolli, which is often present in Hong Sangsoo’s films. And you?

I love it. That’s really what I’m drinking in the scenes. I’ve never had a taste for hard liquor, but I really like makgeolli, and it contributes to the liveliness of the scenes. But I’m never drunk while shooting.

During filming, are there situations where you make suggestions, for instance in the scenes in French, when your character is writing out the vocabulary cards for her students?

Yes, but I was very much helped by my interpreter, who’s also a literary translator and speaks French very well. We fine-tuned that very specific vocabulary together, which is different from the English spoken by all the characters, even though it’s none of our native language. Then I actually handwrite those little texts on the cards, and I love that Hong Sangsoo films those moments in full, giving time to those small bits of writing.

The colour green plays a significant role in the film, which seems to unfold from the distinctive green of the cardigan your character wears…

Yes, that green really is a sort of miraculous addition to the film; though of course it’s how Hong Sangsoo films me, and films colour in general, that creates that effect. In another context, no one would pay it any attention. And from there, all these variations emerged, like the green tape around the pen, or the green-painted terrace where I go to sit. It was already that exact shade. These are the kind of happy accidents that often arise on Hong Sangsoo’s shoots, because his approach makes space for them.

Does he sometimes cut scenes in the edit, remove material that was shot?

That happened with a long scene near the end, a conversation with a young woman I meet in the street who translates a poem for me. That young woman, incidentally, is played by my interpreter, Ha Jin-wa. The scene included a lot of explanation. She told me about her life, and I gave more background about myself and why I was in Seoul. We shot it many times, but in the end, he cut the whole thing. It makes the film more mysterious, more elliptical. I think he was absolutely right.

Have you had similar filming experiences with any other directors that you could compare to working with Hong Sangsoo?

It’s difficult to say… The only real comparison that comes to mind is Jean-Luc Godard. Not just because of the lack of a pre-written script, but because of the way he sends out signals, often indirect, suggestive, and constructs, almost without seeming to, a network of references: places, colours, music, fragments and so on, which help one get closer to what the filmmaker is aiming for, even if it’s something he hasn’t yet fully defined himself. It’s also expressed through behaviours, through certain types of humour, which create what I’d call a “acting code” [« code de jeu »]. It’s never explicitly stated, far from it, but it subtly guides how one is meant to be in front of the camera, both individually and as an ensemble.

At the moment, you’re on stage every evening performing in Bérénice, directed by Romeo Castellucci. You’re very active in both theatre and cinema; do you experience them as separate practices, or even separate worlds, or as part of one shared craft: acting?

Almost everything about them is radically different, and yet, there’s a point where they meet. That point, or rather, that moment, that I’m always searching for, is the one where I no longer feel like I’m playing a role. That state is harder to reach in theatre, which is more formalised, with texts that often don’t resemble natural speech, and with a very codified stage space, whereas cinema often presents situations much closer to everyday life. But in both cases, it’s possible to arrive at that state beyond the formal structures. And those structures vary in film and theatre, and from production to production. In both, you can even reach it through highly stylised, non-naturalistic means. To get there, it can feel like a real physical struggle with the text. It’s not a question of memory, but of entering another world through words that might have been written by Shakespeare or Racine, or by a filmmaker that very morning. You have to find living access points [des accès vivants].

• 1The film was released in French theatres early 2025.