Asia Cinema Fund(ACF) is renowned for supporting independent films across Asia, helping ensure they are produced and completed on a stable foundation from planning and development to post-production. This year, out of 689 feature-length independent narrative films and documentaries, 13 projects have been selected for funding in 2024. Four directors, whose works have received post-production support, shared insights about their projects, which will be presented to audiences for the first time at the Busan International Film Festival.

Kang Mi-ja, <Spring Night>

The short film <Deep or Quiet> (1998) and the feature film <Let the Blue River run> (2008) both brought her to Busan twice. <Spring Night>, an adaptation of Kwon Yeo-sun’s short story of the same name, is her second feature film in 16 years since <Let the Blue River Run>, which depicted fragmented impressions of youthful experiences set in Yanbian.

First, congratulations on having been selected for the ACF Post-Production Fund. After a long time since your first feature film, how do you feel about returning to Busan?

After we finished filming, the post-production process almost stalled because of budget issues. But when I heard we won the ACF fund, I felt such a huge wave of relief, knowing we could finally wrap up post-production. What further delighted me, though, was that the film festival took notice of <Spring Night>—it’s such a raw and unpolished piece, not your typical dramatic film. I’m grateful for all the acclaim the movie received; it honestly motivated me so much.

Your film is based on Kwon Yeo-sun’s short story of the same name. What aspect of the original work resonated with you?

As I grew older, I’ve often felt the emotion of pain deeply settled within me. While reading the short story “Spring Night”, I experienced that pain even more vividly, and I developed a strong desire to express this emotion through film. In ordinary life, when tears rise to the throat, it’s tough to let out a cry; the heartfelt tears of “Young-kyung” in the story touched my heart in a deeply comforting way.

In what way did the story of the characters “Young-kyung” and “Su-hwan” in the novel relate to you?

“Young-kyung” and “Su-hwan” see and embrace each other just as they are. Even though society stigmatized them as an alcoholic and an ailing credit defaulter, they keep pushing through their lives, despite the stumbling. I think that’s why their love could endure as they face each other’s deaths.

What was your focus during the process of adapting the novel into a film?

From the moment I decided to adapt the novel, I focused less on just reproducing the story and instead more in exploring the feeling of pain. As I tried to reinterpret the 12 long years they shared into a cinematic timeframe, my biggest challenge was capturing the full essence of that pain. I figured that using repetition and blackouts in the film would help turn their time together into something endless and infinite.

Did the film leave out any scenes from the novel or add new ones that weren’t in the original?

One of my favorite scenes from the novel is when, before her final outing, “Young-kyung” reads to “Su-hwan” a passage from Tolstoy’s <Resurrection>. I insisted on including it in the film, but I ended up editing it out. For, in the original, the separation and reunion of “Young-kyung” and “Su-hwan” are compared to the pain of separated families; but in the film, I chose to show “Su-hwan” crawling to carry “Young-kyung” after she drunkenly collapsed on her way back to the nursing home. Afterwards, I realized that no other scene or dialogue could better express their love, so I decided to cut the book-reading scene and a few others towards the end. That’s when it hit me how powerful visual storytelling can be in a movie.

Did producing <Spring Night> make you reflect what love really is?

The joy of love always comes with times of pain. I think that’s what makes love even more tender and precious.

How do you think you will remember <Spring Night>?

<Spring Night> is a film that marks a significant phase of my life, from when I first decided to make movies at twenty until now. Deeply moved by certain emotions in the moment, I felt compelled to express them through film. I worked hard to transform those feelings into a movie, and now I feel grateful to be able to showcase the final product at the film festival. I’m happy that I could portray pain in this film, even though it also hurt.

Charles Hu, <As the River Goes by>

Born in 1997, he is a writer and also a director. His short film <River Straying> (2019) was screened at the Beijing Short Film Festival and won the Best Fiction Film Award at the HiShorts! Film Festival. His first feature film, <As the River Goes by>, will be screened in the New Currents section at this year’s Busan International Film Festival.

How did you find the post-production process in Korea?

Thanks to the expertise of director Park Sang-su and sound director Han Myeong-hwan, I was able to continue with color correction and sound mixing, infusing the project with fresh ideas. This collaboration played a key role in refining both the narrative and the characters.

Your first feature film will be shown in the New Currents section. How do you feel about premiering in Busan?

It feels like a dream come true to present my first feature at the film festival I’ve admired for a long time. I believe film festival is a place where creators, audiences, and industry professionals gather to share their visions and immerse themselves in the world of cinema. I’m really looking forward to the time after the screening in Busan when I’ll meet the audience face-to-face and engage in conversations about the film.

What story does <As the River Goes by> tell?

It is a story about a person who is forced to confront their painful childhood memories, triggered by a massive earthquake 12 years ago. The protagonist, “Xiao Li”, carries the trauma of his father’s sudden disappearance and the death of a childhood friend. The film depicts Li’s journey as he faces these painful memories and musters the courage to move forward.

The film is focusing on the protagonist’s journey of overcoming the traumatic loss. Through this theme what message did you hope to convey?

I think trauma is a condition where past events continue to affect the present. The protagonist revisits the painful events of his past in search of the truth, but ultimately learns to accept that the past cannot be changed. By portraying a character gradually rising above their trauma, I wanted to share this message: when we are overwhelmed by regret or guilt about the past, a powerful way to heal is by accepting that the past is unchangeable and facing the present with courage.

The film navigates between the present and the past as well as between reality and fiction. What formal attempts did you employ to achieve this?

I used objects that carry traces of the past—like the novel that the protagonist wrote in his childhood and an old camera that his dad left behind — to connect both timelines. For example, the camera gradually reveals the image of a friend who passed away, and the novel itself transforms into a fable about personal growth. This way, the boundaries between the past and present, as well as reality and fiction gradually blur, but all of it points to the truth of the past.

What was important to you while making this film?

Most of the characters, including the protagonist, were inspired by my real-life hometown friends. For, I wanted the film to reflect the reality of contemporary Chinese youth and how they see various aspects of Chinese society. My hope is that, through this film, people from different nationalities and cultures can gain an understanding of the lives of Chinese youth.

Is there a particular scene you really love and would recommend?

I’d pick the hide-and-seek scene. Young “Song Qian” is playing hide-and-seek—she closes her eyes to count, then opens them, looks around, and steps out of the frame. We shot this scene on the last day, and while shooting, the sky gradually darkened, with the sunset casting its last rays. In that moment, I felt like life is truly a lonely game. We decided to use this as the final shot of the film.

Nidhi Saxena, <Sad Letters of an Imaginary Woman>

An Indian screenwriter and film director, she received critical acclaim for her documentary that records the reality of fading traditional Indian music and the journeys of women leaders in India. <Sad Letters of an Imaginary Woman> is her first feature film, based on her autobiographical story.

Congratulations on having been selected as an ACF-funded project at the Busan International Film Festival. How was the post-production process in Korea?

It was such a valuable learning experience. Collaborating with professionals from Korea opened my eyes to new perspectives that I hadn’t considered back in India. Their focus on refining every little detail added subtle layers to the story and truly improved the overall quality of the film. Presenting my first feature film—after two years of hard work—on the prestigious platform of the Busan International Film Festival was a huge confidence boost for me as a director. It also made me realize that deeply personal and experimental films like this can be applauded by people across borders.

What is the story behind <Sad Letters of an Imaginary Woman>?

I wanted to convey the loneliness and longing experienced by women growing up in traditional Indian households. The film follows several women trapped in their homes, living in a monotonous routine day after day. My aim was to capture that sense of powerlessness they feel. The main character “Nidhi”, writes a letter to her younger self, which drives the narrative. Through her painful journey, we witness “Nidhi” confronting her childhood traumas and ultimately finding a path to healing.

What event or person motivated the film?

The film is truly autobiographical for me. Reading philosopher R.D. Laing’s, <The Politics of the Family>, which explores power dynamics within families, had a deep impact on how I reflect on my own growing up years in my own family. I also referenced the real stories of women around me who were struggling within the confines of family structures. All of this helped shape and develop the screenplay.

What significance does the communication between the protagonist’s past and present selves hold in the film?

I found that juxtaposing these two time points was an effective way to show how past trauma persistently affects the protagonist’s present. I really wanted to highlight the weight and ripple effect of trauma—once you’ve experienced it, it never really goes away; it becomes deeply ingrained, yet often left unspoken, and influences every life decision you make.

Tell us about the most important aspect for you while filming.

For me, the most important aspect was exploring the shared sense of entrapment between “Nidhi” and her mother, and how trauma is passed down through generations. Even without explicitly stating it in the dialogue, I wanted the audience to feel the emotional rift between them. To convey this, I focused on expressing their gradually deteriorating psychological states, using the space of the house as a symbolic backdrop.

How did you visually depict the space of a home?

Having studied painting and sculpture in college, I approach each scene as if I were composing a canvas, using elements like light, shadow, arrangement, and composition to reflect the characters’ emotional states. In the film, I kept the lighting minimal to create a desolate atmosphere at Nidhi’s home. I also chose still, confined frames to emphasize the isolation experienced by women.

In your previous works, you’ve focused on women’s lives and their intimate emotions. As a director, why would it be meaningful for you to keep focusing on women’s tales?

I write and direct films, mainly to highlight how women perceive the world around them and what challenges they face simply because they are women. It’s not just about representation; it’s about exploring the subtle complexities in their lives.

What insights do you hope the audience will gain from your film?

My hope is that the film encourages viewers to reflect on how trauma and memory shape our lives, and to recognize the strength of confronting one’s past head-on, rather than avoiding it—since the past never truly disappears.

Baek Seungbin, <I Am Love>

Baek Seungbin won the Best Film Award at the Mise-en-scène Short Film Festival and received critical attention for <The French Lieutenant’s Woman>, a short film based on the novel of the same name by John Fowles. <I Am Love> is his fourth feature film, following <Members of the Funeral>, <I Have a Date With Spring>, and <So Long, See You Tomorrow>. <I Am Love> has been selected for the Jiseok section at this year’s Busan International Film Festival, where it will connect with the audience.

I would like to extend my sincere congratulations on your selection for the ACF Post-Production Fund.

I got through all the production stages thanks to tremendous support of others, including the ACF Post-Production Fund. Honestly, I feel lucky for that. But at the same time, achieving these results makes me reflect on my responsibility and the gratitude I owe to everyone who helped along the way. It humbles me as well.

What story did you tell in <I Am Love>?

It’s a story about a woman who becomes captivated by a customer who frequents the pharmacy where she works as a clerical assistant every day. I wouldn’t necessarily define the protagonist’s feelings toward the customer as ‘love’. However, while making the film, I found myself pondering how far love can take someone, and what kind of landscape unfolds at that destination.

What specific event or person inspired the film?

It all started when, as a teenager, I encountered a story in the international news section about a murder committed by an Irish woman. It slipped my mind for a while, but later, when I heard that Sinéad O’Connor, an Irish singer-songwriter I’ve long admired, was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, that case surfaced in my mind. Aside from being Irish, these two women have little in common. However, repeatedly listening to Sinéad O’Connor’s song ‘You Made Me the Thief of Your Heart’, I became gradually inspired to craft this story based on their narratives.

What was it like working on set with actor Jang Seon, who plays the protagonist “Oh Sa-rang”?

Jang Seon carries the narrative with skill, drawing on her years of experience. Her presence really stood out on set, especially when we had to shoot like sprinters in a short-distance race. As a director who prefers a quiet and private approach, I was deeply grateful to have an actor who could independently bring the character to life in the film.

What aspect of Jang Seon’s portrayal in the film deeply impressed you?

In the film, “Sa-rang” drugs her unrequited love and brings him to a place where she feels the most at ease. This criminal act, however, is not merely portrayed as a bizarre attempt to keep him close. Instead, her signature subtle smile powerfully convinced the audience and drew them to her side. Whatever the viewers think of the film, I believe they will remember her close-up smile for a long time.

I wonder what prompted you to focus on the more extreme aspects of love in a person.

I’ve long enjoyed reading and listening to tales of people with mental health struggles, but I don’t believe their stories necessarily reveal extreme aspects of human nature; they might reflect a slightly darker side, perhaps. As a creator, I consider this a standard preference, even though I tend to gravitate toward those stories.

Your filmography often features traces of English and American literature. Could you tell us about the W.H. Auden’s poem referenced in this film?

<Funeral Blues> is a poem that “Sa-rang” encountered while roaming through a cemetery, finding inner peace in her troubled life. It feels like a serendipitous connection between her and the poem. I’d say that I let the poem’s impact on her life unfold quietly in the film for viewers to discover.

Are there any scenes or lines you’d like to share with affection?

“There’s always a moment, even in the most wretched life, that makes it seem worthwhile. So, isn’t life bearable after all?” These words were spoken by an elderly professor during a class when “Sa-rang” made a belated return to school. I crafted these lines to encourage viewers to remember them during tough times and find comfort in their meaning.

Did you ever try to define what love is while making the film <I Am Love>?

Love is a disease. But it’s probably the only one we wish to catch.