There are many films piercing through Cecilia King’s first feature; there’s a film about a family (her sister, her mother, her aunt, her grandmother)… There’s also one about being an Argentinian woman of Korean descent visiting Korea. And another one about being a Korean woman who, at the same time, acts like someone from Buenos Aires. There’s family love, friendship, the small tragedies and the great ones, emancipation, heartbreak, creativity. And none of these storylines drives us to a feeling of drift; they are parts of a mosaic that is pieced together in the viewer’s head thanks to a solid, strongly emotional core: the life of the director, who, in a spontaneous and loving display of generosity, dedicates My Last Failure to (in this order) a teacher from childhood, her eternal friends and her sister.
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There are many films piercing through Cecilia King’s first feature; there’s a film about a family (her sister, her mother, her aunt, her grandmother)… There’s also one about being an Argentinian woman of Korean descent visiting Korea. And another one about being a Korean woman who, at the same time, acts like someone from Buenos Aires. There’s family love, friendship, the small tragedies and the great ones, emancipation, heartbreak, creativity. And none of these storylines drives us to a feeling of drift; they are parts of a mosaic that is pieced together in the viewer’s head thanks to a solid, strongly emotional core: the life of the director, who, in a spontaneous and loving display of generosity, dedicates My Last Failure to (in this order) a teacher from childhood, her eternal friends and her sister.
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