“Have you heard of 3-Iron?” (It has a very similar Chinese title with In the Realm of the Senses)
“You mean Nagisa Oshima?”
“No, that’s In the Realm of the Senses. The Isle is a Korean film. Watching it, I realised Korean cinema was at least 20 years ahead of its time. If you like strange, unconventional stories, you have to see it!”
Sceptical but intrigued, I finally tracked down the film. Its various translations were surprisingly well-suited—better than something like translating Snakes on a Plane to There's a Snake on the Plane.
The first third of the movie feels perfectly captured by its English title, 3-Iron. The story begins with the male protagonist sneaking into one empty house after another, quietly stepping into the lives of strangers, piecing together their fragments.
As the plot unfolds, he stumbles upon the female protagonist in one of these so-called “empty” houses. She’s beautiful, but there’s a sadness about her. Trapped in an abusive marriage, her vulnerability compels him to intervene. Together, they begin a nomadic life, inhabiting one vacant home after another. His solitary existence becomes a shared one, and this part of the story feels encapsulated by another title: Empty House Lovers.
The male protagonist’s journey takes a turn when he’s imprisoned. During his confinement, he masters the art of invisibility—not by disappearing entirely but by blending into the blind spots of others, evading their notice. When he escapes, he returns to the female protagonist, who’s still living with her husband. The man remains unseen by the husband, even as the three share the same space.
In a surreal moment, the couple stands on a scale together. Their combined weight registers as zero. They’ve merged into one, existing as something ethereal, untouchable—a ghostly presence that thrives in the periphery of reality.
This peculiar arrangement—a triangle of sorts, yet not quite—is their sensory paradise, their version of 3-Iron. A delicate balance of co-dependence and coexistence.
For me, watching this film was my own kind of sensory escape. The dialogue is sparse, the cinematography subdued, and the soundtrack isn’t particularly striking. But somehow, the simplicity of its elements combined to create a masterpiece—a movie I’ve only watched once but will carry with me forever.
Now it’s 2018, and I still haven’t found a comparable Hong Kong film from the mainstream that mirrors the depth of this one. Released in 2004, it may be too early to say whether it was 20 years ahead of its time, but it’s certainly 14 years ahead without question.
If you’re curious, pair it with Ladies and Gentlemen We Are Floating in Space by Spiritualized. Let the music guide you into the weightless yet heavy world this film creates.
"All the time until I die, we’ll float in space, just you and I."
