In this blog post, I’ll explore how Director Kim Ki-duk’s “Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter… and Spring” stirs the audience’s inner emotions through minimal dialogue and repetitive imagery, focusing on the themes of the seasons and Buddhist symbolism.
A Film That Feels Good, a Film That Leaves Lasting Memories
Choosing a favorite movie is no easy task in itself. Moreover, as I’ve come to realize that personal taste or inclination doesn’t necessarily equate to a work’s objective value, it’s also been a time to reflect on how I’ve approached movies without much depth in the past. While there aren’t many films I’d specifically single out as “the best,” if I were to name the one that has left me with the fondest memories recently, it would be Director Kim Ki-duk’s ‘Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter… and Spring’.
I first came across this film by chance on TV and ended up watching it all the way through without any expectations. My first impression was, “This is a really well-made movie.” Of course, there are many well-made films, but this one possesses a charm that prompts the audience to reflect deeply without saying much.
I was struck by how the narrative and imagery, while interdependent, function on equal footing to effectively convey the film’s message. I believe it’s a film that makes us reflect anew on what it means to be human through the Eastern aesthetic of “emptiness” (空) and the beauty of natural landscapes. Just as a single stone thrown into a still pond creates ripples, every small gesture and nuance within the film’s gentle flow resonated deeply.
Furthermore, as a work that explores origins and existence through human actions within a framework of religious symbolism, and discusses salvation through fundamental desires, it left me with a fond memory as one of the “truly great” films I’ve seen recently.
However, my positive assessment may not be universal. Director Kim Ki-duk’s films have not always been viewed favorably in Korea, and his raw and unconventional style of expression is often not well-received. So, while I sensed that this film, too, might be somewhat underrated due to the preconceptions of those around me, I intend to discuss ‘Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter… and Spring’ purely on its own merits, without comparing it to the director’s other works.
Synopsis
The film depicts human growth through an omnibus format, following the changes of Korea’s four seasons—spring, summer, fall, and winter.
Spring. In the season when all things come to life, a young novice monk laughs innocently as he plays a prank by stuffing stones into the mouths of frogs, snakes, and fish he has caught in the forest. An elderly monk, watching this, ties a stone to the sleeping boy’s back. When the boy wakes up and complains that it hurts, the monk tells him that if he cannot undo his wrongdoing, it will become a lifelong karmic burden.
Summer. Amid the lush greenery of nature, the child grows into a 17-year-old boy, and a girl of the same age arrives at the mountain temple to recuperate. The boy falls deeply in love with her, and the elderly monk also senses their feelings. After the girl leaves, the boy, unable to shake off his obsession, departs the temple.
Fall. More than ten years after leaving the temple, the man—now a murderer who has killed his unfaithful wife—flee to the mountain temple. Unable to bear his rage and anguish, he attempts suicide before a Buddha statue, but the old monk beats him mercilessly. The man calms his mind by meditating on the Heart Sutra the old monk has written on the floor, and in the quiet mountain temple where he has sent him on his way, the old monk performs a cremation ceremony.
Winter. Now middle-aged, the man returns to the ruined mountain temple. He gathers the old monk’s relics to create an ice Buddha statue and seeks inner peace by purifying his mind and body in the winter temple. An unknown woman visits the temple but leaves behind only a young child, and the middle-aged man spends a peaceful spring day at the temple with the young novice monk, who has grown up.
The young novice, like a child of spring, once again plays a prank by placing stones in the mouths of frogs and snakes, laughing cheerfully, and the film concludes with the Buddha statue atop the mountain gazing down upon this scene.
Reviews of Director Kim Ki-duk’s “Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter… and Spring”
To discuss this film, one cannot overlook Director Kim Ki-duk. His style differs from that of typical mainstream cinema and is often described as “unfamiliar.” The love and sexuality between men and women, typically seen in sentimental and romantic love stories, often manifest as spontaneous and sudden desires in Kim Ki-duk’s films, leading to criticism that he disregards narrative coherence. On the other hand, his work is sometimes classified as auteur cinema, making it difficult to define in a single phrase.
While such preconceptions contributed to the undervaluation of ‘Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter… and Spring’, numerous film festivals supported the film, providing an opportunity for a fresh interpretation of the director’s body of work.
Experts say this film represented both a risk and a respite for Kim Ki-duk. While his previous films were always direct, violent, or obscene and consistently contained elements that sparked controversy, the general consensus is that his direction could ultimately change, and this film served as both the pinnacle and a turning point in that evolution. It was also notable that, having reached his eighth year as a director, he produced a work that many considered worthy of the title “masterpiece.”
This film is praised for weaving Buddhist reflection into a coming-of-age story, beautifully set against the backdrop of Korea’s four seasons. While it displays a different tone from his previous works, its rich visual aesthetics are interpreted as Kim Ki-duk’s unique artistic code, often likened to human desire.
The scene of a hermitage floating on a river without a single ripple is serene and elegant, possessing a power that never grows tiresome no matter how long one gazes at it. The power felt in this image is closer to “soft on the outside, strong on the inside”—a departure from his previous intensity—and such still images align perfectly with the Buddhist attitude of surrendering to the laws of nature.
By depicting the four seasons and human life, the director creates a single thread of connection through recurring metaphors, symbols, and repeated imagery. That thread serves as another metaphor for the cyclical nature of human life. The film does not attempt to preach Buddhist doctrine or impose heavy moral reflection; rather, it unfolds its story in a manner reminiscent of a beginner’s Buddhist scripture—explained simply enough for anyone to understand.
Kim Ki-duk demonstrates his signature style of presenting things as they are, without beating around the bush, in this work as well, and the film has been praised for its weight and depth, which surpass those of his other films. While the episodes stand out for their compression and leaps in narrative, the artistic sensibility that brought the mysterious temple floating on water to life is particularly striking.
The hermitage filling the screen is interpreted by audiences as a symbolic “island” through which the director expresses his thoughts on desire, forgiveness, escape, and enlightenment. Furthermore, Kim Ki-duk seems to show an interest in compositions that embrace the frailty of human wickedness, rather than the deliberate wickedness of his earlier works.
In this regard, some critics view ‘Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter… and Spring’ as an introduction to the world of spiritual quests. As a relatively calm and cautious work that steers clear of controversy, it is regarded as a significant film that marks a turning point for Kim Ki-duk, bringing him full circle in his cinematic career.
As seen in the plot summary above, the film centers on two characters: the life journey of a single individual—from child monk to boy monk to young monk to middle-aged monk—and the elderly monk who observes this journey. As the seasons change, the child monk becomes a boy monk, then a murderer, and finally a middle-aged monk; after undergoing purification and transcendence in winter, the middle-aged monk finds himself in the same position as the elderly monk of the first spring.
Therefore, while it would not be unreasonable to interpret these two figures as a repetition of the Buddhist concept of reincarnation, I will first analyze the characters’ psychological motivations, words, and actions separately throughout their growth process in each season to highlight the narrative’s dramatic effect.
In spring, the young novice monk, despite his innocent and pure-hearted appearance, reveals the primal side of humanity—harboring destructive instincts and cruelty within. Unable to foresee the consequences of his actions, he torments small creatures in pursuit of momentary amusement and pleasure, deriving instinctive gratification from it. This scene depicts the awakening of humanity’s inner instinctual desires and animalistic pleasures within the natural cycle of spring’s rebirth. At this moment, the old monk’s words—“You will carry that stone in your heart for the rest of your life…”—and his actions serve to make the young novice realize his wrongdoing by making him experience the exact same treatment he inflicted on the small creatures, thereby forcing him to feel the weight of the stone.
The young monk in summer succumbs to curiosity about the opposite sex and sexual desire, eventually breaking his vows and leaving the temple. Here, the premise that human sexual desire is fundamental and instinctive is revealed. His feelings toward the girl begin with compassion but gradually ignite into affection and sexual desire, eventually erupting. This period can be viewed as a time of growth in which desire runs rampant. The elderly monk’s dispassionate observation is expressed in the phrases, “It happened naturally,” and “Desire gives rise to attachment, and attachment breeds murderous intent.” While acknowledging human instincts, he warns of the evil and tragedy they can cause.
The young monk of autumn is a murderer who, filled with rage, has fled to the temple. The anger stemming from the betrayal of love reaches such extremes that it destroys human life, and the young man fills himself with resentment toward the world and its people. This is the archetypal image of a human being who, rather than facing his own inner self, blames the outside world and refuses to repent. At the old monk’s urging, the young man carves the Heart Sutra onto the floor of the mountain temple with a knife, engraving each character as if chiseling away his anger and resentment. This act can be likened to a ritual of purification through sweat—the expulsion of impurities from the body—and represents a process of washing away the fundamental feelings of malice that linger within.
After staying up all night to carve out the entire Heart Sutra, the young man’s mind becomes as empty as the engraved characters themselves. This is because he has carved out and discarded the dregs of unnecessary emotions, desires, and instincts. The Elder Monk’s teaching—“Did you not know the secular world was like this? There comes a time when one must let go of what one possesses”—was the words that guided the young man to carve the Heart Sutra with a knife and wash away his anger. The Elder Monk plays a role in restoring the purity of the soul through the act of purification and the passage of time; even if he has already reached the state of enlightenment, he recognizes that the time has come to depart in accordance with the laws of nature and performs the cremation rite.
The middle-aged monk in winter practices Seonmu-do and physical asceticism with the resolve to sever all desires and cravings. However, unpurified desires and pointless curiosity still linger within him, leading him to unintentionally cause the death of a woman who came to him carrying a baby. To atone for this mistake, he performs acts of penance and atonement by climbing a mountain while carrying a stone and a Buddha statue. Winter is a time of emptiness, extinction, and loss, yet simultaneously a time of new conception, serving as the starting point for a new journey toward enlightenment.
When spring returns, a child resembling the young novice monk from the beginning torments small creatures by forcing stones into their mouths. This repetition suggests that human instinctual desires recur across generations. Human desires and urges are caught in a cycle that periodically revives, like the seasons, causing problems anew and then being purified.
Through the seasonal scenes described above, we can see that this film—with its episodic structure that unfolds over time, or in other words, its linear, allegorical plot—depicts a person’s journey of growth that flows in exquisite harmony with the changing seasons. At the same time, the axis of human growth follows the gradual escalation of innate needs and desires—from taking life to lust, and ultimately to murder. In effect, the film parallels the fulfillment and maturation of natural life as it progresses from spring to fall with the expansion of human desire.
Ultimately, it is only in the face of winter—the season of losing everything—that human desire can empty itself and embark on a path of purification and sublimation. In this regard, while the film incorporates various elements of traditional coming-of-age stories, it is difficult to view it as entirely identical to them. This is because the schematic structure of the coming-of-age narrative—separation, initiation, and return—overlaps to a certain extent: the “separation” of leaving the temple to find the girl; the trials of “initiation” experienced through betrayal, jealousy, and desire; and the process of “return” to purify oneself upon coming back. It also does not stray far from the schema of a rite of passage, in which one experiences rebirth and emerges as a new person.
However, since this film seeks to speak to the entirety of human existence—rather than merely telling a single stage of a coming-of-age story—it is difficult to interpret it solely as a pure coming-of-age film or a heroic myth. This is because human instincts, desires, needs, and emotions are not experiences limited to a single period in life, but rather tasks and burdens that must be navigated throughout one’s entire life. The film does not present a single, transformed self-image as the ultimate answer.
Unlike the typical conclusion of a heroic tale, the ending is left open. While presenting recurring instincts and a natural human condition, it maintains an attitude that does not impose a single correct answer. The Buddhist concept of reincarnation serves as a useful device here. The motif of reincarnation leads us to acknowledge that beings who appear to be different characters are ultimately bound by the same instincts; it serves to reveal the cycle of life without imposing a single, definitive answer.
Although the film ‘Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter… and Spring’ uses Buddhism as a medium to drive the narrative, it is difficult to view it as a work intended to convey Buddhism itself or its doctrines. Rather, it appears that Buddhism—which lies at the core of Eastern sensibilities—was chosen to explore the nature of humanity and the philosophy of human existence. While Buddhist concepts such as karma and reincarnation serve as the overarching backdrop and Buddhist symbols are used to emphasize certain imagery, these symbols resonate more deeply with the audience through their connection to Eastern sensibilities.
The film employs a vast array of symbolic imagery, among which the “door” stands out as a representative symbol. While doors typically serve as boundaries separating the inside from the outside, the doors in this film are situated in places where they do not actually function properly. The film depicts the changing of the seasons through scenes of opening doors; to leave the temple, one must take a boat across the water and pass through a door. Even though the ritual of crossing the boundary has already been fully accomplished by crossing the water, passing through the door remains a marker distinguishing the secular world from the transcendent realm, and the material world from the spiritual world. Erecting a door in the absence of walls signifies an invisible line—that is, a boundary that humans must not cross—and the door to a room carries a similar meaning. Even without walls, the door separates the divine space from the human space, allowing one to move between them at any time through the proper procedures as needed. However, it is humans who break this promise. When they fail to recognize the door as a door and instead use an empty wall to move between spaces, sin begins with that act.
“Water” also functions as an important symbol. The very concept of placing a temple not in the mountains but floating on water implies that it is a spiritual space rather than a physical one. The temple reached by crossing the water can be seen as symbolizing an ideal world rather than the real world.
“Stone” appears repeatedly as an image symbolizing karma and suffering. The image of stone—used in scenes where a young novice teases small animals, an elderly monk admonishes the novice, and a middle-aged monk climbs a winter mountain while carrying a stone—represents the suffering and responsibilities one must bear in life.
In addition, animals associated with Buddhism—such as chickens, snakes, cats, and turtles—are used to depict the cycle of reincarnation and the spiritual realm, while the temple floating on water simultaneously reveals both an ideal world and the transience of life.
By employing such diverse symbolic imagery to depict human instincts and Eastern philosophy through visual artistry, the film fills every scene with nature and leaves a lasting impression. The most memorable image in this film is undoubtedly the “temple floating on water.” The frame—composed of the main gate and the tree beside it, which seem to anchor the temple on the lake—places the temple at the center while ensuring it is in perfect harmony with its surroundings, further emphasizing its beauty. This scene can be interpreted as symbolizing the harmony between nature and humanity, as well as between the spiritual realm and the human world.
The scene of the old monk’s cremation is also striking. While the lake’s surface and the trees remain stationary, the effect of the temple drifting away foreshadows the events and changes to come. A close-up of sunlight falling on the old monk’s face—as he seems to accept everything with detachment just before leaving this world—along with the stroke the audience observes from an observer’s perspective—the character “閉” written in ink on a long, horizontal sheet of hanji paper—and a high-angle shot of the Heart Sutra spread out in colorful ink on the floor, all confront the viewer with the image of a human being who, while becoming small in the face of death, is also reaching a state of completion.
Through these two characters—who are different yet the same—the film prompts us to question what it means to be human. Rather than denying the desires, needs, instinctive destructiveness, and emotions such as jealousy and envy inherent in human nature, it shows the journey through which humans achieve fulfillment. Just as the film does not arrive at a definitive conclusion, this work confirms that humans are beings who cannot be defined categorically—they are simply beings on a journey.
