A mother’s grief is at the core of Paradise Lost , but a weak script and flimsy, sci-fi-tinged plot undermine the emotional foundation of Yeon Sang-ho’s latest film.
So-young Ryu (Kim Hyun-joo) is a single mother devastated after her son, Sun-woo (Bae Hyun-Sung), is among a busload of children kidnapped and presumably murdered on their way to camp. The bodies are never recovered, and the parents are left to grapple with unanswered questions and unimaginable grief. Seeking to comfort the families and generate positive headlines, a new technology company called TransHuman offers them a unique escape: virtual versions of their children that they can interact with through augmented-reality glasses. Through these simulated encounters with Sun-woo, Ryu finds the strength to carry on in the real world.
The premise feels pulled from the “Be Right Back” episode of Black Mirror , while also recalling films ranging from Steven Spielberg’s A.I. Artificial Intelligence to Kogonada’s After Yang . There are rich moral and ethical questions surrounding the use of technology to recreate and preserve the likeness of a deceased child, as well as the long-term psychological and emotional effects of maintaining that connection. Yet Paradise Lost seems largely uninterested in exploring any of these ideas with much depth. As the years pass, Ryu becomes appalled when other parents decide to stop “visiting” their virtual children or delete them altogether, seemingly unable to accept that these artificial recreations may have served a finite purpose in their grieving process.
Much of this setup is breezed through in the film’s first 10 minutes. That barely gives the audience time to absorb the tragedy or consider its implications, as a news-broadcast voiceover quickly fills in the details before the story jumps ahead.
Nine years after the children went missing, Ryu is still interacting with the virtual Sun-woo every day. Then a man arrives at a police station claiming to be the missing boy, and DNA confirms he is, in fact, the real Sun-woo. His return becomes a news sensation, but the circumstances surrounding his disappearance remain a mystery. While the public celebrates his miraculous return, Ryu has reservations about the man her son has become, forcing her to reconcile her feelings for the adult standing before her with the virtual version of Sun-woo who has remained a child.
On paper, this is a compelling setup. In practice, however, the film rarely gives its ideas enough attention before moving on to the next detail. The film introduces plot points and abandons them before they can carry any real weight. An investigative journalist develops suspicions about this adult Sun-woo, but the storyline is cut short just as it begins to generate some suspense. What could have built tension and intrigue instead falls flat, and the investigation ultimately feels inconsequential. A subplot involving a missing neighbourhood boy suffers from a similar problem, coming across less as a meaningful addition to the story than as a convenient way to keep the plot moving.
Director and writer Yeon Sang-ho often seems to be chasing the success of the excellent Train to Busan , his 2016 zombie thriller that felt both fresh and relevant and reinvigorated a familiar genre with a unique perspective. It is disappointing that his follow-ups, in a variety of other genres, have rarely reached those same heights.
Paradise Lost contains glimpses of that greatness, particularly in its exploration of grief, technology, and the difficulty of letting go, but it repeatedly abandons its most intriguing ideas before doing anything meaningful with them.
Though it looks good, by the time Paradise Lost lumbers toward its inevitable conclusion, it arrives with a shrug rather than anything resembling genuine emotional impact. Kim Hyun-joo does what she can as a mother forced to choose between her real son and an idealized virtual version of him. The problem is that the film’s entire emotional foundation depends on us believing that Ryu has come to value the digital Sun-woo above everything else, even human life.
It’s difficult to feel empathy for a character willing to sacrifice a real life for a digital replica. Ryu’s defining trait is her devotion to her child, yet the film eventually asks her to weigh that maternal love against the possibility of saving someone in the real world. It is meant to be an agonizing moral dilemma, but it never feels credible. A mother who has consistently demonstrated how precious a child’s life is should not suddenly seem so willing to prioritize a digital imitation over a living person. Instead of deepening Ryu’s character, the film’s central conflict works against everything we know about her, leaving its supposed emotional climax contrived rather than heartbreaking.
Despite having all the elements of a compelling crime thriller, along with some intriguing sci-fi touches, Paradise Lost ultimately fails to deliver. What could have been a resonant exploration of a mother’s grief and her inability to let go instead becomes a frustrating reminder of how much potential the film leaves unrealized.
Paradise Lost held its world premiere at TIFF on September 13. It screens three more times on September 14, 18 and 19.
