It was when I was about eleven, in the sixties. There was this animated film that came out in Korea about a character named Hong Gil-dong. He’s kind of like the Robin Hood of Korean literature and originates from an old classical novel. Kids my age were all anticipating the release of this movie, so I really wanted to see it too. But my family’s financial situation was such that I didn’t have enough money to buy a ticket. My older cousin knew that I wanted to see it, so he gave me money. I went to the theater, and there was a sea of children. I got in the line, and as I got closer and closer to the box office, I had this feeling that I didn’t really want to see the movie anymore. I can’t say for sure why. I had so wanted to see it, but right before I had to buy the ticket, I think I just wanted to break free of those kids and be on my own.

I finally went to the theater next door, which was playing [Richard Brooks’s] Lord Jim. I didn’t even know what the movie was about, but I decided to see it. I was young, so it was difficult for me to comprehend; it was too dark and too scary—the sea and the storm! This was an older, second-run theater, and there weren’t that many people there, and of course absolutely no children. I was sitting in the dark alone, filled with fear and anxiety, and as the movie was coming to its conclusion, I could sense that the main character was headed for an unfortunate fate. It was so hard to endure that! I had gone to movies before, but this was really the first one I had selected and bought a ticket for on my own, and it was this primal experience. The fear and compassion that I felt in that moment left a very deep impression on me.