Two couples run headlong into the limits of empathy in the masterful ‘Possible Love’

The brilliant Korean filmmaker Lee Chang-dong is a suffering protagonist’s best friend, exploring the buried pain in people like no other filmmaker. But he’s never been so delicately novelistic, and so accessibly human, as with his latest movie, “Possible Love,” even when Lee is spinning the enigmatic vibes he’s known for.

A marriage story weighty enough to bear two fascinatingly complex couples, it explores a web of isolation and desire knotted with the divisions and woes of society today: class, labor, media. The film fairly vibrates with ominous tension even in scenes in which seemingly nothing happens. (Which, admittedly, is a Lee staple if you remember his last film, 2018’s eerie psychological thriller “Burning.”) Astonishingly acted, intricately written, with nary a shot out of place and never insulting to its audience, “Possible Love” is a masterpiece of everyday struggle — essentially, who bears it and who doesn’t — and easily among the year’s best films.

At the funeral for a colleague who committed suicide in the wake of a disastrous labor strike, out-of-work Ho-seok (Sul Kyung-gu, of Lee’s “Peppermint Candy”) would rather brood in the car alone and let his patient, grasping-for-connection wife Mi-ok (Jeon Do-yeon, a Cannes prize-winner for her turn in Lee’s “Secret Sunshine”) be around others. With these blue collar parents’ grade-school-age son a tangibly quiet presence, a seemingly impassable unhappiness oozes from the opening scenes. The appearance inside the funeral home, however, of a documentary crew interviewing laid-off workers spurs Mi-ok to engage with the outgoing director, Ye-ji (Cho Yeo-jeong), whose reserved, well-to-do husband Sang-woo (Zo In-sung) is in tow. When Mi-ok agrees to participate in Ye-ji’s film, a friendship forms.

Is it friendship, though, or a mutually useful rapport? The women couldn’t be more unalike in terms of background and status. Mi-ok has to tell Ye-ji that her expensive clothes don’t jibe with someone championing labor issues. But they have a breezy, even jokey openness, fed by the stories Mi-ok tells on camera as well as soju-fueled double dates with their spouses. They also have in common husbands who are remote, albeit for vastly different reasons. Hedge-fund-rich Sang-woo has an air of cool privilege, while the gloomy, taciturn Ho-seok harbors unprocessed trauma about what happened during the strike, the details of which are judiciously doled out to us in flashbacks. (Lee drew the background for his scenario from a real-life labor protest met by a government crackdown that shocked the country.)

But underneath what seems promising, the beginnings of empathy and maybe healing, there’s something performative and calculated in this fast bond. There are Ye-ji’s filmic needs — “I’m trying to love these people,” she says privately to Sang-woo after he calls her behavior with them “Method acting” — and Mi-ok’s swirl of intentions, hoping to save her husband with not ignoring the allure of her new pal’s quietly confident and wealthy man. Right at the moment when more cracks materialize, Ye-ji invites this broken family for a shared weekend at Sang-woo’s vacation mansion.

You may be forgiven for anticipating a potboiler climax when a lush hideaway with a private beach is concerned, and what occurs there is indeed juicy. But that’s only because Lee, in his finest screenplay to date, has laid out precisely where his vectors of hardship, exploitation, pent-up anguish and hidden desire are going to converge. Just add more alcohol and more reminders of these couples’ experiential chasm, and Lee’s command of irony in a simmering atmosphere is in a league all its own.

The documentary angle, of course, is this great director probing the ethics in his own vocation as an intrusive force, one that shapes lives, emotions and, in this case, the weight of a genuine tragedy. In much the way he finessed a truth about art facing evil in “Poetry,” the camera here is both predatory and a tool for catharsis. In one scene, the confluence is literally breathtaking.

Best-of lists were made for performances like Jeon’s. With tear-swollen eyes and an anxious intelligence that imbues Mi-ok’s mission of repair with heartbreaking energy, she is this movie’s restless soul of want: a wife, lover, worker and mother trapped between the balm of recollecting better times and worry for the future. Alongside Sul’s deftly handled, physical characterization of a proud man swallowed by hurt he could never imagine, “Possible Love” stands as one of the more sensitively wrought depictions of a wounded marriage you’ll ever see.

And when it’s over, it somehow doesn’t feel over. Maybe no scene better embodies Lee’s exquisite communion with his characters than his last one, which supplies them with a hint of grace. “Possible Love” hovers over the moment’s sublimity like the moonlight and I haven’t stopped thinking about its elemental beauty since.

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