This review may contain spoilers
Loving Freely Isn't for Everyone
Journey to the Shore is one of the most painfully realistic portrayals of internalized homophobia, societal pressure, and the silent tragedy that queer youth face in conservative Korean society.
Sang Beom is a boy who’s already been burned by homophobic bullying in his previous school, and now, even though he finds love again in Minha, he’s terrified to be outed. Minha, on the other hand, doesn't try to hide—he doesn’t care what others think, but that doesn’t mean he’s not hurting. In fact, he’s been hurting for a long time. The scars on his wrist say it all.
They both keep hurting each other unknowingly. Minha clings to Sang Beom like he’s his last strand of life. Sang Beom loves him too, but he’s suffocating under the pressure of fear and guilt. On their 100th day, when Minha is beaten and Sang Beom finally breaks down crying, the shift is devastating. That moment was heartbreaking—Minha realized he wasn’t just hurting himself anymore… he was hurting the only person he loved.
The film doesn’t point fingers. There are no villains here. Just pain, repression, love, and confusion. It ends in silence, and you're left to guess: did Minha die by suicide? All signs seem to say yes. But nothing is confirmed. That’s what makes it even more haunting.
Technically, the film is low-budget, but it doesn't matter. The acting is phenomenal. Everything—the shaky camera work, the mundane school setting, the rawness—feels intentional. This film didn’t need polish. It needed truth. And it gave us that.
This movie will leave you hollow, and that’s its strength. It lingers.
Sang Beom is a boy who’s already been burned by homophobic bullying in his previous school, and now, even though he finds love again in Minha, he’s terrified to be outed. Minha, on the other hand, doesn't try to hide—he doesn’t care what others think, but that doesn’t mean he’s not hurting. In fact, he’s been hurting for a long time. The scars on his wrist say it all.
They both keep hurting each other unknowingly. Minha clings to Sang Beom like he’s his last strand of life. Sang Beom loves him too, but he’s suffocating under the pressure of fear and guilt. On their 100th day, when Minha is beaten and Sang Beom finally breaks down crying, the shift is devastating. That moment was heartbreaking—Minha realized he wasn’t just hurting himself anymore… he was hurting the only person he loved.
The film doesn’t point fingers. There are no villains here. Just pain, repression, love, and confusion. It ends in silence, and you're left to guess: did Minha die by suicide? All signs seem to say yes. But nothing is confirmed. That’s what makes it even more haunting.
Technically, the film is low-budget, but it doesn't matter. The acting is phenomenal. Everything—the shaky camera work, the mundane school setting, the rawness—feels intentional. This film didn’t need polish. It needed truth. And it gave us that.
This movie will leave you hollow, and that’s its strength. It lingers.
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