Written by Ha Young-joon, Jeon Yun-su and Song Hye-jin | Directed by Park Heung-sik

The 1940s were among the most turbulent years in Korean history, a time of uncertainty and quiet resilience leading up to liberation from Japanese colonial rule in 1945. It was also an era when the first echoes of popular music—what would one day evolve into K-pop—began to take shape. Against this backdrop, Love, Lies unfolds like an audiovisual poem, a film steeped in longing, ambition, and betrayal. A stunning meditation on love and art, it sweeps the viewer into a world of music and desire, where beauty becomes both a refuge and a weapon.

At its heart, the film follows the last generation of Gisaeng—women trained as artists and entertainers—who dream of breaking free from tradition to become modern singers. Once celebrated in the noble courts of the Joseon Dynasty (1392–1910), Gisaeng later found themselves performing for the Japanese ruling class during the colonial period. Love, Lies offers a deeply human glimpse into this shifting world, where artistry is no longer just an inheritance but a choice fraught with consequence.

Han Hyo-joo and Chun Woo-hee deliver breathtaking vocal performances, their voices carrying the film’s emotional weight with haunting precision. Every note and lyric feels lived-in, steeped in the inner conflicts of their characters. Yeon-seok’s portrayal is equally compelling, threading his character’s presence seamlessly into the film’s emotional and narrative tapestry. The cinematography, art direction, and musical composition are nothing short of exquisite, each element deserving its own quiet round of applause.

More than a love story, Love, Lies lingers in the spaces between devotion and ambition, between the old and the new. It is a film that doesn’t just ask what it means to love—but what it means to be heard.

Image courtesy of Lotte Entertainment