The Final Semester follows the journey of Chang-woo (Yoo Lee-ha) , a vocational school senior, as he transitions from student to worker in the demanding Korean workplace during his final semester.
If I had to encapsulate the film in one word, it would be honesty. This honesty is evident not only in its documentary-like technique—hand-held camera, muted color grading, organic, almost spontaneous framing—but also in its writing, as it navigates heavy themes such as South Korea's intense work culture while remaining intimate.
One segment I am most drawn to is when Chang-woo doubts his decision to continue his internship after a workplace injury. Not only is he physically hurt, he is also deeply uncertain. Yet he doesn't voice his struggles to anyone—not to his friend Woo-jae (Yang Ji-woon), who left that same company, feeling suffocated by the harsh comments from seniors and the numbing, repetitive tasks; not to his teacher (Kwak Jin-mu), who encouraged him to intern at the small-to-medium-sized company; not even to his family, with whom he shares the same roof.
When his mother (Kang Jin-ah) talks about his job and her plans to use part of his salary for a larger apartment, he raises his voice above his usually timid tone. Just as the audience expects a climax, director Lee Ran-hee subverts our expectations. Chang-woo doesn't lash out at his mother for the financial pressure; he doesn’t inflict his pain and frustration on her. He doesn’t even mention his major injury at the factory. Instead, he just slams his bedroom door a bit harder, falls asleep, and goes to work the next day, his eyes a bit dimmer than before. Director Lee doesn’t pivot toward the dramatic. She gives space for the characters under her lens to truly come to life. Their struggles are endured, not performed.
Some may argue its brutally honest depiction of workplace pressures and post-graduation uncertainty creates a depressive tone. Yet, I find it oddly comforting as a teenager who resonates with the uncertainty Chang-woo experiences. The film doesn’t interfere nor comment; it merely observes, allowing us to navigate our own uncertainties alongside him.
In a world where people rarely take the time to truly see and listen to one another, The Final Semester grants us the gift we hardly dare to ask for anymore—to be seen in our struggles, unjudged. By stripping away fancy filmmaking techniques and inspirational, almost artificial storytelling, it facilitates an honest dialogue with its audience, comforting youngsters and work veterans alike.
Written by Jacarri Chan
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Read another report by our young jury on The Final Semester, available only in Chinese, here.
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