Past Lives (2023): Ending Explained

By Ellis Carver

In Celine Song's poignant debut feature Past Lives, the delicate interplay of time, memory, and unspoken longing unfolds across decades, leaving audiences to ponder the roads not taken. As a film that weaves personal history with broader questions of identity and fate, its ending resonates with quiet profundity. Below, we break down the film's conclusion, exploring its literal events, symbolic layers, and the emotional truths it uncovers about human connection in a world of separations.

Quick Recap

Past Lives spans 24 years, beginning in the present day of 2023 and flashing back to 1999 in Seoul, South Korea. There, 12-year-old classmates Na Young and Hae Sung share an innocent, budding romance—walking home from school together, dreaming of a future marriage, and enjoying a parent-arranged playdate that hints at deeper feelings. But Na Young's family soon immigrates to Canada for a new life, forcing the pair to part ways. She adopts the name Nora to assimilate, while Hae Sung remains in Korea, carrying the weight of their lost connection.

Twelve years later, in the early 2010s, Nora has settled in New York City as an aspiring playwright. Hae Sung, fresh from mandatory military service and pursuing engineering, rediscovers her on Facebook and they reconnect through video calls. Their conversations bridge the gap of time, rekindling old affections amid discussions of their diverging paths—Nora's creative ambitions and Hae Sung's stable job. Yet, practicalities intervene: Nora attends a writer's retreat in Montauk, and Hae Sung prepares for a Mandarin language program in China. Sensing the pull of their past could disrupt their presents, Nora gently suggests they stop communicating, allowing both to move forward. During her retreat, Nora meets Arthur Zaturansky, a kind-hearted American, and they fall deeply in love, bonding over the Korean concept of inyeon—the idea that souls are drawn together through thousands of past lives' interactions.

In the present, Nora and Arthur are married, navigating the nuances of their intercultural union in New York. Hae Sung, now single after a brief relationship, decides to visit, setting the stage for a week-long reunion that forces all three to confront the lingering "what ifs" of Nora and Hae Sung's childhood bond.

What Happens in the Ending

The film's final act centers on Hae Sung's visit to New York, a charged reunion that unfolds over several days and culminates in moments of raw vulnerability. After arriving, Hae Sung first meets Nora alone in the city, their encounter marked by awkward joy and the weight of 20 years apart. They walk the familiar streets of Manhattan, revisiting echoes of their shared past through conversation—recalling their school days, the pain of separation, and the lives they've built without each other. Nora introduces Hae Sung to Arthur, her husband, and the trio spends time together, including an evening at a cozy speakeasy bar (echoing the film's opening scene, where an unseen couple speculates on their dynamic).

Tensions simmer beneath the surface. Arthur, ever perceptive, grapples with his role in this equation, confiding in Nora about his insecurities: he wonders aloud if he's merely a "roadblock" in what feels like Nora and Hae Sung's destined love story. He jokes bitterly about their meeting's timing—suggesting that if another man like Hae Sung had crossed her path earlier, she might have chosen him instead, perhaps even for practical reasons like securing a green card. Arthur also touches on cultural divides, noting Nora's habit of sleep-talking in Korean, a remnant of her heritage that underscores their emotional distance at times.

As the visit progresses, Nora and Hae Sung steal private moments, including a poignant walk across the Brooklyn Bridge at dawn. Here, they confront the essence of their connection: Hae Sung admits the enduring pull of their childhood promises, while Nora reflects on how life has reshaped her. No dramatic confessions erupt; instead, they share a quiet, tearful goodbye. Hae Sung returns to Korea, leaving Nora and Arthur to their life together. The film closes on Nora and Arthur in bed, her head resting on his chest, as she murmurs in Korean—perhaps a subconscious echo of unresolved feelings—while Arthur holds her close. The unseen observers from the opening return in voiceover, their speculation fading into silence, mirroring the film's meditation on unseen threads of fate.

The Meaning Behind the Ending

At its core, the ending of Past Lives symbolizes the bittersweet acceptance of life's divergences, where deep connections persist not as flames to be reignited but as embers that warm without consuming. The Brooklyn Bridge walk serves as a literal and metaphorical threshold—a structure linking boroughs yet also evoking the chasm between Nora's American present and Hae Sung's Korean roots. Their conversation peels back layers of regret and gratitude, illustrating how inyeon isn't about predestined romance but the subtle interdependence of souls across lifetimes. Nora's sleep-talking in Korean at the end, juxtaposed with Arthur's embrace, represents the hybridity of her identity: a bridge between worlds, neither fully one nor the other, yet whole in its fragmentation.

This resolution underscores the film's moral complexity—love isn't a zero-sum game but a multifaceted tapestry. Arthur's anxieties highlight the societal pressures of immigration and assimilation, where practical choices (like marriage for stability) intersect with genuine emotion, challenging simplistic notions of "soulmates." The ending affirms that parting doesn't erase bonds; it honors them by allowing each person to thrive in their chosen path, a quiet rebellion against romantic fatalism.

Character Arcs and Resolution

Nora's arc evolves from a girl torn from her first love to a woman who claims agency over her narrative. Her reunion with Hae Sung tests the foundations of her marriage, forcing her to reconcile the pull of inyeon with the reality of her life with Arthur. By the end, she resolves this tension not through rejection but integration—acknowledging Hae Sung's place in her past while recommitting to her present. This closure liberates her, transforming potential regret into a deeper self-understanding.

Hae Sung, steadfast in his quiet devotion, confronts the illusion of reclaiming lost time. His visit exposes the psychology of deferred longing: the 12-year-old boy's dreams have matured into an adult's wistful clarity. Returning to Korea single yet unbittered, he embodies resilience, his arc resolving in acceptance that some connections are meant to illuminate rather than endure.

Arthur, the film's understated anchor, grapples with outsider status in a story not his own. His vulnerabilities—fearing he's a placeholder or culturally mismatched—reveal the emotional labor of loving across divides. The ending resolves his arc through quiet affirmation: holding Nora as she whispers in her native tongue, he becomes the steady presence that allows her full self to emerge, turning insecurity into profound partnership.

Alternate Interpretations

The ending's ambiguity invites multiple lenses. One reading sees it as a subtle triumph of choice over destiny: Nora and Hae Sung's restraint subverts inyeon's mystical pull, suggesting human agency trumps cosmic threads. Alternatively, it could be interpreted as unresolved tension—a "pause" in their story, implying future reconnections in this life or the next, given the film's cyclical structure (bookended by the bar scene). Arthur's role adds another layer: is he truly at peace, or does the sleep-talking hint at lingering doubts in their marriage? These interpretations reflect the film's contemplative nature, leaving viewers to project their own experiences onto the triad's fragile equilibrium.

Themes and Symbolism

Past Lives reinforces themes of displacement and belonging, using the ending to subvert immigrant narratives of loss. The speakeasy bar symbolizes hidden histories—intimate spaces where pasts collide with presents—while the bridge walk evokes liminal spaces of transition, commenting on how migration fractures yet enriches identity. Inyeon permeates as a metaphor for moral complexity: relationships aren't fated endpoints but accumulations of small choices, critiquing societal expectations around romance, culture, and success. The film subtly critiques the American Dream's cost—Nora's name change and Arthur's green card quip expose assimilation's emotional toll—while celebrating the human truth that love, in all its forms, persists amid impermanence.

Final Thoughts

Celine Song's ending works masterfully because it resists tidy closure, mirroring life's messy elegance. By prioritizing emotional authenticity over melodrama, Past Lives leaves us with a profound sense of what's possible when we honor connections without possessing them. It's a contemplative gem that lingers, inviting rewatches to uncover new facets of its humanity. For anyone wrestling with "what ifs," this finale offers solace: some past lives shape us, but our present ones define us.