Microhabitat

In the bustling, unforgiving streets of contemporary Seoul, the city itself feels like a living ledger of rising costs and shrinking comforts. The film paints a stark but intimate portrait of a world where everyday necessities—rent, cigarettes, even a glass of whiskey—have become precarious luxuries. Against this backdrop, the atmosphere is tinged with a quiet melancholy, softened by moments of sardonic humor that illuminate the absurdity of trying to preserve dignity amidst relentless economic pressure.

​Miso is a thirty‑something woman whose life revolves around a few stubbornly held constants: the glow of a cigarette, the burn of cheap whiskey, and the fragile tether of a boyfriend who drifts in and out of her orbit. As a housekeeper barely scraping by, she navigates a relentless cycle of budgeting and shortfalls, each small victory quickly eroded by another price hike or rent increase. Her stubborn attachment to these comforts becomes both a shield and a source of tension, revealing a character who refuses to let go of the few things that still feel hers.

When the walls of her modest apartment begin to close in, Miso turns to an old network of friends—former bandmates and acquaintances who once shared music and laughter. The prospect of couch‑surfing and temporary shelter offers a glimpse of chosen family, suggesting that the bonds forged in youth might provide a fragile safety net. The film lingers on this uneasy balance between independence and dependence, inviting viewers to contemplate the quiet resilience required to live on the edge of survival while still clutching at the small pleasures that make life feel personal and meaningful.

Last Updated: October 05, 2025 at 16:52