The Call

In a remote, weather‑worn house perched on the edge of a Korean countryside, a young woman returns to her childhood home only to discover that the simple act of losing her cellphone thrusts her into an unsettling mystery. The empty rooms echo with the static of an old cordless phone, and when it rings, the voice on the other end is far from ordinary. As she reaches for the receiver, the line becomes a fragile bridge between two eras, pulling her into a conversation that feels both intimate and impossibly distant.

The call connects her with a girl living in the same house many years earlier. Kim Seo‑yeon, a twenty‑something who has come back to confront painful memories, finds herself drawn into a dialogue with Oh Young‑sook, a lonely orphan whose world is ruled by superstition and isolation. Their exchange is quiet yet charged, a whispered confession that blurs the line between present and past, turning an ordinary house into a liminal space where time seems pliable.

Both women carry the weight of personal trauma, and their newfound link offers a tentative hope for understanding and maybe redemption. The mood is consistently tense, bathed in the cold light of flickering bulbs and the ever‑present hum of the telephone line, creating a claustrophobic atmosphere that pulses with unease. The film balances a slow‑burning psychological thriller with moments of fleeting tenderness, as each protagonist grapples with the unknown consequences of speaking across decades.

As the conversation deepens, the audience is left to wonder how far the reach of this strange connection can go, and what price might be paid when the past refuses to stay silent. The ever‑present ring of the phone becomes a summons to confront hidden fears, setting the stage for a gripping battle of wills that hangs in the balance between reality and the nightmarish echo of another time.

Last Updated: August 10, 2025 at 01:02