Why Ignoring Screenplay Rules Works in Past Lives

If you’re not named Richard Linklater, it’s very difficult to write a film like Past Lives, and even more difficult to get it produced. But this atypical, conversational, heart wrenching drama is one of the most poignant films of the year. Today, let’s explore what makes Celine Song’s screenplay so unique, why breaking the rules can elevate storytelling, how bold choices can make a film shine.

First, let’s try to cram Song’s screenplay into a classic structure—the kind of breakdown Syd Field or Blake Snyder might swear by.

Opening Image

The screenplay begins with a voyeuristic glimpse of three characters - Nora, Hae Sung, and Arthur - sharing a drink in a New York bar. These three make up the core cast, but their relationships are still a mystery. Unseen narrators invite us to speculate on their connections, sparking curiosity and a desire to unravel the complexities of their lives.

Set Up

Here we run into our first deviation from the norm - Here’s where the film takes its first big detour from convention—there’s barely any setup to establish Nora’s life before the inciting incident. We’re dropped right in on the precipice of a major shift in her world, with only hints of the seismic change about to unfold.

Twenty-four years before the opening image, Nora (or Na Young as she is known in this era of her life) is a twelve year old schoolgirl in Seoul. A notorious crybaby, she shares her school days with Hae Sung, her childhood friend.

Inciting Incident

Nora quickly learns her family is moving to Toronto, leaving her old life behind. While this marks the inciting incident - the event that sets the story in motion - it’s presented subtly, without the weight such moments typically carry.

Debate

Instead, the debate - the moments where the hero wrestles with tough decisions - is nonexistent for Nora. As a child, she has no say in her parents' career-driven choices and must simply follow their lead. What we see isn’t a debate but a quiet, preemptive nostalgia for a life that’s slipping away.

During this time, Nora and Hae Sung share a chaperoned date - a gesture from her mother to create lasting memories before their move. A tender, innocent romance begins to bloom between them. It’s here that Nora’s mother delivers the screenplay’s thematic heart: If you leave something behind, you gain something too.

In this regard, Nora’s story is about the two selves that exist in immigrants. Her decision to take on a Western name marks a clear divide in her life - one chapter as Na Young and another as Nora.

Break into Two

Nora’s family leaves Seoul and arrives in Toronto, bracing for the challenges of starting over and assimilating. We – wait a moment, we’re only on page twelve? We should be in the early twenties, right? My trusty screenplay algorithm machine told me – But Song plays by her own rules. Her screenplay runs just 86 pages, and likely even fewer when you account for the dialogue being repeated in both Korean and English.

Fun and Games

Nora and Hae Sung are living entirely different lives. Nora, now an independent playwright, is studying in New York, navigating a lonely and solitary existence. Meanwhile, Hae Sung lives with his parents in Seoul, studying engineering, completing his military service, and has become part of the furniture in an all-night soju bar where he and his regular friends put the world to rights. 

Now we experience something weird - a second inciting incident? Seriously, how many curveballs is Nora’s life going to throw her way? I know - this doesn’t make sense on paper. But. It. WORKS.

Nora discovers that Hae Sung has been searching for her online, unable to find her due to her adoption of the name Nora when she reached the Americas. They reconnect over Facebook and Skype, and quickly become indispensable friends, talking daily, sharing details of their interior lives, and reminiscing. While Nora had forgotten Hae Sung entirely, he never stopped thinking about her. 

And… that’s all that really happens for the bulk of Act 2A; they reconnect and talk day and night, from opposite corners of the world. While they flirt with the idea of visiting one another in their respective cities, this never materializes. 

It’s not until the midpoint looms that we get a rare progression in Nora’s life beyond her connection to Hae Sung; she is invited to a writer’s residency in Montauk. Despite being only four hours from New York, this subtle drift east takes her further from Hae Sung, geographically and emotionally. She puts a hiatus on their relationship, wanting to commit to her new life and career, unable to condemn herself to longing for a return home. 

Midpoint

At the halfway point, we meet Arthur. With the Hae Sung-shaped hole in her life, Nora begins to open up to the slightly awkward Jewish-American writer. As they grow closer, their connection naturally blossoms into romance.

Here, we learn about In-Yun - the Buddhist belief that even the most fleeting of interactions are part of a larger, meaningful tapestry of interconnected destinies. But isn’t the thematic statement about the immigrant experience and – yes, it is. As I say, this is atypical, you’re gonna have to play ball here. Both can be true! 

Bad to Worse

Fast forward twelve years, to the ‘present day’, the same era as the opening image. We find Nora in a much more content phase of her life. She’s married to Arthur, their careers are reasonably successful, and their writing holds personal meaning for them both.

But Hae Sung has not progressed. He remains stagnant, drinking with the same friends, wondering what if. It’s this unresolved, weighty question that ultimately brings him to New York.. It is his journey that goes from bad to worse here.

Hae Sung’s arrival in New York is marked by rain, setting the tone for his awkward, stumbling reunion with Nora after 24 years. We learn he’s recently broken up with a long-term girlfriend, likely because he can’t let go of his feelings for Nora. He’s not here to explore New York - he’s here for her.

Back home, Nora returns to Arthur, who quietly struggles with jealousy over her deep connection with Hae Sung. He fears the bond between Nora and Hae Sung is too strong to be overwritten. He fishes for sparse, unconvincing reassurances. This is highlighted by his admission that he’s been trying to learn Korean just so he can understand Nora’s sleep talk, feeling alienated by the language she thinks in.

Break into Three

Hae Sung’s hopes for a second shot with Nora are fanned her admittance that she and Arthur fight, and that they rushed their marriage for her green card. The act concludes, setting the stage for a tense confrontation. 

Climax

Song’s final act is understated, not the kind of cinematic climax theatergoers are accustomed to. Arthur and Hae Sung navigate the language barrier, sizing each other up over dinner. Nora takes them to the bar from the opening scene, where her focus shifts entirely to Hae Sung. She alienates Arthur by speaking in untranslated Korean, deepening the emotional divide between them.

A little tipsy, Hae Sung pours out his feelings in front of Nora and Arthur, confessing that he wanted to hate Arthur but actually likes him. He wonders how small changes twelve years ago - or even twelve years before that - might have shifted their fates, speculating that they were married in a past life. 

When Nora steps away to use the bathroom, Hae Sung apologizes for speaking privately. Arthur, surprisingly understanding, thanks him for coming to see Nora.

As Nora walks Hae Sung to his Uber, they stand in silence for two full minutes, waiting. An image of their departure as twelve-year-olds is superimposed over this moment of separation. Hae Sung hopes that this, too, is a past life - and that in the next one, they may finally be together.

Closing Image

The Uber leaves. Nora walks the block back to Arthur, who waits for her. She begins to cry, regressing to the crybaby that Hae Sung once knew. Her husband comforts her. 

Hae Sung feels hopeful as he leaves New York. 

Reasons Past Lives is atypical

Let’s discuss a list of choices in the screenplay that may be questioned by professional readers, coverage services, or producers. 

• Song’s cast is minimal, with the trio of leads as the only consistent characters. Act 1 briefly introduces Nora’s family and two college friends, along with Hae Sung’s family and some unnamed drinking buddies. Once introduced, they quickly fade into the background. This approach contrasts with the pre-moving image playwriting tradition, where recurring characters appear throughout a narrative. We don’t properly meet Arthur until page 37, which feels late given the small cast. I was especially surprised that Nora’s mother never reappears, especially since Nora and Hae Sung’s childhood "date" was framed from her perspective.

• If I were giving notes, I’d ask for more on Nora’s decision to take a break from Hae Sung. We don’t learn much about her residency, personal life, or friendships. Her connection with Hae Sung is our main tether to her, so when it’s cut, we lose touch with her. In a more plot-driven story, we might see her facing real stakes, like studying for an exam or finishing a play, something that demands her focus away from Hae Sung. What does the residency mean to her? 

• Song includes a lot of internal prose, almost like a novel, which doesn’t easily translate to the screen. While this is helpful for the actors, it places a heavy burden on them and the director to convey these layers without explicit guidance.

• The concept of In-Yun is central to the story, yet Song introduces it only on page 38 - halfway through. Unlike typical screenplays, where characters clash over the theme early on, here, all three leads find comfort in it, with no conflict over its meaning. On page 78, when Hae Sung mentions In-Yun in front of Arthur, I expected Arthur to react. The word’s significance - how it brought him and Nora together - would make him wary of a stranger using it on his wife. Yet, he stays silent, which may be a more powerful writing decision.

• There’s some indecisive writing that feels like an early draft. On pages 68-69, Hae Sung takes his shoes off at the door, but nearly a page later, it’s noted that ‘Arthur, like most Westerners, grew up wearing shoes inside.’ This feels like internal, inaccessible commentary for a viewer and suggests notes were separated during revisions. On page 11, the note ‘It doesn't have to be clear to the audience that this is Hae Sung’ is another example of vagueness, which is generally discouraged in screenwriting - clarity is key for a film blueprint.

• Focusing more on who Hae Sung is beyond his connection to Nora could help develop him further, as he mostly serves as a blank slate for the audience to project onto. Is their childhood connection enough to sustain an adult relationship? 

• Song doesn’t write specifically for English-speaking audiences, incorporating Korean jokes, references, and wordplay into the screenplay without explanation.

Tell Don’t Show

You’ve probably heard the phrase "Show, Don’t Tell," and if you’re like me, it’s been drilled into you. Song, however, leans into revealing information through dialogue, making most scenes conversational rather than driven by conflict. In cases where characters feed one another information they're already privy to, this can be construed as exposition.

Below are some examples and (my attempts at) justifications. 

• On page 18, Hae Sung’s mother asks, "Why are you in such a good mood?" There’s nothing on paper that directly indicates this, except for her observation. It’s unusual, but it suggests she knows him well enough to pick up on subtle cues that we, as viewers, don’t yet see.

• The only insight we have into the content of Nora’s writing appears on pages 41-42. ‘And
all
this
cost
me
something
 too.
I
crossed
the
Pacific
Ocean
to
be
here. Some
crossings
cost
more
than
others.
Some
crossings,
you
pay
for
with your whole life.’ This is used as shorthand for what Nora may struggle to otherwise express. 

• Much of the conversation page 60-64 - this becomes almost meta as Arthur takes stock of their intersecting storylines, judging their value as narratives, and dumping information on the intricacies of the ‘why’ of their marriage. I can forgive the extremely expositional writing because of how iit beautifully illustrates their fears, self assessments, and intimacies.

• As mentioned above, page 69 - ‘Nora had to have heated conversation with him to get him to start taking off his shoes at the door.’ This key detail is dropped in an action line that's inaccessible to the viewer, highlighting where ‘show, don’t tell’ would be more effective in adding subtext to Hae Sung’s arrival.

Things We Love

Despite pointing out the idiosyncrasies of Song’s writing, the truth is that ignoring convention can lead to incredible work. Breaking, or even defying, rules can work in a writer’s favor, and in Song’s case, it earned her a Best Screenplay Oscar nomination. Let’s now explore some of the clever, creative, and emotionally resonant elements she included.

Young Nora crushes on Hae Sung for his manliness, but when she leaves, his ‘face is impenetrable, completely expressionless.’ I find myself curious about how this moment of stoicism changed both of their trajectories. This coldness might shape her views on masculinity, especially since she marries a less conventionally masculine husband. Conversely, Hae Sung’s vulnerability with his friends in his twenties suggests a shift, highlighting emotional depth. 

Nora and Hae Sung are opposites in many senses; Hae Sung is consistent, you could set your watch by him. A stable job, an unexciting life. The same Soju bar with the same guys for twenty years. Nora is flighty. Seoul to Toronto to NYC to Montauk to NYC again. Hae Sung defines her as such on page 76 - ‘who you are is someone who leaves.’ 

The theme of settling is evident as Nora’s ambitions shift: young Nora dreams of a Nobel, twenty-something Nora a Pulitzer, and thirty-something Nora admits ‘I haven’t thought of things like that recently.’ By this point, she settles for a Tony, content but static, no longer on the offensive. It begs the question - she loves Arthur now, but what will she want in 12 more years? 24? 

The recurring motif of crying highlights emotional barriers: Hae Sung avoids tears to maintain stoicism, while Nora represses them to escape her ‘crybaby’ nickname. Though they nearly break down at several points, they hold back. In the finale, Nora finally weeps after Hae Sung leaves, turning to her husband, with whom she allows herself to be vulnerable.

Hae Sung has grieved Nora’s loss twice, so by the end, he finds closure, while Nora, having been the one to leave before, struggles with being left. The film cleverly subverts typical romance clichés, showing how unrealistic they are, especially in the age of social media. 

The film thrives in its era, where distance was a true barrier. As social media develops, Nora and Hae Sung reconnect, relying on laggy Skype calls and Facebook messages, amplifying the frustration of distance. If they were born just a few years earlier or later, their experience could be completely different. 

A great scene follows Nora’s ‘breakup’ with Hae Sung at the midpoint. The emptiness left by this decision is symbolized by her big, cobwebbed house, reflecting her solitary life. It's only when Arthur arrives that she begins to share her life again, eager to focus on writing her story, both personally and professionally.

Scenes where Arthur seeks reassurance and Nora brushes him off set the stage for his growing jealousy, which she lets fester. Even when trying to subdue his fears, Nora says she won’t miss her rehearsals for ‘some dude.’ As a character who feels like an imposter in his own life, he reads this as being about himself rather than Hae Sung. I sympathize most with Arthur, who tries hard but may never be what Nora truly needs. What’s brilliant about Song’s writing is how it evokes empathy for all three leads, with any bias revealing more about the reader than the writer’s intentions.

On pages 71-72, Nora proudly informs Arthur that Korean men have mandatory military service, a fact he already knows. But when Hae Sung mentions that Koreans don’t get overtime pay, this is news to Nora, revealing that she’s more disconnected from her homeland’s culture than she thought. This subtly distances her from Hae Sung.

When 12 year old Hae Sung and Nora take different paths, it mirrors their lives on different trajectories. The final shot of Arthur and Nora in the ‘current day’ section shows them taking the same set of stairs back to their apartment, showing that their lives are on the same track - perhaps leaving them on an optimistic note despite the state of vulnerability. 

Conclusion 

Screenwriting is a language which we’re all familiar with. Some are fluent, some might have read the guidebook, and others may only have a single phrase. When learning a foreign language, we’re taught grammar, structure, conjugation, order. In Song’s case, it can feel at times that she learnt words individually, placing them into a sentence not at random, but not in the expected order either. While it takes some adjustment, the intent remains clear. This teaches a valuable lesson for screenwriters: the effect matters more than the rule. If you can achieve your desired impact with distinctive, even eccentric methods, that’s powerful.