Centered on the painful and long-silenced history of the Jeju April 3rd Incident, My Name becomes a way of looking back at what has been forgotten. In our interview with director Chung Ji-young, he talks about the emotional responsibility of dealing with a history that was suppressed for decades, and how he chose to approach it not as something to explain directly, but as something to slowly uncover.
This idea of searching is also reflected in how the film develops. In Jung Su-jin’s story, memories don’t return all at once; they are triggered by things like wind, light, leaves and subtle bodily responses. Chung Ji-young (Black Money, The Boys) says he chose to rely on silence and physical expression over dialogue, allowing emotion to be carried through movement instead of words. He also reflects on how the Jeju 4.3 Incident still doesn’t have a proper name in Korean public memory, and how even the title of the film holds that sense of incompleteness. For him, naming and remembering are closely linked, and the film becomes part of that ongoing process.
My Name is not only going back to history, but about how history never really leaves, it stays in people and slowly comes back into the present.
View of the Arts: First of all, thank you so much. It is such a beautiful work, and I cried a lot yesterday. Especially in the final scene, when I saw the dance sequence, I shed many tears. The Jeju April 3rd Incident is, in many ways, one of the most painful events in Korean history. I’m curious about what sense of responsibility you felt while developing and making this film, especially since, as you mentioned, it was only gradually acknowledged and discussed in the late 1980s.
Chung Ji-young: This is one of the first major tragedies in modern Korean history, yet it was something even the people of Korea themselves were unable to fully share or openly discuss. As shown in the film, it was something that was once silenced or covered up. It was only in the 1980s that it began to be publicly addressed, but even now, many people do not learn about it properly in middle or high school textbooks. So this project began from the idea that we need to record and remember one of the greatest painful tragedies in modern Korean history.
But it was difficult to show everything in a completely direct way. The reason is that there are still people who feel discomfort about it, and presenting it too directly could cause too much emotional shock. So, as I mentioned earlier, I decided to approach it as a film about searching for something—something like a journey of discovery.
That was the direction we chose for the film. In that sense, there were conflicts and discussions about how to present it so that audiences could emotionally connect with it. But ultimately, as I worked on it, I felt more and more that this is something that must be made and shared.
VOA: The idea of a name that feels very symbolic in the film. So what does a name mean to you in the context of identity and history?
Chung Ji-young: So first and foremost, it is about the identity of our country, South Korea, and of course, the literal meaning is quite obvious. Unlike other major historical events we have had in Korea, the Jeju Uprising is referred to as “4.3” in Korean, indicating April 3rd, and it does not really have a specific name. For example, we have the March 1st Independence Movement, or the May 18th Democratic Movement. These major historical events all have specific names attached to them.
But the Jeju Uprising in Korea still does not have a proper name and is still referred to as Jeju 4.3. For me, it was also a way for the uprising to find its own name. So I think there are multiple layers to the meaning of the title.
VOA: First of all, I’d like to ask about the character Jung Su-jin. How did you approach silence as a form of pain in her story? She suppresses her memories from when she was nine years old, when the tragedy happened and her parents were shot. Every time she goes outside, she sees leaves and feels the wind, and it triggers panic, but she doesn’t fully understand why. We see this reflected in her body language, but in a very silent way. So I was wondering how you approached those scenes, especially until the moment she eventually remembers her past. Could you explain what you mean by “silence” in her performance?
Chung Ji -young: You can simply understand it as body language. While things can be expressed through words, much more is actually conveyed through the body. For example, when the wind passes by, there may be certain emotions that arise from that sensation. Instead of expressing it through dialogue like, “Why am I like this?”, it is more about something suddenly dropping, or emotions being stirred internally. These are things we tend to perceive physically.
So I approached those parts in that kind of physical, bodily way.
[I also want to add] that we can see that she suppresses her memories, and this is not only because she witnessed the murder of her own parents and many other people, but also because she feels responsible for the death of her friends, as she gave them her name. She carries this burden of guilt, which is why she suppresses her memories.
However, there are still things that emerge, even if not everything, such as sunlight, wind, or leaves. Something still remains. Little by little, small and strange memories begin to return to her, and we also add the element of music to this.
In the end, we see her journey as she searches for her lost memories. In a way, within the main character’s unconscious, all these complex and conflicting elements come together, and this is why she has suppressed the memories herself. Thank you.
Written and interviewed by Maggie Gogler
Featured image © 2026 DalForno/FEFF
View of the Arts is an online publication dedicated to film, music, and the arts, with a strong focus on the Asian entertainment industry. As we continue to grow, we aim to deepen our coverage of Asian music while remaining committed to exploring and celebrating creativity across the global arts landscape.
VIEW OF THE ARTS 