Little Forest (2018) Review - Finding Peace Through Simple Living and Seasonal Cooking

The scene setting of "Little Forest" (2018), a Korean healing film about finding peace through simple rural life and seasonal cooking.

🎥 Film Overview

Detail	Information
Title	Little Forest (리틀 포레스트)
Director	Yim Soon-rye
Screenplay	Yim Soon-rye
Based on	Manga by Daisuke Igarashi
Genre	Drama, Slice of Life, Healing Cinema
Release Date	February 28, 2018 (South Korea)
Runtime	103 minutes (1h 43m)
Country	South Korea
Language	Korean
Cast	Kim Tae-ri (Hye-won), Ryu Jun-yeol (Jae-ha), Jin Ki-joo (Eun-sook), Moon So-ri (Mother)
Production Companies	Lotte Entertainment, Barfuss Film
Cinematography	Choi Young-hwan
Music	Jeong Jae-il
Rating	All Ages
Box Office	$11.4 million USD (1.5+ million admissions in South Korea)
Awards	Blue Dragon Film Awards 2018 - Best Actress nomination (Kim Tae-ri); Baeksang Arts Awards 2019 - Best Actress nomination (Kim Tae-ri)

📖 Plot Summary

When city life becomes too overwhelming, Hye-won (Kim Tae-ri) makes a decision that many would call giving up. After failing her teaching certification exam and struggling with a dead-end convenience store job in Seoul, she returns to her childhood home in the countryside—a place her mother mysteriously left years ago without explanation.

Back in the rural village where she grew up, Hye-won reconnects with two childhood friends: Jae-ha (Ryu Jun-yeol), who chose farming over office life, and Eun-sook (Jin Ki-joo), who dreams of escaping to the city. Through the changing seasons—spring planting, summer harvest, autumn preservation, and winter rest—Hye-won rediscovers what it means to live in harmony with nature's rhythms.

She cooks seasonal dishes using her mother's handwritten recipes, tends to crops in the small family garden, and slowly learns to distinguish between giving up and choosing a different path. The film unfolds across one full year, with each season bringing its own lessons, challenges, and quiet revelations about what truly constitutes a meaningful life. As vegetables grow and dishes are prepared with patient care, Hye-won begins to understand not just her mother's recipes, but the deeper wisdom her mother was trying to pass down—that sometimes the most important thing is learning to nourish yourself, in every sense of the word.

🌸 Key Themes

Redefining Success and Failure

Little Forest gently challenges conventional definitions of achievement. Hye-won's return to the countryside isn't portrayed as defeat but as a conscious choice to measure happiness differently. The film asks a question that haunts many young people today: When is a life decision considered a choice rather than giving up? Through Hye-won's year-long journey, we see that success isn't always found in passing exams, securing prestigious jobs, or climbing career ladders—sometimes it's in understanding what brings genuine satisfaction, even when that understanding leads you away from what society expects.

The Healing Power of Seasonal Living

The film's structure mirrors nature's rhythm, divided into four distinct seasons that each bring different gifts and demands. Spring requires faith in planting seeds without knowing if they'll grow. Summer demands patient cultivation and acceptance of what you cannot control. Autumn calls for preservation, gratitude, and preparation. Winter offers necessary rest and quiet reflection. This cyclical approach to life contrasts sharply with the relentless, linear pace of urban existence where progress is measured only in forward motion. Through seasonal cooking and farming, Hye-won learns patience, acceptance of natural timing, and the profound value of being present in each moment rather than always rushing toward the next goal.

Food as Memory and Connection

Every dish Hye-won prepares carries a story—mostly memories of her absent mother who taught her these recipes through handwritten notes left behind. From homemade tomato sauce to rice cakes, from kimchi to roasted sweet potatoes, food becomes a bridge between past and present, between mother and daughter, between solitude and community. The film treats food preparation not as mere sustenance but as meditation, memory work, and love made tangible. Cooking is how Hye-won processes her complicated feelings about her mother's departure and her own uncertain future. Each recipe becomes a conversation with her absent mother, a way of understanding choices she couldn't comprehend before.

Friendship and Belonging

While Hye-won's journey is largely solitary and introspective, her friendships with Jae-ha and Eun-sook provide essential grounding. These aren't dramatic friendships filled with conflict or grand gestures—they're the kind built on shared history, comfortable silences, and simply being there when needed. The three friends represent different responses to the same question facing many young Koreans: stay in the struggling countryside or leave for the city? Their gentle interactions show that belonging isn't about having the same answers or making the same choices, but about accepting and supporting each other's different paths without judgment.

💭 Personal Reflection

While the original Japanese film was beautiful in its own right, watching this Korean adaptation touched something deeper in me—perhaps because I'm Korean myself, and the emotional landscape felt intimately familiar in ways I couldn't quite articulate at first.

The protagonist returns to the countryside, seeking healing through food and the serene rhythms of rural life after an uncomfortable existence in the city. Watching her journey, I found myself remembering my own time living in a quiet provincial town. But what I recall most vividly isn't the tranquility everyone promised I'd find there. It was the strangeness. The emptiness. The persistent discomfort of never quite belonging, no matter how beautiful the surroundings or how peaceful the pace.

I remember how just boarding the train back to Seoul—my hometown—would flood me with relief and a sense of ease I hadn't even realized I was missing. Even the chaos of stepping off at Seoul Station, pushing through the crowded platforms, navigating the familiar confusion of rush hour—even that felt dear to me. Comforting, somehow. The noise and bustle that should have been exhausting instead felt like coming home.

That's when I realized: what brings us peace isn't simply about city versus countryside. It's not about noise versus quiet, or fast versus slow, or modern versus traditional. Those are false dichotomies that miss the deeper truth.

Maybe it's about the warmth and familiarity that has seeped into our bones without us noticing. The place where our identity was formed, where we became who we are. That puzzle piece left empty, waiting for us to return and fit back into place. And when we do, the puzzle completes itself—a satisfying fullness, a rightness. The comfort of finally finding our place. Or rather, finding ourselves exactly where we're meant to be.

What brings me comfort isn't the city or the countryside—it's the place where I can exist most fully as myself.

나를 편안하게 해주는 것은 도시나 시골이 아니라, 내가 나답게 존재할 수 있는 그 자리였다.

(A reflection in my native Korean—because some truths about home feel truer in the language of your heart.)

🎬 What Makes This Film Special

Yim Soon-rye's Contemplative Direction

Director Yim Soon-rye, one of Korea's most respected female filmmakers, brings a contemplative, unhurried approach that mirrors the rhythms of rural life itself. Rather than rushing toward plot points or manufacturing conflict, the film invites viewers to slow down and notice—the way morning light filters through kitchen windows, the sound of rain on a tin roof, the steam rising from freshly cooked rice, the satisfying crunch of fresh vegetables. This is not a film built on tension or high drama. There are no twists, no villains, no urgent crises to resolve. What there is instead is a relaxed and contemplative showcase of farming, country living, seasonal cooking, and the quiet beauty of everyday moments that modern life trains us to overlook.

Kim Tae-ri's Luminous Performance

Kim Tae-ri delivers a naturalistic, deeply felt performance as Hye-won that anchors the entire film. Fresh from her acclaimed breakthrough role in The Handmaiden (2016) and her powerful turn in 1987: When the Day Comes (2017), she carries Little Forest with quiet determination and remarkable restraint, making even mundane tasks like chopping vegetables, clearing snow, or washing rice feel meaningful and meditative. Her voice-over narration has a thoughtful, almost diary-like quality that draws viewers into her internal world without over-explaining. This performance earned her Best Actress nominations at both the Blue Dragon Film Awards and Baeksang Arts Awards, cementing her reputation as one of Korea's finest young actors.

The Supporting Cast's Authentic Chemistry

Ryu Jun-yeol and Jin Ki-joo provide warm, grounded support as the childhood friends who form Hye-won's chosen family in the countryside. Ryu Jun-yeol brings genuine charm and gentle masculinity to Jae-ha—a young man who found purpose and contentment in farming rather than pursuing conventional success in Seoul. Jin Ki-joo beautifully portrays Eun-sook's restless energy and yearning for escape, making her dreams of city life feel valid rather than shallow. Moon So-ri deserves special mention for her brief but memorable role as Hye-won's eccentric mother, seen primarily in flashback sequences scattered throughout the film. Her warm, slightly mysterious presence raises important questions about parenthood, independence, and the complex legacies mothers leave their daughters.

Stunning Seasonal Cinematography

Cinematographer Choi Young-hwan captures the Korean countryside with stunning seasonal authenticity, making each frame feel like a living painting that breathes with natural beauty. The film's four-act structure chronicles the changing of the seasons with vivid aesthetics—the climate transitions and growth of crops symbolically parallel Hye-won's own year-long emotional renewal. In the opening scenes, she begins rebuilding her life with uncertainty in a sparse, cold wintry environment; only as spring arrives does she begin planting seeds of hope, and by summer she reaps the fruits of her patient labor with a plentiful harvest. The cinematography never feels manipulative or overly sentimental—instead, it simply shows the countryside as it is, trusting that nature's own beauty is enough.

Food as Visual and Emotional Poetry

The film's treatment of food deserves special recognition. Unlike typical "food porn" that simply indulges in gorgeous close-ups of finished dishes, Little Forest shows the full process—the work, the waiting, the occasional failures, the satisfaction of eating something you've grown and prepared yourself from seed to table. Every dish has context, history, and emotional weight. From cabbage kimchi to homemade bread, from tomato pasta to roasted sweet potatoes, from acorn jelly to handmade rice cakes, each meal becomes a meditation on patience, care, seasonal wisdom, and the simple but profound pleasure of nourishing oneself and others. Food preparation here is never rushed or glamorized—it's shown as the honest, sometimes tedious, always meaningful work it actually is.

One warm slice of kimchi pancake and a smooth glass of makgeolli, enjoyed in a small forest kitchen, offering simple Korean comfort

What makes Little Forest truly special is its refusal to pathologize Hye-won's choices or pressure her toward a particular resolution. The film trusts that life doesn't require dramatic transformations or clear-cut answers—sometimes healing looks like simply learning to be where you are, doing what you can, and trusting that clarity will come in its own time.

🎥 Behind the Scenes

Did You Know?

Little Forest is based on the beloved manga series by Japanese artist Daisuke Igarashi, first published in 2002. The Japanese film adaptation, directed by Junichi Mori, was released in two parts in 2014 (Summer/Autumn and Winter/Spring). The Korean version condenses all four seasons into a single cohesive 103-minute narrative while adding distinctly Korean cultural touches, ingredients, and emotional sensibilities that make it feel completely natural rather than adapted.

The film achieved significant commercial success in South Korea, attracting over 130,000 viewers on opening day and reaching 1 million admissions within just 11 days of release—remarkable for a quiet, contemplative film with no major action sequences or romantic drama. It remained in the top three at the Korean box office for several weeks, eventually drawing 1.5 million moviegoers and earning $11.4 million USD, proving that audiences were hungry for this kind of gentle, healing cinema.

Director Yim Soon-rye is one of Korea's most respected female directors, known for her sensitive, nuanced portrayals of women's lives and relationships. Her previous works include Waikiki Brothers (2001), The Wailing (2016), and Whistle Blower (2014). Little Forest continues her tradition of creating thoughtful, character-driven cinema that prioritizes emotional authenticity and lived experience over commercial spectacle or formula.

The film's seasonal cooking sequences required extensive research and preparation. The production team worked with actual farmers and cooking experts to ensure authenticity in both agricultural practices and traditional Korean recipes, many of which are regional specialties that urban audiences might never have encountered.

🎯 Who Should Watch This Film

✅ Anyone feeling burned out by urban life and craving slower, more intentional rhythms
✅ Fans of contemplative, character-driven cinema (similar to Hirokazu Kore-eda's style)
✅ Food lovers who appreciate the ritual, memory, and meaning in cooking
✅ Viewers seeking comfort films with genuine emotional depth
✅ Those navigating life transitions or questioning conventional definitions of success
✅ Admirers of Korean slice-of-life cinema or Japanese healing films
✅ Anyone who appreciates stunning seasonal cinematography and nature's beauty
✅ People who enjoy films that prioritize atmosphere and character over plot
✅ Those interested in traditional food culture and seasonal living

This film is perfect for quiet evenings when you want to feel soothed rather than stimulated, and when you need gentle reminding that there are many valid ways to live a meaningful life.

🌍 Where to Watch (2025)

Streaming: Netflix (select regions including South Korea), Viki (with English subtitles), AsianCrush
Free with Ads: Tubi TV, Plex
Free with Library Card: Kanopy, Hoopla
Rent/Buy: Amazon Prime Video, Apple TV, Google Play Movies, YouTube

Availability may vary by region. Check JustWatch for current streaming options in your location. The film is also available on DVD with English subtitles through various online retailers.

📝 Final Thoughts

Little Forest is a gentle masterpiece that understands healing doesn't always look like dramatic change—sometimes it looks like learning to cook your mother's recipes, reconnecting with old friends, planting seeds in spring and harvesting them in summer, and finding peace in nature's patient, cyclical rhythms. In a world that constantly demands we do more, be more, and achieve more, this film offers radical permission to simply be exactly where we are.

Yim Soon-rye has crafted a meditation on what it means to choose your own definition of a good life, even when that choice looks like failure to others, even when it means disappointing expectations or admitting you can't do what you thought you should. Through Hye-won's year in the countryside, we're reminded that sometimes the bravest thing we can do is step off the treadmill of conventional success and ask ourselves what we actually want, not what we're supposed to want.

This isn't a film about running away—it's about running toward something truer, something that fits the shape of who you actually are rather than who you think you should be. The film soothes and calms. It washes over you with an easy charm and unhurried grace. More than anything, it makes you crave a simpler life—particularly one with such delicious-looking food, meaningful connections with people who truly know you, and time to notice the changing seasons. And in that gentle, patient journey, there's profound healing to be found.

In the universe of Cinematic Sanctuaries, this film holds a special place—it's not just entertainment, but an emotional refuge that reminds us to slow down, nourish ourselves in all the ways that matter, trust natural timing rather than forcing outcomes, and remember that our own "little forest"—whatever that means for each of us—is waiting patiently for us to find our way home.

💬 Join the Conversation

Have you ever felt the pull to leave city life behind? What does "home" mean to you—is it a place, a feeling, or something else entirely? Have you found healing through seasonal rhythms, cooking traditional recipes, or reconnecting with nature? Share your thoughts in the comments below, or tell me about a time you had to choose between what you wanted and what others expected. I'd love to hear where you find your own "little forest." 🌲💚

🎬 More from Cinematic Sanctuaries

If Little Forest resonated with you, explore more films offering similar comfort:

Korean Healing Cinema:

• The Way Home - A city boy reconnecting with his rural grandmother and discovering what truly matters

Japanese Seasonal Films:

• Our Little Sister - Hirokazu Kore-eda's beautiful film about family, seasons, and belonging in a seaside town
• Kamome Diner - Finding community and healing through food in Helsinki
• Sweet Bean (An) - A quiet meditation on finding meaning in simple daily rituals

Food as Sanctuary:

• Julie & Julia - Learning life through cooking
• Bread of Happiness - A gentle film about a countryside bakery and unexpected connections

Each film in our Cinematic Sanctuaries collection offers its own path to peace—different settings, different stories, but the same gentle invitation to slow down and notice what truly matters.