Kim Bo-sol's animation The Square captures North Korea — without stepping foot there
THE contrast couldn't have been starker.
On the closing night of the 27th Far East Film Festival in Udine, northern Italy, Korean director Kim Bo-sol and production designer Oh Yu-jin stepped onto the stage to introduce The Square — their animated feature about a Swedish diplomat stationed in Pyongyang, North Korea, navigating isolation, surveillance and forbidden love.
As the warm spring air lingered outside, Oh invited the audience to leave behind Udine's sunny, festive streets and immerse themselves in a stark, snow-covered Pyongyang. For just over an hour, the audience inside the Teatro Nuovo Giovanni da Udine was transported into an animated world of cold skies and quiet streets, where freedom is scarce and solitude impossible.
At its core, The Square follows three figures: Isak Borg, the Swedish diplomat; So Bok-joo, a traffic officer and his secret lover; and Myung-jun, Borg's conflicted interpreter. Through their intertwined stories, the film offers a rare imagined glimpse into everyday life in one of the world's most secretive states — a place where heavy surveillance leaves no room to be truly alone.
Yet despite the setting's political weight, The Square is less a statement on regime or ideology than it is an intimate human drama about longing, loyalty and the quiet courage it takes to grasp for connection in an isolating world.
Its debut arrives at a time when Asian animation is commanding unprecedented global attention. China's Ne Zha 2, the story of a rebellious demon boy battling his fate, has smashed records to become the highest-grossing animated film of all time with over US$2 billion at the global box office.
Riding this rising wave of interest, The Square is set to travel next to New York's Tribeca Film Festival and France's Annecy International Animation Film Festival this June, with hopes for a wider international release later this year.
A labour of love nearly six years in the making, The Square was largely shaped by Kim and Oh's relentless effort — a fact both filmmakers reflected on as they sat down for a quiet conversation on the sidelines of FEFF.
How did the two of you come together as a team to work on this project?
Kim Bo-sol: When I was making my first short film Home (2019), Yu-jin and I were already dating — we're married now. She majored in fine art and was great at drawing, so I asked if she'd help create the backgrounds. That collaboration became the start of our creative partnership.
How big was your crew for The Square?
Kim: It was essentially just the two of us. The budget was tiny, so we couldn't afford much of a team.
Oh Yu-jin: In pre-production, we started with four people — us, a producer and a friend who helped with storyboarding. When production began, we gathered a few artists to assist with backgrounds and character drawings. But eventually, due to limited funds, it came down to us again. That's why it took nearly six years.
Where did the idea for The Square come from?
Kim: It began in high school. We had a substitute teacher who introduced us to Conversation (2005), a book by journalist Lee Yeong Hee, known for advocating more nuanced views on North Korea during South Korea's military dictatorship era. It left a lasting impression.
Later, as a film student, I read an article interviewing a Swedish diplomat who had spent three years in Pyongyang.
When asked about his experience, he said simply, "I was so lonely." Because of constant surveillance, even casual drinks with colleagues were impossible. His only solace was cycling in circles around a large empty square.
That haunting image stayed with me — and became the seed for this film.
So, Isak Borg was inspired by that diplomat?
Kim: Yes, though I wanted to avoid overt political messaging. That's partly why Borg is Swedish — Sweden maintains neutral diplomacy with North Korea. But ultimately, this film is about both Koreas. At the end, when Borg dyes his hair and speaks with a South Korean accent, he symbolically becomes a figure representing the South.
And Bok-joo, the traffic officer?
Kim: She's fictional, though her job exists in Pyongyang. She's the bravest character in the film, despite limited screen time. We wanted her to stand out.
Oh: With so few scenes, it was important that Bok-joo left a strong, assertive impression.
How did you research Pyongyang's visuals, since you couldn't visit?
Kim: As South Koreans, we legally can't go to North Korea. So, our research was entirely online. The images we found were often distant and staged, but surprisingly, Instagram proved helpful. Tourists posted photos where you could see citizens and scenery up close.
After my first script draft, I made a list of questions and was lucky to interview two former Pyongyang residents. One of them, a former MSS (North Korean secret police) member, became a key coordinator for our film. Those interviews gave us invaluable insight.
What was the biggest visual challenge?
Oh: Portraying Pyongyang authentically. In South Korea, depictions of North Korea are often propaganda-like — grim, lifeless and covered in slogans. I wanted to avoid clichés and focus on the fact that it's still a city where people live ordinary lives. Balancing that with the unavoidable gloom of its environment was the hardest part.
What kind of support did you have for this project?
Kim: Through the Korean Academy of Film Arts (KAFA), we received initial state funding — about 100 million won, or US$80,000. But KAFA projects aren't allowed to accept outside funding, so we had to stretch that for the entire production.
Oh: Honestly, the biggest struggle was survival — feeding ourselves while making the film. The budget was our constant challenge.
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