I have always been somewhat dubious of “best-of” lists – as they are largely subjective and rarely definitive – despite all assurances to the contrary.

As such, I cannot claim any form of authoritative conclusiveness in the construction of my own humble listing. It can change at the tip of the hat. Depending on the moods and whims of the writer at the time, the weather that decides to greet them, the intoxications and indiscretions of the evening previous, the meal they may or may not have had for breakfast.

But its definitiveness - or lack there-of - is of no real importance, when all is said and done. What it does serve is as a record, jotted down at a single instance in time. A snapshot of who we used to be or once thought we were. Already old before the pen leaves the page, obsolete before the ink is dry, redundant before the last key is pressed. Therein lies the danger of such works – but also their importance, for you will not be the same person again when these words were first writ, just as you will be forever changed in their composition. That is the nature of experience, and a sign that we may just in fact be growing up.

And as we do, it is comforting to occasionally look back at the people we were when these lists were first constructed. Just as you can never see a film again for the “first” time, yet its effects can linger long after the last reel finishes rolling. These are the moments that define us. Nostalgia is the danger, but perhaps it is a risk worth taking. For if we only face forward, there are some things that we may miss seeing....

And so, in no particular order, I invite you to partake of these five films from Japan and Korea. You may just discover a world you knew nothing about, and it's a fabulous world after all...

dir. Iwai Shunji

I have always thought the world divided by the way in which individuals chooses to answer this question. The first and most common answer is obvious. And the one I voiced myself when first presented with this conundrum. But the second is more elusive and engenders a point of view that is altogether more hopeful of this world in which we live. The proverbial glass half-empty versus the glass half-full.

I have always hoped to encounter a person who knew the answer, without ever hearing the question beforehand. I have yet to meet them myself. But I would like to believe that the film maker Iwai Shunji knows it well.

And it seems apt that this list should be headlined by the first major film of his ouevure. It is the film that truly started it all for me. I mean, I had devoured Hong Kong kung-fu classics when I was younger and marvelled at the black-and-white stylings of the masters Kurosawa and Ozu. But this is the work that truly made me realise that I loved the cinematic artform – and in particular Asian cinema. Before I even fully understood what skilled cinematography actually entailed, and what a director's vision or lack there-of brought to a story, this is the film that first made me sit up and take notice. I have not turned back since.

A deceptively simply film about the nature of memory and the inevitability of goodbyes. As a young woman struggles to deal with the unexpected loss of her fiancé, she finds herself shuffling through the forgotten pieces that are left behind and stumbles upon his old high school year book.

On a whim, she decides to send a letter to what she believes is his old address. In the process she receives an altogether unlooked for reply. And thus begins the most unlikely of correspondences, which forms the central theme of the film.

As these two women exchange words and scattered recollections they slowly help each other to find a sense of closure. It is a reminder to viewers that we all must first come to terms with our past, in order to fully embrace our futures. Because on occasion, we all refuse to admit to ourselves that sometimes the hardest part of holding on is letting go.

The assured and poised performance of Nakayama Miho ensures that she fully embodies the two central protagonists who exchange correspondences throughout the film. There are a smattering of supporting cast members that hold up commendably, and the young actors who portray the characters' younger selves in past recollections, are also suitably convincing. But it is Nakayama's complete immersion into the lives of these women, and her convincing representation of their ordinary cares and everyday concerns, that truly carries the film.

She is skillfully aided by the sweeping cinematography of Shinoda Noboru, which is nothing short of breathtaking. Inviting viewers to lose themselves completely in the bare landscapes he paints so meticulously, and reveals so eloquently. Utterly transforming the seemingly mundane, into something altogether extraordinary. Like someone pointing out to you the wonders evident in every day, if you simply take the time to look.

There are some adeptly realised recreations of a bygone and perhaps idealised past. But that is the nature of nostalgia after all, as we strive to recapture memories long thought buried.

Iwai Shunji must be commended for assembling such a strong combination of talent - both behind and in front of the camera – at such a relatively early stage in his film-making career. But it is a testament to the director's resolve and clarity of vision, that he was able to complete a production that so perfectly encapsulated the world of his imagination. Evoking ennui and loss, and the eventual catharsis that can be found when we finally admit to truths we so long denied, cease standing still, and inevitably allow ourselves to move on.

The final scene is perfect in its simplicity. Moving and heartfelt without being overly sentimental. If it does not bring a small smile to your face or a single tear to your eye, I do not know what will. And perhaps once it is over, you will be that much closer to finding the answer to that question...

The Love Letter Trailer:

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