It was an outdoor Open Talk between two Koreanactresses: Jeon Do-yeon, who had earlier in the yearwon the Best Actress award at Cannes for her performancein Lee Chang-dong’s “Secret Sunshine,” andKang Soo-youn, who won the Best Actress award at theVenice Film Festival in 1987 in Im Kwon-taek’s “SurrogateMother.” I had been very curious to hear thisdiscussion between the two highest profile award winnersin the history of Korean film acting, but I arrived atthe beach late, and the crowd was already overflowing.After trying for several minutes to push my way into thecrowd and catch a view of the actresses, I finally gaveup, and simply listened to their conversation from theloudspeaker. I couldn’t see the stage at all, but I had aclear view of the faces of the audience sitting in the front row.

Soon I stopped minding that I couldn’t see the stage, because watching thosefaces was as interesting as seeing the stars themselves. Like a crowd gatheredin front of a fireplace, their faces glowed with adoration, a love of cinema, andpride at what the actresses had accomplished. They were concentrating intentlyon every word, and they responded with warmth and enthusiasm.

You might say I was witnessing at that moment the energy that has poweredBIFF to become the leading film festival in Asia. And more broadly, this sort ofinterest and passion among audiences has been a major factor in the Koreanfilm industry’s success.

People sometimes talk about the economic factors that have contributed toKorean cinema’s explosive growth over the past two decades, from the deeppockets of Korea’s business conglomerates to the financial support providedby the government. But I think another key part of the equation is the strongfilm culture that has developed in Korea since the 1990s. “Film culture” is anabstract concept, but you can feel it around you if you live in Korea or spend timeat its major film festivals. Film culture is about the knowledge and enthusiasmthat ordinary people hold for cinema, and also about the way people expressand talk about films.

The Busan International Film Festival in 2016 was considerably differentfrom what it was back in 2007. For one thing, the actress Kang Soo-youn hasnow become director of the festival, standing at the center of controversy aboutthe independence and future of the event. But just as it was back then, BIFFremains one of the key places to experience Korea’s film culture firsthand.

Ahmad Kiarostami, son of the late Iranian director Abbas Kiarostami, makes an acceptancespeech on behalf of his father who was named the Asian Filmmaker of the Year at BIFF 2016.Abbas Kiarostami died this past July.

I could see that Nam Yeon-woo was nervous. The actor-turned-director wasstanding in the lobby of the Megabox theater, surrounded by friends and the castof his directorial debut feature “Lost to Shame.” The first screening was aboutto take place, and after two years of preparation, shooting, editing, and postproduction,he would finally find out what audiences thought of his creation.

Although it was his debut, the director was not entirely new to this situation.In 2012 Nam had been the lead actor in “Fatal,” a film shot on an astonishinglylow budget of 3 million won (about $2,800). That film, which also had its firstscreening in Busan, won the New Currents award for young Asian directors. Aunique film with memorable characters, it had gone on to screen at many otherfestivals around the world, and win more awards. Later it opened in theaters inKorea, but competing for attention with Hollywood blockbusters and big-budgetKorean commercial features, it didn’t sell many tickets.

“Lost to Shame” is about an actor who is cast in the role of a transgendercharacter, and who believes himself to be very open-minded, but is later forcedto confront his inner prejudices. It’s an unusual story with impressive characters,and so after assembling a team of actors he knewand taking on the lead role himself, Nam shot the filmon a micro budget. Post-production was subsidized byBIFF through its Asian Cinema Fund.

Actress Kang Soo-youn, director of the BIFF 2016, greets Souleymane Cissé, the Mali filmmakerwho was head juror of the New Currents section, and his wife and actress, Aminata Cissé, at theclosing ceremony of the festival. At far left is BIFF chairman Kim Dong-ho.

As “Lost to Shame” screened for the first timebefore the audience in Busan, you could feel somethingelectric in the air. You can tell when a film grabsan audience’s attention, and at the question and answersession with the director and cast afterward, many peopleexpressed their enthusiasm with gushing praise.Also in the audience were programmers from otherfilm festivals around the world, including Cannes. Later,many came up to Nam to personally offer encouragingwords. Meanwhile back in the cinema lobby, a long lineof fans waited to get autographs and snap photos withNam and other members of the cast. For today at least,this little known actor-turned-director had become astar.

There are many young directors in Korea who dreamof this kind of experience. Director Park Jung-bum,now considered a major independent director thanksto his award-winning films “The Journals of Musan”(2010) and “Alive” (2013), used to visit the Busan InternationalFilm Festival in his youth.

There, he developeda deep love of cinema, and began to dream of one dayshooting his own film and presenting it to audiencesin Busan. Hollywood is sometimes called a “city ofdreams,” but in Korea, young filmmakers often realizetheir dreams in Busan, Jeonju, or Bucheon.

Indeed, Busan is not the only festival in Korea thatstirs up a passion for cinema. The Jeonju InternationalFilm Festival, held in early May, is easily a match forBusan in terms of sold–out screenings and dedicatedcrowds. Despite its focus on non-mainstream and independentfilms, the festival draws hordes of viewerseach year. (Jeonju’s famous cuisine makes a trip to thefestival even more alluring.) As for the Bucheon InternationalFantastic Film Festival, or BiFan, this is wherefans of genre cinema converge. Although the number ofyoung Korean directors making low-budget genre films is not large, BiFan has helped to sustain this community by giving their works aplace to meet with supportive viewers.

For filmmakers who often endure years of obscurity and hard work in orderto make a film, dreams are important. Not only that, in this day and age, the waya film is introduced to the audience is crucial. The audiences at BIFF or in Jeonjuare not ordinary viewers but people with a particularly avid interest in cinema.When they find a film they like, word of mouth starts to spread, and commentsor short reviews appear online. A director’s reputation begins to take shape.Imagine instead that a filmmaker introduced a film directly through a theatricalrelease. In the ruthlessly competitive distribution environment where smallfilms are at an extreme disadvantage, a film like “Lost to Shame” would simplydisappear without attracting any attention. This is one reason why film festivals,and the film culture that supports them, are so important to filmmakers.

Meanwhile, alongside Haeundae Beach, a 10-minute walk from where NamYeon-woo was presenting his feature, another sort of event was taking place.The major distributor N.E.W. was holding a party for the distribution companiesaround the world which had bought the hit film “Train to Busan.” The story ofa mysterious zombie virus that rages out of control on a KTX high-speed train,“Train to Busan” sold more than 11 million tickets in Korea to rank as the bestsellingmovie of the year. But perhaps even more remarkable was the unprecedentedsuccess the film enjoyed in foreign countries like Singapore, Australia,Hong Kong, Taiwan, and France. The mood at the party in Busan was buoyant —after all, many of the distributors in attendance had earned a lot of money fromthis film.

On the eve of BIFF every year, the BIFF Square in Nampo-dong,Busan, is crowded with film fans enjoying the festivities. The photoshows the crowd gathered on October 1, 2014 for the 19th BIFFpre-opening events.

The director, Yeon Sang-ho, is no stranger to the Busan International FilmFestival. His debut feature, a low-budget animated film about school bullying,titled “The King of Pigs,” won three awards at BIFF in 2011 and went on toscreen at the Director’s Fortnight section in Cannes the following year. His secondanimated feature, the dark philosophical “The Fake,” was one of the mosttalked-about films at the 2012 BIFF. Although his style in these early films isfar from mainstream, N.E.W. believed in his talent and financed the big-budget“Train to Busan,” despite the industry superstition that zombie movies neverwork in Korea. The gamble paid off more handsomely than anyone could havepredicted.

Ironically, “Train to Busan” was not included in BIFF’s program this year. Thiswas due to a partial boycott by filmmakers vowing to defend the festival’s independencefrom political pressure. A two-year-old conflict with the City of Busanover the screening of the controversial ary “Diving Bell: The TruthShall Not Sink with Sewol” in 2014 led to the ouster of former festival directorLee Yong-kwan. Over the past year in particular, BIFF’sstatus as a home for controversial, outspoken, andoften uncomfortable films has been a source of heateddebate.

Just as a film festival represents an ideal space forfilmmakers to reach a supportive audience, it is alsothe best place for people to discuss the various issuesraised by socially conscious films. This too is an elementof the film culture — a widespread, continuallyevolving conversation that takes place between filmmakers,viewers, critics, and cultural commentatorsover important issues of our time.

Close to a decade ago, I got to interview the successfulHong Kong director Peter Ho-sun Chan (“TheWarlords,” “Comrades: Almost a Love Story”). Duringthe interview, he admitted that he was highly envious ofKorea’s film audience. “The audience in Korea is verysmart,” he said. “They have great taste, and they supportinnovative, well-made films.”

In the years since, the Korean audience has grownmore diverse, with older viewers now visiting the theatermore often than ever before. And it’s clear that through big hits like “Trainto Busan,” and also through smaller independent works like “Lost to Shame,”film plays a prominent role in the country’s cultural conversations. This is nottrue of every country, particularly those in which Hollywood films dominate andlocal films occupy a very small slice of the market.

Director Lee Joon-ik and the stars of his movie “The Throne” (aka“Sado”) greet the audience at an outdoor event for the 20th BIFF,held on October 1–10, 2015.

When I first moved to Korea in 1997, I knew next to nothing about Korean cinema.Just a few weeks after my arrival, I attended the 2nd Busan InternationalFilm Festival and was overwhelmed and thrilled by the audience’s enthusiasm.Since then I have attended every edition of the festival, and gone on to builda career writing and teaching about Korean cinema. Sometimes people askme which film inspired me to focus on Korean cinema. But the truth is, whathooked me first was the film culture I experienced in Busan, and the lively conversationsabout film that took place all around me rather than any one film inparticular.

In a similar way, people may wonder how contemporary Korean cinema hasbecome so dynamic, but I think we need to look beyond the films and filmmakers.Underneath it all is Korea’s strong film culture. In most circumstances, avibrant film culture will ultimately produce quality local films. This is why thefilm culture is important, and why it needs to be defended.