Meet Sujin Jung, One of the 5 Winners of the 6th Annual Focus Features & JetBlue Student Short Film Showcase

The Gotham Film & Media Institute announced that Sujin Jung’s short film Cocoon is one of five works chosen by a special jury of filmmakers, curators, and critics for the Focus Features & JetBlue Student Short Film Showcase. Created as her MFA thesis film for Loyola Marymount University, Cocoon was selected from a pool of projects from a wide range of graduate film programs.

In Cocoon, a mother (Taehee Kim) learns to stand up to her tyrannical mother-in-law (Joy Kim) and defend her daughter (Alexes Josephine Lee).

We asked Jung to tell us a little about the inspiration for her film, the artists who influenced her, and her plans for the future.

Follow her on Instagram @harulove2017and learn more about her work at www.sujjinjjung.com.

Where did the idea for Cocoon come from?

It was an ordinary day. I casually asked my mother, “What were the most powerful moments in your life?” As if she had been waiting for the question, she began sharing her story. She told me how, unlike her brothers, she had faced discrimination and oppression simply for being a daughter; how her mother-in-law subjected her to relentless pressure and pain; and how she eventually found it in herself to forgive those who had hurt her.

My mother is the kindest and strongest person I know. But the unhealed wounds from her past can still pull her back into sorrow in a matter of minutes. As I listened, I realized this wasn’t the first time I’d heard these stories. I had witnessed her struggles for as long as I could remember. Growing up, I saw my mother fight against the patriarchal norms of a male-dominated society. Within the rigid confines of Korea’s Confucian traditions, she had to constantly resist the roles imposed upon her as a woman. Even as a successful businesswoman, social prejudices followed her everywhere.

She had told me these stories dozens of times while I was growing up, and each time, they weighed on her as if they had just happened. When I recognized that her pain was ongoing, the myth of the “always-strong mother” fell apart, and I was overwhelmed by guilt for not having truly cared for her pain as her child. That day was no longer ordinary. It became the day I decided to make Cocoon, in hopes of helping heal my mother’s wounds.

But this isn’t just my mother’s story. Since the end of the Korean War in 1953, South Korea has undergone rapid economic development and emerged as a global leader. And yet, traditional Confucian values remain deeply rooted in society. Older generations often accept patriarchal norms as natural, while younger generations push back, advocating for gender equality and personal freedom. This gap in awareness and belief continues to create generational conflict, despite the country’s modern progress. Seeing so many women who relate to my mother’s experience, I realized that Cocoon could no longer remain a personal story. It needed to grow into something larger—a story that resonates across generations and sparks a wider social conversation.

How did you find your cast?

We met Taehee Kim, who plays the lead character Hyun-sook, on the set of another Korean American film titled Korean American Witches Society. She was playing the role of a mother, and despite it being a supporting role, I was deeply impressed by her thoughtful interpretation of the character and the remarkable focus she maintained on set. During her audition for Cocoon, her understanding of Hyun-sook exceeded all our expectations. As a result, we decided to cast her early on without holding additional auditions.

Alexes Josephine Lee, who plays Ji-soo, naturally shares many qualities with her character—she’s shy, polite, and has a beautiful, gentle smile. When I asked her to perform Ji-soo’s most important moment—when she begins to breathe unsteadily—she instinctively placed her hand on her chest and winced in a way that captured exactly what I had envisioned. Though I hesitated for a moment because she was taller than I had imagined for the role, I chose to follow my instinct, and I know now it was the right decision.

I first saw Joy Kim, who plays Young-Ja, in K-Town Killer, a film made by one of my LMU peers. The Tribeca Film Festival had already selected the film, and everyone who saw it praised her performance. I was determined to cast her. In real life, she’s warm-hearted and emotionally sensitive—almost the opposite of Young-ja—but her understanding of the character was outstanding. Drawing from her own past, which shared similarities with Hyun-sook’s, she powerfully portrayed a figure of patriarchal pressure within the family—cold, demanding, and emotionally distant.

In the final film, what most captures what you saw in your mind when you first imagined the story?

The final scene shows Hyun-sook and Ji-soo breathing together, face to face, under the cover of a skirt. Originally, Ji-soo had a line. After struggling with anxiety and being unable to speak throughout the film, she was supposed to finally say, “Mom, breathe.” Hyun-sook would then turn to her in shock. But right before the shoot, I decided to remove the line. I believed their shared action—their breathing—conveyed the power of their connection more clearly than words ever could. I’ve never regretted that choice. I wanted them to speak through their eyes.

For that moment, I gave Taehee Kim many layers of direction. I asked her to let go of all the roles Hyun-sook had been performing—mother, wife, daughter-in-law—and to just exist as herself, vulnerable and bare. It’s in that moment that she receives true comfort from Ji-soo, not as a caregiver, but as a human being. The film ends in a blackout. What happened to them afterward? We may never know. But one thing is certain: they will emerge from their cocoons, and they will grow.

How did you work with Alexes Josephine Lee to get such a moving performance from such a young girl?

She saw me as someone she needed to please. Whenever she felt that something she did might not have met my expectations, she would quickly blame herself. That reminded me of a younger version of myself—someone who lacked confidence, always second-guessing. So I chose to approach her more like a caring older sister, gently reminding her of her worth and that she stood on equal ground with me.

Over time, she naturally grew into the character of Ji-soo. She even brought depth to parts of the role I hadn’t fully envisioned—things I thought we might have missed, she intuitively found on her own. On the last day of filming, she left me a handwritten letter. That letter is still taped to the side of my bed. It reminds me of the quiet trust we built, and how much we both grew through this film.

What was the biggest lesson learned working on Cocoon?

Cocoon is my sixth short film—but the only one I truly love. I’ve never felt affection for any of my previous works, so this experience felt different. Every time I rewatch it, I still notice its flaws. And yet, my attachment to the film hasn’t faded. I eventually realized why: Cocoon is the first time I’ve told a story with complete honesty.

For a long time, I was embarrassed by how much of myself ended up in my films. I disliked seeing my own emotions and experiences projected on screen, and I felt frustrated by my inability to separate myself from my work. As a result, many of my past films ended up feeling conflicted, caught between expression and hesitation. But with Cocoon, I allowed myself to be fully seen, almost as if I were shouting my truth through the film. And because of that, I believe it holds something genuine. I’ve learned that when a director approaches a story with honesty, the audience can feel it too, clearly and deeply.

As an emerging filmmaker, who are your influences?

My greatest influences are my father and myself. I say “myself” because I spend a lot of time in conversation with my thoughts. Some people might think that too much self-reflection can lead to getting stuck in a subjective world, but for me, it’s quite the opposite. It helps me arrive at clearer, more objective truths—especially when it comes to understanding my own limits and weaknesses.

When I identify those limitations, I often bring them to my father. He has a way of putting my doubts into perspective and helping me see things within a much larger frame. When I begin to question my own abilities or feel like I’m about to fall apart, it’s the conversations I have with him that help me take another step forward.

What was the first film you saw that made you want to be a filmmaker?

Coincidentally, it was Brokeback Mountain, distributed by Focus Features. I remember everything about the day I watched it—the place, the atmosphere, even the silence. I was in high school, sitting alone in a dark living room, watching the film on an old, bulky monitor. The night was unusually quiet, which made the experience feel even more intimate and fitting.

From the moment the opening sequence began, accompanied by Gustavo Santaolalla’s haunting score, I was completely entranced. After the film ended, I found myself overwhelmed by a lingering heaviness that stayed with me for days. It felt like a weight lodged in my throat, something I couldn’t quite name or shake. Until then, I had always categorized films as “sad,” “funny,” or “scary”—simple labels tied to genre. But this was different. Brokeback Mountain introduced me to a deeper emotional layer I hadn’t experienced before. I was in awe of the film’s ability to move me so profoundly. The characters felt so vividly real, as if they might still exist somewhere in another world. Because of that, I was able to connect deeply with their emotions.

At the time, I had been preparing for years to enter an art university, studying painting for nearly four years. But less than a year before the entrance exams, I changed course and decided to pursue filmmaking instead. I realized that I, too, wanted to create something that could make people forget the real world for two hours—something that could draw them into a story, a set of characters, and an emotional landscape they wouldn’t easily leave behind.

Are you working on a feature film?

Yes, I’m currently developing a feature film titled All That Blue. It follows a Korean woman named Hyun-soo who travels to Nice, France, during the Christmas season to confront her boyfriend after his sudden and unexplained disappearance. She ends up staying in a cheap four-person hostel room, where she meets a group of strangers: a 90-year-old former actress who carries old newspaper clippings of her past fame, a Romanian cook who dreams of becoming a chef, and two young lovers working at the hostel, saving up for a trip across Europe.

Hyun-soo didn’t come to sightsee. She keeps to herself, watching the others from a distance. Although they welcome her, she struggles to connect, haunted by the shame of having come all this way for someone who doesn’t truly value her. While the rest of the world seems to be celebrating, she feels more isolated than ever. But little by little, she begins to notice that those around her are also carrying their own quiet forms of loneliness. As she sees them more clearly, she begins to soften and eventually finds a way to face her own solitude with honesty.

This story is based on a personal experience. I spent Christmas night alone in Nice once, and it was then that I realized that loneliness can feel physically painful. For me, loneliness and solitude have always felt like inescapable companions—something that quietly follows us through life. That night, I felt like a stranger to the world, and I began to question where, or if, I truly belonged. I came to understand that solitude isn’t just an emotion—it’s a part of what it means to be human. That realization was painful, but also strangely calming. It gave shape to a fear I hadn’t been able to name before.

This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.