Think of modern South Korean cinema and chances are that you'll start thinking of either Boon Joon-ho (The Host) or Park Chan-wook (Oldboy). Both of those director's frequently depict the country as corrupt and seedy, making satirical films that are dynamic, visceral and usually pretty exciting - and totally over the top. Very different then was Korea's competition entry here in Berlin, the Lee Yoon-ki directed Saranghanda, Saranghaji Anneunda (Come Rain, Come Shine), which is much more restrained, delicate and patient. Yoon-ki perhaps has more in common with the formalised beauty of Japanese cinema than with his most internationally famous filmmaking compatriots. Come Rain, Come Shine is slow cinema du jour. It's another film of long single takes, characterised by periods of intense and profound silence. Detailed lingering shots of such activities as preparing vegetables for dinner are of paramount importance and afforded ample screen time, whilst "plot" is almost wholly non-existent. It is basically the story of a young, middle class woman played by Lim Su-jeong (previously seen in Chan-wook's I'm a Cyborg, but that's OK) who decides to separate from her mild-mannered husband (Hyun Bin) during a drive to the airport on her way to an overseas business trip. This opening scene lasts around fifteen minutes and is characteristically filmed in one long single take, with the camera holding on a two-shot through the windscreen of a moving car. After this beautifully composed, uniquely dialogue-driven opening - which drives the story forward both literally and figuratively - the film fades to black and we are transported to a point a few days later after "she" (the characters are unnamed) has returned home. The rest of the film takes place in real-time during one incredibly rainy late afternoon as she prepares to move out, with her selfless husband helping to pack her things. A fact which the woman finds irritating, expecting and wanting him to be angrier and describing his kindness as "selfish". Their trendy modern domicile is clean and tidy to the point of sterility and says more about their relationship then they will say themselves, providing an insight into why the couple are reaching the end. Not a lot "happens" over the next hour and a half: they drink coffee and carefully place crockery in bubble-wrap. The high point (in terms of action) comes as they find a drenched kitten in their garden and bring it into their home, which is followed by a visit from their pushy neighbours who intrude as they come to reclaim their animal. All the while the rain is lashing down, and they just can't keep it outside. When they close a stubborn patio door they soon find a leak in the ceiling. It's this pathetic fallacy that conveys the emotions of understated protagonists determined not to shout or cry. This is set up from the beginning of the very first scene, with a radio weather bulletin warning of a coming storm just prior to the break up. Come Rain, Come Shine is perhaps a little laboured in its approach and wears its imagery and fondness of metaphor too openly. One brief conversation tells us what we should have been able to discern already for ourselves: the man is sentimental and needs to let go of his baggage - represented literally by the clutter he keeps in his basement. "I should throw things out with no regrets" he says. "Your words are telling." is the all too apt and knowing reply. Yet in spite of this there is something poetic and even beautiful about the film, not least its cinematography and the artfully composed nature of Koon-yi's shot choices. It's not a classic example of the increasingly tired slow cinema sub-genre, but it's better than many of the films on show here and it'll do if, like me, you like that sort of thing. Especially on a rainy, overcast afternoon.