“Even in my next life, I will dive again. Just an old woman and the sea, forever.”
The haenyeo—the women divers of Jeju—share an inseparable bond with the ocean, a connection that The Last of the Sea Women allows to twist and breathe, carrying generations of resilience in its tide. In her immersive and meditative documentary, director Sue Kim captures both the raw beauty and deep uncertainty of this vanishing way of life. Through the voices of these elderly women, who have spent decades harvesting the sea with only their breath, we witness a culture fighting against time, horrific pollution, and an ever-changing world.
The cinematography sets the tone—rhythmic, reverent, unwavering in its focus on the haenyeo and the world they move through. The ocean is both home and adversary, a force that gives and takes without hesitation. Every inhale, every break of the surface, is felt. The film lingers in the quiet: the ripple of water, the sharp breath before a dive, the scrape of conch shells in calloused hands. These details don’t just shape the documentary—they make it pulse with life.
Jeju Island, famous for its rocks, wind, and women, has long been home to the haenyeo. It is here that Soon Deok Jang, aged 72, and others have built their lives in the water, adapting to its unpredictability. Jang, wry and practical, embodies the haenyeo spirit. “I’ve worked for 52 years. Now that my life is finally good, my body is starting to break down,” she says. “While my wallet is thick, my flesh is thin. That’s the irony of life.” Her journey—from being called to the ocean as a teenager to leaving it behind for marriage and finally returning after her young husband’s death—is one of quiet perseverance. She, like many haenyeo, did not choose this life. It was a necessity for survival. But in the water, these women found purpose.
The film stitches together past and present with remarkable fluidity. Archival footage shows haenyeo in wooden boats, singing as they row. Now, they use motorboats, but the songs remain warbled and off-key, echoing the voices of their mothers and grandmothers. The tradition is unwavering, yet the sea is no longer as forgiving. Pollution, industrial waste, and climate change have stripped the waters of their abundance. Fertilizer runoff rots the seagrass, marine life vanishes from shallow depths, and the haenyeo must dive deeper, pushing their bodies beyond safety. Some are lost to greed—one last dive, one last catch—but increasingly, it is not greed but necessity that keeps them underwater longer.
And yet, being a haenyeo has never been about taking without balance. The women reject the use of oxygen tanks, knowing they would only encourage overharvesting. This respect for the sea underscores the tragedy of their struggle. The ocean is not just their livelihood; it is their legacy. But what happens when the waters no longer sustain them?
The Last of the Sea Women‘s strength is in its ability to hold space for these contradictions. The haenyeo are fierce and unrestrained, but they are also gentle and deeply connected to one another. The film lingers on the quiet intimacy of their daily lives—hauling and cleaning their catch, selling at the market, and laughing through their exhaustion. But as the film progresses, it becomes clear that their story is also one of loss. The remaining 4,000 haenyeo are aging, their ranks dwindling. “Only grandmas work in the ocean now, as if the Jeju sea has aged alongside them.”
Younger generations have begun to take notice, drawn in by social media and UNESCO recognition. The Hansupul Haenyeo School has seen a resurgence in interest, though few complete the rigorous training. Two younger divers, Sohee Jin and Jeongmin Woo, have even become beloved influencers, documenting their dives and advocating for ocean conservation. Yet even they cannot escape the reality of declining wages and vanishing marine life. The future of the haenyeo is precarious at best.
As the film expands its scope—delving into the Fukushima nuclear waste crisis and following Soon Deok Jang’s journey to the UN to advocate for ocean protection—it begins to feel scattered, reaching for too much, too quickly. The haenyeo’s battle for survival is compelling on its own, but the film attempts to encompass every challenge they face, leaving some threads underdeveloped. Like the sea, the documentary becomes both chaotic and rigorous, free-flowing yet burdened by the weight of too many concerns.
And yet, in its closing moments, The Last of the Sea Women returns to its emotional core. The haenyeo do not retire. They do not take sick days. They are content in the sea, their home for generations, and they will give that up for nothing. “Where there is sea, there will always be haenyeo.” Whether that remains true in the physical sense is uncertain. But if the ocean remembers—if it carries the echoes of every breath held, every dive taken—then the haenyeo will never fade.
