“We wanted to remember.” Directors Ju Romi and Kim Taeil reveal their intentions with Raining Dust through this subtitle—so simple and clear it strikes viewers’ hearts. They keep records to remember. The film opens with the words of Taebaek’s last miners: “I had to earn a living.” These are the first words, spoken over the shot of a cage descending endlessly into a mine—the place that the miners of the soon-to-be-closed Jangseong Mining Station call hell. They began working out of poverty, needing to make a living somehow. Though they planned to quit after three days, they ended up staying for over 30 years, and in all that time, they saw nothing good. The film begins with the last remaining miners and leads to the story of the late Seong Wanhee, who set himself on fire, and his fellow workers. And a lament-like question touches the heart again: why were people trapped in extreme poverty driven to such desperate circumstances? Raining Dust is a film made from the heart to record and remember the greatness of labor and laborers.
Kim Taeil began his career at PURN Production, a documentary production circle. Starting with Special Song of Wonjin Factory (1993), a documentary addressing the occupational disease incident at Wonjin Rayon, he has consistently explored Korea's painful history and the lives of those at the margins of society in works such as 9th April (2000) and Annyong, Sayonara (2005). He later founded Sanggu-ne, a family-run production house, where he works with director Ju Romi to complete the People's World History project, spanning No Name Stars (2010), Wellang Trei (2012), All Live, Olive (2016), and Again the Wind Blows (2022). By excavating the lives of individuals whose records were erased amid the massive currents of history, his work continues through Raining Dust (2025), a documentary about the last coal miners. Kim has received the Woonpa Award at the Busan International Film Festival for Annyong, Sayonara, and the BIFF Mecenat Award for Raining Dust.
From Busan International Film Festival 2025, No. 30
