James Choi is a prolific, award-winning independent filmmaker who has produced multiple feature films from first-time directors that have premiered at SXSW. In addition to filmmaking, James is passionate about photography, using the visual medium to capture fleeting moments and tell stories through striking imagery. His work—whether in film or photography—aims to tell timely stories through innovative formats, transforming everyday moments into narratives that feel both deeply personal and universally resonant.
A little over a year ago, James returned to Korea for the first time in more than 40 years. While he was there, he sold a screenplay, made a feature film Before the Call, which is now playing at festivals, and took photographs that became part of Seoul Days & Nights.
To James, his return to Seoul holds memory, identity, family, and the strange feeling of seeing a place as both home and a dream. Hear more from James and learn more about Seoul Days & Nights below.
What was your relationship with Seoul before this project? Tell us a little bit about your relationship with the city.
Seoul was a place where I was born, but didn’t really know. I left when I was six, went back once when I was seven, and then not again for 45 years. So, most of what I knew about it came through stories, or memory, or language, which I had kind of mostly lost. When I finally went back, it didn’t feel like a simple homecoming. I didn’t know what it felt like, honestly. Comforting in some ways. It was like meeting someone you’re supposed to have a history with, but you don’t really know each other yet…
Inwangsan Mountain, Jogno District
You grew up between Korean and American worlds. When you're photographing Seoul, are you seeing it as an insider, an outsider, or something in between?
Honestly, when I’m photographing, I’m not really thinking about whether I’m an insider or an outsider. I’m mostly just reacting to feeling. I didn’t feel like an outsider in Seoul, but everything did feel new to me. There was something familiar I couldn’t explain. Not like I knew the place, but like it wasn’t entirely strange either. I’m still not sure what to call that.
When you're in Seoul, are you ever aware of photographing a version of yourself? The person you might have been if your family's story had gone differently?
For sure. That’s something that crosses my mind constantly when I’m in Seoul. I do think about the person I might have been if my family’s story had gone differently. I don’t know if that directly changes what I photograph, though. I don’t think I’m walking around trying to photograph an alternate version of myself. It’s more just something I feel as a person while I’m there. So, there's some sadness in that question. But it doesn't stay long. Pretty quickly, that feeling is met by gratitude. I think about the life I have now, my family, my work, the path that actually happened.
Bukchang-dong, Jung District
As a filmmaker, you're always thinking about frames and how one leads to the next. How does that change when you're shooting stills? Does the producer brain ever turn off, or does a single photograph always feel like it belongs to a larger story?
As a filmmaker, I’m always thinking about how one moment leads to the next. With stills, I don’t feel that same pressure. I’m not building toward an edit. I can just react. And I love that about photography. There’s no scene I have to get to. There’s just what’s in front of me. But I don’t think I stop seeing the story. I just stop needing to control it as much. Whatever is unfolding in front of me already has a story, usually something bigger than the photograph itself. I’m just responding to a small part of it.
You teach film at DePaul. When your students ask you what makes an image worth keeping, whether in a film frame or a photograph, what do you tell them?
Beyond the technical stuff, I tell them it comes down to emotion. Does the image make you feel something? And honestly, I usually know it when I see it. I can’t always explain it beforehand. I spend a lot of time trying to build toward it in the writing and in how a scene is shaped, so that by the time the camera is there, there’s something real to catch. The frame can only hold what’s already in the room. A technically perfect image can still feel completely cold. I’d take a messy frame with something alive in it every time.
Gwangjang Market, Jongno District
The book is called Seoul Days and Nights — did you find yourself drawn more to one or the other? What does the city give you at night that it doesn't during the day, or vice versa?
I’ve always been drawn to night, so that’s not specific to Seoul. But I found myself falling for the days there in a way I didn’t expect. The summer light, the heat, the way people move through the city during the day. What surprised me was how the energy doesn’t completely shift between day and night the way it does in other cities. Seoul at 2 a.m. didn’t feel dangerous to me. It just felt alive. Coming from the States, where there’s this low-level vigilance I think a lot of us carry around, especially at night, Seoul gave me something I didn’t realize I was missing. I could just walk. I wasn’t thinking about it. That feeling got into the photographs whether I meant it to or not.
Mangwon-dong, Mapo District
Do you have a favorite neighborhood or area of Seoul that you like to shoot in?
Honestly, every neighborhood felt like my favorite in the moment. But, if I had to choose, Euljiro and Haebangchon stood out the most. Euljiro had this Blade Runner quality to it. Industrial, layered, a little worn down but not dystopic in a bleak way. More like the best kind of science fiction, where the decay is actually beautiful. It felt like the past was still right there, holding on in the middle of everything changing. Haebangchon was different. It had this effortless mix of old and new that you don’t see very often. A lot of cities try to do that, and it feels forced. Haebangchon just seemed to wear it naturally.
Haebangchon, Yongsan District
If someone opens this book having never been to Seoul, what do you hope they feel by the last page? And if they know Seoul well, what do you hope they see that they might not have noticed before?
For someone who’s never been, I hope the book gets past the version of Seoul that’s been packaged for export. The K-pop, the K-dramas, that’s real, but it’s not the whole city. I wanted to photograph the people, the streets, and the everyday moments that give Seoul its feeling. For people who know Seoul, I hope it works the way it worked for a friend of mine, a DP (Director of Photography) who moved to Seoul from Germany twenty years ago. When he saw my photos, he said they reminded him of how he saw the city when he first arrived. How he used to photograph everything because it all felt remarkable. And then slowly, the way it does, it faded into the background. Just life. That’s what I’m hoping for. That they look at these images and remember what it felt like to see Seoul again.
