Past Lives digs deep into our souls, to the start of our great journeys in love

LAST week I was lucky enough to catch a preview of Past Lives, the quietly devastating forthcoming debut film from director Celine Song.

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Some critics are already proclaiming it the film of the year, making Past Lives the tortoise to Barbenheimer's hare. It's a very modern, wonderfully restrained, kind-of love story, crossing continents between Seoul and New York, tracing the surging affections of childhood sweethearts Nora and Hae Sung.

The major triumph of Past Lives is not in its beautifully dour, Sofia Coppola-ish cinematography, the tinkering ambience of a Grizzly Bear soundtrack or the two peerless central performances. The best thing about this film is that it carefully unpicks, then categorically takes a sledgehammer to, one of the worst romantic fallacies that can haunt adult lives: 'the one that got away! Everyone has one. The one that got away is that person you met or dreamt about when you were at your most innocent, charming, pretty and unspoilt.

When your hair fell correctly and your wardrobe popped. Before the belt loosened and cynicism crept in. The one that got away can be fleetingly recalled in the spritz of a department store perfumier's bottle, or in that song you once shared which magically appears on shuffle, igniting a whole Catherine wheel memory loop of mixtapes, first kisses and philosophical arguments about a book you read one another in the bath.