"K-Number" director Jo Se-young, third from right, and adoptee Mioka Miller, second from right, pose with other adoptees and members of the adoptee organization Banet at the Busan International Film Festival, Oct. 6. Courtesy of Antonia Giordano
Around the time of the release of the "Frontline" documentary on Korea's international adoption, another documentary was being released offline, at the Busan International Film Festival. "K-Number" was released on the weekend of Oct. 5.
Unlike other movies that boasted star power, this movie gained recognition for its narrative and style, even winning BIFF's inaugural Documentary Audience Award this year. "K-Number" is also set to be released in Seoul in conjunction with the Seoul Independent Film Festival, from Saturday to Dec. 4.
While "Frontline" provided a deeply investigative, historical account of the adoption industry, "K-Number" offers something more personal — a heartfelt and human-centered perspective. The film not only weaves in historical context and documentation but also invites us into the emotional journeys of adoptees as they search for answers about their origins. It introduces us to the organizations and individuals who stand by them, offering support with translation, navigation and the countless puzzles adoptees face in uncovering their past.
At the heart of the story is Mioka Miller, an adoptee who has spent years searching for her birth family. On her fifth journey to Seoul, we join her in piecing together incomplete information from intake forms and faint childhood memories. Through her eyes, we experience the rollercoaster of emotions — hope, despair, resilience — that come with trying to find a place in a story long thought lost. Along the way, we meet groups like Banet, a collective of Korean women who dedicate themselves to helping adoptees, and organizations like KoRoot, which offer safe spaces and resources for adoptees visiting Korea. These groups bring not only practical support but also a profound understanding of adoptees' emotional struggles, grasping these experiences in ways that lawmakers and institutions cannot.
The documentary paints a vivid picture of the barriers adoptees face — even seemingly small obstacles, like the renaming of streets or districts, become enormous challenges when tracing their roots. For adoptees, these details can mean the difference between finding answers and facing decades of uncertainty. Even with the best of intentions, a lack of oversight in the adoption process often turned simple facts like birth dates or locations into mysteries that can take a lifetime to unravel.
Miller's journey is deeply moving. Unlike many adoptees who have no memory of their early years, she has a few fragments to work with — snippets of moments that allow her to connect some dots. But even with these clues, her search is fraught with setbacks. At one point, she believes she may have found her birth mother based on new information, only to discover upon meeting the woman that the details don't align. Both are left heartbroken, and Miller must begin again, revisiting old records and searching for new leads.
The film also shares the stories of other adoptees, each at different stages of their search. Through radio interviews, conversations with locals and countless hours poring over records, they show us the relentless determination required to piece together their histories. Every breakthrough feels like a small miracle, but more often, these searches are marked by frustration, disbelief and a lingering sense of loss.
A key thread throughout "K-Number" is the role adoption agencies played in meeting the global demand for Korean children. The documentary highlights how these agencies sometimes withhold critical information or release it inconsistently, leaving adoptees in limbo. In Miller's case, information previously deemed nonexistent was suddenly provided during her fourth round of searching — a reminder of how these agencies often hold the power to shape an adoptee's journey, for better or worse.
For those who do reconnect with their families, the reunions are often bittersweet. One particularly heart-wrenching scene shows an adoptee sharing a meal with her birth mother. The adoptee is trying to sound positive about their current meeting, but the mother, burdened by her pain and circumstances, expresses that she doesn't wish to meet again. The unspoken emotions in this moment are profound, reminding us of the complexities that come with reconciling with the past.
"K-Number" effectively uses stories blended with informative clips to ask broader questions about family, identity and the evolving definition of what it means to be Korean. It reflects on Korea's need to move beyond traditional notions of homogeneity and emphasizes the importance of acceptance, diversity and inclusion. These issues are still very current, but all Koreans should at least know this perspective because of all the connected threads that are presented.
Jo Se-young, director of "K-Number," poses in western Seoul, Oct. 19. Courtesy of Antonia Giordano
This documentary was by director Jo Se-young, who made her directorial debut in the documentary film scene with the 2004 movie “Made In Korea” and worked on various other projects. In 2013, she won the Golden Goose Award at the DMZ International Documentary Film Festival, for “Let's Dance” which centered around the woman's right to choose. She has also worked on other documentaries that are reflective on various social issues in Korea. Her approach to this film is no different.
While she hasn't always worked on adoptee-related films before, the director said she “had an intense feeling towards the topic" after she happened to speak to a mother on the topic in an unrelated project. She said this project "gave me another perspective on the meaning of family.”
She said for "K-Number," it was during the editing process that the narrative came together, after having talked with 30-50 people,
“I had 12 different versions (of the film), and it was difficult, but once the meaning of the film became clearer on how to edit and how to fit the film, I wanted to also use documentation and historical references not to necessarily hone in on certain figures but to give the story balance and perspective,” she said.
In the video description, she wanted to connect the issues of adoptees with the issues of the Korean population so that this connection further highlights that this is an issue for both adoptees and Koreans.
Ultimately, "K-Number" is a deeply moving exploration of connection and family. It leaves viewers with much to reflect on — not only about the adoption industry but also about the changes needed to create a more compassionate and inclusive society.
Antonia Giordano is a freelance photographer and writer based in Seoul. An adoptee, Antonia deeply understands and connects with the issues surrounding adoption and post-adoption. Visit giordanoantonia.myportfolio.com and follow @antonia_creative_services on Instagram.