So-yeon (소연) is stalked by the ghost of a young girl
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The Cat (고양이: 죽음을 보는 두 개의 눈) – ★★★☆☆

The Cat (고양이: 죽음을 보는 두 개의 눈)

The Cat (고양이: 죽음을 보는 두 개의 눈)

Certain visual motifs have always been prevalent in Asian horror films. It was arguably Hideo Nakata’s incredible Ring (1998) that introduced the majority of ‘Western’ audiences to such themes, most notably the ‘gwishin’ or girl spirit with long black hair and wearing a white nightdress. Additionally, water (particularly in Japan), the deconstruction of family ethics, the motif of the circle, technological advancements, and the supernatural are all features that continually recur. As the title suggests, The Cat (고양이: 죽음을 보는 두 개의 눈) uses felines as the conduits of horror in conjunction with other common motifs, and while entertaining, offers little in the way of originality or suspense.

So-yeon (Park Min-yeong (박민영) works at a pet store grooming animals, supervised by the sinister flamboyant manager (Lee Han-wi (이한위). So-yeon suffers from claustrophobia due to an undisclosed childhood accident, visiting a psychiatrist and taking anxiety medicine, and as such has an acute fear of elevators and closed doors. After grooming cat ‘Silky’, the owner mysteriously dies forcing police officer Joon-seok (Kim Dong-wuk, 김동욱) to ask So-yeon to take care of the feline. But on taking Silky home, it becomes clear that something else has followed them – the apparition of a young girl called Hee-jin (Kim Ye-ron, 김예론) with cat-like eyes.

So-yeon (소연) is stalked by the ghost of a young girl

So-yeon (소연) is stalked by the ghost of a young girl

The trend to incorporate ‘western’ style scare tactics through rapid editing, rather than elongated atmospheric scenes, features heavily in The Cat. This is a shame, as the effects of such a style wear off as quickly as they are introduced and do little to perpetuate suspense and terror throughout the film. However director Byeon Seung-wook (변승욱) competently creates these scenes of horror, employing filters that seemingly drain colour from the mise-en-scene in anticipation of an upcoming shock. Unfortunately, the impact of the shocks are fleeting, and the lack of originality is painfully obvious. This is heightened due to the unwise decision of including scenes reminiscent of other superior horror classics, which detracts from the overall enjoyment. Attempts are made to make The Cat into more of a psychological horror due to So-yeon’s psychosis, with ghost Hee-jin as a mirror/conduit for her childhood trauma. Hee-jin – who bares more than a passing resemblance to So-yeon in her youth – stalks So-yeon yet does not harm her; only those who are unkind to cats feel her wrath. Yet the victims are also people that So-yeon dislikes or bears a grudge towards, and in this capacity Hee-jin becomes a supernatural tool implementing So-yeon’s subconscious will. Further supporting this argument is the fact that all the murders are conducted in confined spaces, an area that petrifies So-yeon yet is the source of her neurological condition. While there is certainly a mystery to be solved, the identity of the killer is ambiguous.

So-yeon attempts to solve the mystery

So-yeon attempts to solve the mystery

Park Min-yeong gives a solid performance as pet-groomer So-yeon, yet the role mostly requires her to look scared and doesn’t allow for a more penetrative exploration of her psychological condition or the foundation thereof. As such, the evolution of So-yeon as a protagonist is rather flat. Police officer and potential love interest Joon-seok is pitifully underdeveloped and adds little to the narrative, and as such Kim Dong-wuk’s performance is muted. Perhaps the most entertaining protagonist is the camp pet store owner, played by Lee Han-wi (이한위), who seems to relish portraying the flamboyantly vicious entrepreneur. The standard of acting is generally mediocre as director Byeon Seung-wook is more concerned with quickly moving from one horror set piece to the next, and the lack of character development clearly limits the performances provided.

Death visits those close to So-yeon

Death visits those close to So-yeon

Verdict:

While competently made, The Cat does not belong with premier examples of the genre. Attempts have clearly been made to construct depth through the inclusion of a leading protagonist with neurosis, yet the lack of development and the consistent references to other, more superior, horror films detracts from the overall experience. That’s not to say that The Cat isn’t enjoyable – far from it. While the unease of horror is unlikely to linger after the credits, the fast-paced quick thrills make the film an entertaining experience.

★★★☆☆

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Soo-ah must escape the labyrinthine subway station
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Blind (블라인드) – ★★★☆☆

Blind (블라인드)

Blind (블라인드)

The impairment of a leading protagonist in a film can often allow an actor or actress to stretch themselves into new territory and offer startling performances (and, more cynically, guarantee some silverware). Daniel Day-Lewis’ turn as an artist with cerebral palsy in My Left Foot (1989) is perhaps the most significant, but other actors including Russell Crowe (A Beautiful Mind, 2001), Denzel Washington (The Bone Collector, 1999) John Hurt (The Elephant Man, 1980) and Colin Firth (The King’s Speech, 2010) amongst many, many others have all conveyed the difficulties that impaired people face. With Blind (블라인드), Kim Ha-neul (김하늘) takes on the role of a visually impaired woman and in doing so has won the 2011 ‘Best Actress’ award at both The Daejong Awards and The Blue Dragon Awards. Quite how is something of a mystery, as Kim Ha-neul’s performance, as well the film itself, rarely rises above mediocre.

Blind tells the story of promising police cadet Min Soo-ah (Kim Ha-neul) who, through an accident partly of her own making, loses her sight. Life becomes a struggle for Soo-ah as the fast-paced world around her is seemingly intolerant of her impairment. Whilst attempting to find her way home one evening, Soo-ah becomes a witness in an abduction case and must use her training and heightened senses to help find the killer. Complicating matters further is the second witness, Kwon Gi-seob (Yoo Seung-ho (유승호), who gives a contradictory testimony of events. Joined by Detective Jo (Jo Hee-bong (조희봉), Soo-ah and Gi-seob must solve the mystery together, before the killer finds them first.

Min Soo-ah (민수아, Kim Ha-neul 김하늘) and her faithful guide dog

Min Soo-ah (Kim Ha-neul) and her faithful guide dog

Films representing impairment tend to focus on the adversity that is endured and finally, over the course of the narrative, overcome. With Blind, director Ahn Sang-hoon (안상훈) makes minimal effort to convey the hardships Soo-ah faces, representing rather obvious and fleeting problems such as crossing the road, which seem redundant as she walks with her guide dog. Ironically the colour is drained in the exterior sequences through utilising filters, in an attempt to emphasise the cold and harsh outside world. Such devices do little to create empathy however, due to not only the lack of innovation but also Soo-ah’s stubborn nature that places herself in precarious situations. That said, other sequences such as a subway chase where Soo-ah must use floor tiles to find an exit as quickly as possible, are filmed and edited in a thrilling fashion and offer a refreshing take on the genre. One of the fundamental issues of Blind is that Ahn Sang-hoon and screenwriter Choi Min-seok fail to make any of the protagonists compelling enough to forge empathy with, and thus when the 2-dimensional characters are in peril the lack of engagement equates to flat, rather than thrilling, scenes.

Soo-ah must escape the labyrinthine subway station

Soo-ah must escape the labyrinthine subway station

The actors generally give competent performances despite this. Kim Ha-neul is certainly prominent in this regard as a visually impaired woman, with occasional sequences that are convincing as she struggles with daily activities. Yoo Seung-ho is adequate as rebellious teen Gi-seob, as is Jo Hee-bong as foolhardy Detective Jo, yet they are never given the opportunity to display more than their supporting statuses will allow. Unfortunately the worst offender is Yang Yeong-jo as gynecologist-turned-serial-killer Myeong-jin. Again, this is not entirely his fault as the role itself is so woefully underdeveloped that Yeong-jo is merely present to appear menacing and snarl and cackle occasionally.

as rebellious teen

Yoo Seung-ho as rebellious teen Kwon Gi-seob

Verdict:

Blind certainly had the potential to be an interesting and creative take on the thriller genre, but unfortunately due to the lack of character development and innovation it is a rather bland and mediocre offering. The actors involved all provide competent performances despite the limitations imposed on them, while Kim Ha-neul is somewhat convincing as a visually impaired witness. Blind does contain a select few sequences that provide enjoyable thrills, and while certainly no masterpiece, it offers enough entertainment to be an interesting viewing experience.

★★★☆☆

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Hye-hwa helps stay dogs in the barren landscape
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Re-encounter (혜화,동) – ★★★★☆

Re-encounter (혜화,동)

Re-encounter (혜화,동)

For any independent film maker, getting the project off the ground is a daunting task. While the freedom from studios is enviable, the production costs have the potential to escalate due to an incredible variety of external factors. Having a established actor/actress is therefore something of a coup, often guaranteeing both finance and audience revenue. Interesting then, that writer/director Min Yong-geun (민용근) intentionally chose not to cast any renowned stars in his second feature length film Re-encounter (혜화,동), rather allowing for the narrative to be the centerpiece.

Hye-hwa (Yoo Da-in (유다인) works for a canine veterinary surgery in a small rustic town. During the day she often visits the abandoned and dilapidated area on the outskirts of town where feral dogs roam, in a bid to save and treat them before they are caught by a cruel dog-napper. That is, until she surprisingly re-encounters ex-boyfriend Han-soo (Yoo Yeon-seok (유연석). Han-soo informs Hye-hwa that the child they had together years earlier, and believed to be dead, is actually alive and has been adopted. Forced to face the pain of her past, Hye-hwa’s life becomes increasingly fraught with the stress of who she is, and who she feels she ought to be.

Hye-hwa helps stay dogs in the barren landscape

Hye-hwa (혜화) helps stray dogs in the barren landscape

Director Min Yong-geun (민용근) has constructed a a very delicately paced drama, and wonderfully conveys Hye-hwa’s life as lonely and fragile. As she walks through the desolate landscape of abandoned buildings and feral animals, Hye-hwa is actually allegorically exploring the fragments of her consciousness which has never healed following the traumatic loss of her baby. Similarly, her passionate desire to find and treat the sick dogs in the area are the result of Hye-hwa’s inability to cope with her loss, chasing the helpless inside her psychosis as she desperately tries to exert control over the one thing she can never rectify. If all this sounds like an enormous burden, it is; the large red muffler that Hye-hwa wears is symbolic of the enormous strain she ‘wears’ day after day that weighs her down and threatens to engulf her.

Min Yong-geun also interrogates the root of Hye-hwa’s neurosis, highlighting the archaic notion of ‘the family unit’ in Korean culture as the cause of disruption. As Hye-hwa and Han-soo were only (unmarried) teenagers at the time of pregnancy, the families of both intervened and removed the decision process from the parents-to-be. Spiraling out this domineering attitude are two psychologically and emotionally scarred young people, and the director expertly conveys their trauma through the subtle use of the mise-en-scene and slow pacing.

The trauma of the young couple is expertly conveyed through the mise-en-scene

The trauma of the young couple is expertly conveyed through the mise-en-scene

The decision to use non-prolific actors is an interesting one and serves the narrative well, adding a shade more realism than more renowned counterparts. Yoo Da-in gives an incredibly restrained and subtle performance, and fully deserves her nomination for ‘Best Actress’ at the 32nd Blue Dragon Film Awards. Her expression of conflict as she cannot part with her cut nails is poignant and moving, as is her inability to recognise her underlying neurosis but determination to continue a ‘normal’ life. Yoo Yeon-seok fares less well, and while his performance is competent it fails to attract the same level of empathy as his love interest. This is perhaps unfair as this is also due to the significantly less screen-time he is provided, as the narrative belongs to the emotional turmoil of Hye-hwa.

Yoo Da-in (유다인) gives a subtle and poignant performance

Yoo Da-in (유다인) gives a subtle and poignant performance

Verdict:

Re-encounter is a thought provoking and restrained exploration of how trauma becomes a part of a person’s character when not confronted. It is incredibly slow-paced as director Min Yong-geun establishes his protagonists through imagery, which is something of a double-edged sword; while the mise-en-scene is expertly crafted, the characterization suffers slightly through the lack of interaction with others. But then, in highlighting their loneliness, Min Yong-geun emphasizes that such reconciliation is the fundamental way in which to begin healing trauma, and has crafted a touching humanist story in making such a statement.

★★★★☆

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Mirror image - who is the monster?
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I Saw the Devil (악마를 보았다) – ★★★★☆

I Saw the Devil (악마를 보았다)

I Saw the Devil (악마를 보았다)

Director Kim Ji-woon (김지운) is renowned for his genre-play, which perhaps makes it surprising that he waited so long to tackle Korea’s most popular genre – the thriller. As his 8th film, I Saw the Devil (악마를 보았다) is not only a refreshing take on an over-saturated genre but also extends beyond the celluloid in a similar fashion to Michael Haneke’s Funny Games (1997, 2008). Kim Ji-woon understands the genre and its relationship with the audience immensely; that audiences see thrillers to be thrilled. To this end, the auteur not only repeatedly creates incredibly suspenseful scenarios but also indirectly holds audiences accountable for the cruelty and violence that ensues.

I Saw the Devil depicts the story of intelligence agent Kim Soo-hyeon (Lee Byeong-Heon (이병헌), whose fiance is brutally murdered by serial killer Jang Keyong-cheol (Choi Min-sik (최민식). Not content with simply finding his finance’s murderer, Soo-hyeon plans to torture Keyong-cheol in the worst way possible – by striking just as the psycho’s bloodlust is about to be fulfilled, severely punishing him, and then setting him free. In this way Keyong-chul’s punishment, and Soo-hyeon’s vengeance, will be never-ending…but in doing so, Soo-hyeon must walk the dangerous line between man and monster.

Jang Keyong-cheol (장경철, Choi Min-sik (최민식) deals with his latest victim

Jang Keyong-cheol (Choi Min-sik) deals with his latest victim

Choi Min-sik and Lee Byeong-Heon are, as one would expect from such acting powerhouses, fantastic in their roles as serial killer and intelligence agent. While the roles don’t exactly stretch the actors into new territory, they convey incredible intensity throughout their cat-and-mouse games. Choi Min-sik in particular appears to relish his turn as sadistic serial killer Jang Keyong-cheol as he snarls and cackles without remorse as his victims suffer atrocities. His sheer intensity during such perverse sequences makes for uncomfortable but compelling viewing, and even provides some darkly comedic sensibilities in the horrific and ironic situations that arise. Lee Byeong-Heon is also terrific as he searches for revenge. The evolution of his character from agent to monster is riveting, as his moral code dissipates and allows further crimes to be committed in his selfish and arrogant desire for extreme vengeance.

The audience derives pleasure from the killers twisted games

The audience derives pleasure from the killers twisted games

Kim Ji-woon has achieved ‘auteur’ status for a very good reason, and actually manages to extend himself further through incorporating audience ‘pleasures’ and accountability. When the film begins, the camera is within a van driving along rustic country lanes in the snow. Either side of the rear-view mirror are florescent blue ‘wings’ that connote eyes; audiences are thus placed within the mind of a ‘monster’ as it prowls the countryside for its next victim. This is a recurring feature, as Kim Ji-woon aligns audiences with the villain making them responsible for their own voyeuristic desires of violence and mayhem. Yet once intelligence agent Soo-hyeon has caught the monster, the auteur splits alignment between the excitement of Keyong-cheol as he obtains his next victim, and the thrills of Soo-hyeon as he violently halts the killer. Kim Ji-woon understands his audience intimately and makes the cat and mouse game, in a sense, the audience chasing themselves as they simultaneously enjoy the murderous thrill of catching the prey and the (violent) catharsis of the saviour-figure that stops the perversity before the degradation has gone beyond acceptable limitations. He then punishes the audience for their desires within the narrative structure, forcing them to face their own notions of ‘pleasure’ within the cinema.

Mirror image - who is the monster?

Mirror image – who is the monster?

Verdict:

I Saw the Devil is a wonderful addition to an over-saturated genre, and offers a fresh and interesting take on the notions of revenge by implicating audiences within the frantically-paced violence that transpires. As such, the protagonists lack depth and the events that transpire do little to provide evolution, but the film is not intended as a character study. Rather, it’s about the nature of violence and retribution, its escalation, and the accountability of the audience in their desires for such cruelty.

★★★★☆

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Cha Hae-joon (차해준) faces off against the monster
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Sector 7 (7광구) – ★☆☆☆☆

Sector 7 (7광구)

Sector 7 (7광구)

When Sector 7 (7광구) was announced, it came with a wave of anticipation. It had a blockbuster story that resembled Hollywood fare, guaranteeing a foreign market; it had assembled some of the most popular actors in the country, including hot property Ha Ji-won (하지원) also known as ‘the Korean Angelina Jolie’; and it was to be filmed in 3D, insinuating the high level of confidence film executives had in the project.

The story, about workers on an oil rig that come face to face with a monster, had more than a few similarities with Ridley Scott’s classic Alien (1979) and had cinephiles wondering if it could compete in Hollywood and reignite international attention in Korean cinema. To be fair, the expectations were so ridiculously high that any film would have fallen short. But no-one was prepared for just how far short, and how awful, Sector 7 truly is.

On an isolated oil rig off the coast of Jeju Island, the crew are experiencing difficulties as there is no oil to be found. The supervisor (Park Jeong-hak (박정학), wants to abandon the search but is repeatedly challenged by team member Cha Hae-joon (Ha Ji-won (하지원) for his cowardice. That is, until senior official Jeong-man (Ahn Seong-gi (안성기) returns to the rig and demands the search continues until an oil well is found; yet once their objective has been achieved, members of the crew are found dead. As the crew attempt to find the murderer, the come face-to-face with a monster from the depths of the ocean.

Cha Hae-joon (차해준, Ha Ji-won (하지원) searches for the unseen killer

Cha Hae-joon (Ha Ji-won) searches for the unseen killer

The narrative itself is not an inherently bad premise, yet director Kim Ji-hoon (김지훈) continually pushes audiences’ suspension of disbelief well beyond their limits. For example, motorcycle drag racing on an oil rig appears to be a commonplace activity on this particular rig, as does the bizarre mixture of futuristic and archaic technology within it. The absurdity is not helped by the use of terrible CGI and green screen that seriously detracts an sense of logic to the proceedings. The worst is saved for the monster itself, an unbelievably poor creation that appears like a reject from a Final Fantasy video game. The monster has supposedly been forcefully evolved from a smaller creature yet bares no resemblance to it whatsoever, and exhibits an entirely different set of abilities. Luckily most scenes involving the creature are at night and in shadows, yet even then the lackluster design, movement, skin texture and so on are obviously apparent. This is all the more baffling when considering Bong Joon-ho‘s incredible monster film The Host was made 5 years earlier.

The crew must fight to survive the new menace

The crew must fight to survive the new menace

The actors portraying the tyrannized protagonists are also unimpressive, although they cannot be held fully accountable as the dialogue is woeful. Ha Ji-won is usually an actress that guarantees quality, yet even she provides an under-par performance as she schizophrenically flits from cute airhead to hardened independent woman. Her love interest played by Oh Ji-ho (as Kim Dong-soo (김동수) is so under-represented that he hardly warrants being in the film, let alone providing adequate interest as the source of her affections. Duo Park Cheol-min (박철민) and Song Sae-byeok (송새벽) are intended to add comedy to the mix however become so irritating that it’s something of a relief when they meet their demise. Park Cheol-min in particular shouts his way through his dialogue, while his compatriot merely whines. The less said about Park Yeong-soo’s (박영수) mentally ill crew member Jang Chi-soon the better. Only Ahn Seong-gi as senior crew member Jeong-man conveys credibility through his quiet-albeit-authoritative tones, yet he too succumbs to the oddities in the narrative when his supposedly true nature is revealed.

Cha Hae-joon (차해준) faces off against the monster

Cha Hae-joon faces off against the monster

Verdict:

Sector 7 is not a complete disaster, as director Kim Ji-hoon competently composes scenes and keeps the action moving at a swift pace. Apart from the awful CGI it’s clear that Sector 7 has a large budget which has been well spent on creating the mise-en-scene of an oil rig. It’s a shame that so many negative features outweigh the few scant positives, rendering a potential blockbuster into a substandard film well below the talents of all involved.

★☆☆☆☆

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Ryu (류) wakes up to find his money, and his kidney, have been stolen
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Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance (복수는 나의 것) – ★★★★☆

Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance (복수는 나의 것)

Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance (복수는 나의 것)

Anyone even remotely aware of Korean cinema understands that the theme of revenge is commonplace. There are, of course, a great number of socio-cultural reasons as to why vengeance is prevalent. Historically, Japan has brutally colonised Korea several times over the past few centuries. Following the Second World War, the then-military government oppressed the people until an uprising forced change. Then, after a democratic capitalist government took power, the race to catch up with ‘Western’ countries divided the rich and poor to an even greater degree, with traditional values altered and livelihoods destroyed in order to create infrastructure. The theme of revenge is dominant as it undoubtedly provides catharsis for a nation of people whose identity has been in a constant state of instability due to external factors beyond their control.

Director Park Chan-wook (박찬욱) explores such notions of revenge in his infamous ‘Vengeance Trilogy’ beginning with Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance (복수는 나의 것), and followed by Old Boy (올드보이) and  Lady Vengeance (친절한 금자씨) respectively.

Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance is concerned not only with revenge but the very basis and cyclical nature which it evolves into. Ryu (Sin Ha-gyoon (신하균) is deaf and mute, and lives a meager existence working in a factory. His sister (Lim Ji-eun 임지은) suffers from kidney disease and is in urgent need of a transplant. Fired from his job and distressed that his sister may die, Ryu turns to the black market and strikes a deal – he will give all his money and donate his own kidney, and in exchange he will receive a healthy kidney for his sister. Yet, when Ryu wakes up after the operation, he finds his kidney, and his money, have been stolen. Worse still, thanks to a miraculous donation a kidney is now available at the hospital, but without his savings the operation cannot commence.

Ryu (류) wakes up to find his money, and his kidney, have been stolen

Ryu wakes up to find his money, and his kidney, have been stolen

Desperate, Ryu and his anarchist girlfriend Cha Yeong-mi (Bae Doona (배두나) scheme to kidnap the daughter of his former boss Park Dong-jin (Song Kang-ho (송강호) for ransom. With the transplant money secure, the duo plan to release the girl and restore the equilibrium; yet when Ryu’s sister discovers the plot she cannot take the shame and burden, and commits suicide. Ryu and the boss’s daughter bury her body by a riverbank, but the youngster falls into the water and drowns. Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance then evolves into two separate narratives of revenge; Ryu’s quest to hunt down the black market organ dealers, and Dong-jin’s desire for vengeance over his dead daughter. Each man has lost someone special, someone who helped to define their identity and give them purpose and subsequently, as each man follows his agenda, their humanity becomes lost amid their barbarous acts of vengeance. Both Ryu and Dong-jin are good men, but are transformed into murderers due to external economic and medical forces, adding sympathy and poignancy as they lose their identity with each act of violence. The evolution of the protagonists are superbly conveyed by Sin Ha-gyoon and Song Kang-ho (송강호), the latter in particular giving a towering performance transforming from emotional businessman to hardened killer. Neither man understands the futility of their vengeance nor that the escalation of violence produces more victims that demand justice.

Dong-jin (박덩진) transforms from father to murderer

Dong-jin transforms from father to murderer

The evolution of the protagonists is masterfully constructed by director Park Chan-wook, who expertly composes each shot to reinforce the sympathy, and the insanity, of their actions. The cinematography is incredible in places, particularly in the recurrence of aerial shots that emphasize the loneliness of the men and the fragility of their humanity. Additionally, the utilisation of space and depth of field highlights their terrible position, both literally and figuratively, in horrific environments and circumstances. Ryu’s world is conveyed effectively and dramatically due to his inability to hear, as alternating POV shots establish how silent and disadvantaged his world is compared to those around him adding yet another layer of compassion to his predicament. Park Chan-wook’s presentation of violence is thoughtful and initially restrained, gradually building tension in order for graphic scenes to have the utmost impact.

Director Park Chan-wook's recurrent use of aerial shots emphasize loneliness and futility

Director Park Chan-wook’s recurrent use of aerial shots emphasize loneliness and futility

Verdict:

Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance is a fascinating exploration into the nature of revenge and violence, highlighting how two seemingly ‘good’ men can evolve into psychotic killers when they are bereaved. However, further exploration of the socio-economic problems that created the black market organ trade and the lay-offs at the factory, could have enhanced the poignancy of their predicaments further, as would have additional characterization before the crises developed. Yet despite this, Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance is a riveting and emotionally charged debate on the escalation and futility of vengeance, and how the loss of a loved one can become poison when the path of revenge is taken.

★★★★☆

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Sun-hwa may be trapped in her marriage, but her heart belongs to the invisible Tae-suk
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3-Iron (빈집) – ★★★★☆

3-Iron (빈집)

3-Iron (빈집)

It’s a tragic fact that auteur Kim Ki-duk (김기덕) is not particularly revered in his home country. Despite his phenomenal success at international film festivals, and his arguably unparalleled contribution in heightening the awareness of Korean cinema, he is disliked regardless. Some claim Kim Ki-duk is perverse due to the appearance of sexual and violent scenes, while others applaud him for highlighting sensitive socio-cultural issues.

With 3-Iron (빈집), the infamous director eschews such overtly confrontational content and crafts a delicate, poignant romance story. Tae-suk (Jae Hee (재희) is a poor drifter who posts adverts over doors as a day job. At night, he returns to the area and breaks in to an abode that appears vacant. Rather than vandalise, Tae-suk merely requires a place to bathe and sleep, in return performing household chores for the unaware owner(s) as payment. After entering a luxurious house, Tae-suk continues his usual routine; that is until beaten housewife Sun-hwa (Lee Seung-yeon (이승연) catches him in the act. In the confrontations that follow, Tae-suk proves to Sun-hwa that he is a better man than her abusive husband (Kwon Hyeok-ho (권혁호), and the two run away together and form a relationship despite the odds.

Drifter Tae-suk is caught by abused house-wife Sun-hwa

Drifter Tae-suk is caught by abused house-wife Sun-hwa

The touching relationship between Tae-suk and Sun-hwa develops organically and respectfully, bonding together as they move from one empty house to the next. Astonishingly, neither protagonist talks during the entire development of their relationship. Instead, subtle moments of kindness and intimacy become powerful symbols of love and respect, and allow their love to bloom in an innocent, almost naive style. The acting by both leads is incredible, conveying their evolving personalities through only facial expressions and gestures. Jae Hee is particularly impressive as his eyes convey a power and intensity that belie his gentle mannerisms. Kwon Hyeok-ho, as Sun-hwa’s villainous husband, is also terrific as his character turns from doting husband to abusive misogynist with ease. But by far the most poignant, even magical, performance is due to Lee Seung-yeon who transforms from a passive victim into a strong, vibrant woman as she discovers her identity.

Tae-suk's (태숙) time in prison equips him with a new skill - invisibility

Tae-suk’s time in prison equips him with a new skill – invisibility

As with all Kim Ki-duk’s films, the socio-cultural analogies are rife and highly critical. With 3-Iron such debates are gendered, as the auteur probes the nature of contemporary relationships. Sun-hwa is a former model, and photographs of her beautiful face and naked body adorn many of the homes that Tae-suk visits. Kim Ki-duk employs postmodernist themes in representing and deconstructing Sun-hwa, as she exists merely as an image of perfection which is continually contrasted with her bruised, older reflection whenever she looks in the mirror. Sun-hwa is first and foremost a trophy wife; she married a rich businessman, as is common in Korea for people of equal status and success to wed. But it was a marriage built on image – both personal and societal – and hides the dark truth of abusive patriarchy as Sun-hwa is beaten and told to ‘be still’ as she is sexually assaulted.

Tae-suk functions as the antithesis of such archaic patriarchal ideology. While he may be a criminal, he is constantly respectful and gentle not only to Sun-hwa but also within any home he visits. Despite his etiquette and chivalry, Tae-suk is routinely beaten and insulted by those threatened by him, and even accused of murder. With his innocence proven, a corrupt sadistic policeman (Joo Jin-mo, 주진모) continues to beat Tae-suk simply to provoke a reaction, which results in a jail term. The representation of prison in 3-Iron is horrendous and inhumane, yet during this time Tae-suk trains to be truly invisible. Tae-suk conveys the ethics of an older, more humble Korea; he is kind, gentle and understands the value of manual labour. He is the epitome of chivalry despite his lower economic status, highlighting the lack of ethics and principles in contemporary Korean men who appear only concerned with image, money and violence.

Sun-hwa may be trapped in her marriage, but her heart belongs to the invisible Tae-suk

Sun-hwa may be trapped in her marriage, but her heart belongs to the invisible Tae-suk

Verdict:

3-Iron is an incredibly romantic, even dream-like film with a highly critical core of contemporary Korean masculinity. The Korean title ‘빈집’ actually means ‘vacant house’, denoting both the abodes Tae-suk frequents as well as the vacuum of ethics within modern men. Director Kim Ki-duk has crafted his critique within a powerful and passionate, yet fragile and endearing romance that offers a unique and refreshing tale on the tenderness of love.

★★★★☆

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The inevitable stand-off provides catharsis
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The Good, the Bad, the Weird (좋은 놈, 나쁜 놈, 이상한 놈) – ★★★★☆

The Good, the Bad, the Weird (좋은 놈, 나쁜 놈, 이상한 놈)

The Good, the Bad, the Weird (좋은 놈, 나쁜 놈, 이상한 놈)

The western genre is most obviously synonymous with America, and is arguably one of the few unique cultural products to emerge from the country. While Spanish westerns had existed prior, the notions of a ‘promised land’ of ‘New Eden’, the taming of the wilderness/frontier, and the conflict generated in the origins of a nation are all uniformly American in nature and allude to the difficulty of the era. The Searchers (1956) perhaps best exemplifies such ideological underpinnings, featuring western icon John Wayne as the tortured lead protagonist. Clint Eastwood’s career was forged through the genre and was capped by the magnificent Unforgiven (1992), which deconstructed the mythology surrounding the cowboy/outlaw and explored the inherent corruption of law officials.

Therefore, when superstar auteur Kim Ji-woon (김지운) announced his intentions to direct a Korean western, it was met with some trepidation; how could such an exclusively American genre be molded to suit Korean audiences and reflect Korean history and culture? The apprehension was unwarranted, as The Good, the Bad, the Weird  (좋은 놈, 나쁜 놈, 이상한 놈) not only addresses such concerns but extends beyond them, becoming a worthy addition to the genre in its own right.

Set in the 1930s Manchurian desert, The Good, the Bad, the Weird portrays a land of lawlessness and violence. Korea is occupied under Japanese rule, and refugees flee north to escape persecution. However, the land is far from a safe haven as immigrants from all nations struggle to survive. Within this fray is ‘The Weird’ train robber Yoon Tae-goo (Song Kang-ho (송강호), who stumbles in and out of danger with an apparent nine lives. Performing his usual heist, Tae-goo unintentionally procures a treasure map rumoured to be the resting place of unimaginable wealth from the Qing Dynasty. However, ‘The Bad’ Park Chang-yi (Lee Byeong-Heon (이병헌) and his gang of bandits also desire the map, and give chase. Behind them is ‘The Good’ bounty hunter Park Do-won (Jeong Woo-seong (정우성), seeking to bring both men to justice.

'The Bad' Park Chang-yi (박창이) leads bandits on a murderous chase

‘The Bad’ Park Chang-yi (박창이) leads bandits on a murderous chase

As the motives for chasing each other continually change, the emphasis is not on a gritty-realist portrayal but rather an action-orientated dark-humoured revisionist style. As with Sergio Leone’s The Good, the Bad and the Ugly (1966), each character has their own distinctive brand of death-dealing and mayhem such as Do-won’s long range rifle that blows miscreants through walls, Chang-yi’s knife wielding blood lust, or Tae-goo’s bizarre luck in dropping opponents. The light-hearted nature is Indiana Jones-esque as the film moves from one action set-piece spectacular to the next as bad guys and worse guys alike are blown to bits. As with all Kim Ji-woon’s films, the characters can be enjoyed on multiple levels. On the surface, they are fun and generic protagonists; on a more penetrative level they are allegories of Korea in-flux, the personification of national identity under Japanese occupation. They are fragments of a whole, each one without a country, each one on the run from a tortured past and chasing the other. The inevitable stand-off provides catharsis not only for audiences in need of resolution, but also for themselves as they simultaneously desire each other but want to be the last man standing and solidify their/Korea’s identity.

The inevitable stand-off provides catharsis

The inevitable stand-off provides catharsis

Director Kim Ji-woon is renowned for genre-play, taking pre-existing conventions and flipping them to create something vibrant and fresh. The Good, the Bad, the Weird  is no different as the gritty ol’ west is eschewed for fun and action set pieces which are shot in incredible fashion. The mise-en-scene is superb in every frame, with the consistent use of long takes adding considerable realism and enjoyment. Kim Ji-woon also employs the use of crash-zoom shots to great effect, but does so in his unique style that functions simultaneously as parody and pastiche of the genre. The multi-tiered action sequence in the Ghost Market is pure joy as Do-won flies on rooftops, Chang-yi cuts a swathe through other villains within buildings, and Tae-go simply tries to survive as he navigates the claustrophobic streets. Similarly the final chase sequence between the titular characters, marauding Manchurians and the Japanese army is exhilarating as the camera weaves between everyone involved while bullets fly and the body count rises.

Do-won ('The Good') pursues his targets

Do-won (‘The Good’) pursues his targets

Verdict:

The Good, the Bad, the Weird is a zany, fun-filled revisionist take on a traditionally American genre. Kim Ji-woon makes it a uniquely Korean production primed with historical and cultural anxieties. As the pace of the film is frantic to say the least, there is very little in the way of character development or dramatic, poignant scenes as to why the map (and the rush for the treasure) is so vital for all involved. Instead, The Good, the Bad, the Weird is an action-packed love letter to the genre, one that provides incredible enjoyment from start to finish.

★★★★☆

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Director Kim Jee-woon's exquisite use of colour enhances the tension
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A Tale of Two Sisters (장화, 홍련) – ★★★★☆

A Tale of Two Sisters (장화, 홍련)

A Tale of Two Sisters (장화, 홍련)

It’s no secret that Western horror films tend to encapsulate social anxieties that must be stamped out by a conservative, traditional force. Such allegorical styles often fall into either socio-political anxieties, as with zombie films such as Romero’s catalogue of work including Dawn of the Dead (1978), or feminist/youth/sexual freedom in teen slasher films, such as the Halloween (1978-2009) series. Occasionally a psychoanalytic classic horror like Kubrick’s The Shining (1980) will be released to critical acclaim, yet after the furore has died down generic films depicting unrestrained teenage rebellion rise once more.

Asian horror films are markedly different. The allegorised social anxieties are more spiritual in nature and are often located within the homestead, exploring notions of family, technology, and ethical behaviour exemplified by films such as the Ring series (1998), Ju-on: The Grudge series (2003-2012), and The Eye series (2002). As with the West, attempts are made to control the disturbances yet they tend to be more patriarchal in nature, and the father/senior’s attempts at control often make the situation worse. Ultimately, the protagonist must unveil the mystery behind the source of horror, rather than suppress it. As such, Asian horror films are more inherently psychological in nature as they explore ‘the self’ in conjunction with spirituality whilst rejecting male chauvinism.

A Tale of Two Sisters not only exemplifies this trend, but is also an incredible and unique addition to the genre. Soo-mi (Im Soo-jeong (임수정) and younger sister Soo-yeon (Moon Geun-yeong (문근영) return to their family home in the country after a trip away. It’s not long before the sisters come into conflict with their new spiteful step-mother Eun-joo (Yeom Jeong-ah (염정아), while their stoic father Moo-hyeon (Kim Kap-soo (김갑수) looks on.

Soo-mi and Su-yeon can only rely on each other due to their dysfunctional family

Soo-mi (right) and Soo-yeon (left) can only rely on each other due to their dysfunctional family

Loosely based on a Joseon-era folktale, A Tale of Two Sisters is a chilling, atmospheric, and engaging film from start to finish. This is chiefly due to auteur Kim Ji-woon (김지운) who continually displays an incredible talent for playing with genre conventions and is masterful in creating suspense and terror. He integrates and evolves visual motifs seamlessly such as his exquisite use of colour to reflect whether a protagonist is safe or potentially in peril, such as the cool blue safety of the duvet covers, the eerie unsettling green of the furniture, and the horrific blood red decor in the dining room. Kim Ji-woon combines this eye for colour with a Kubrickian sense of symmetry (a la The Shining) and slow, long tracking shots through shadowy corridors and rooms that turns a peaceful family home into a labyrinthian horror. The motifs of flowers that beautifully adorn the wallpaper throughout the house initially, later become a tangled and sinister web of vines that threaten to engulf those who stand before it. Combined, the homestead is not only a source of horror but also alive and evolving as the sisters descend into the mystery.

Director Kim Jee-woon's exquisite use of colour enhances the tension

Director Kim Ji-woon’s exquisite use of colour enhances the tension

Soo-mi and Soo-yeon must not only contend with the ever-changing architecture, but also their vindictive step-mother. Visiting an old cabin in the neighbouring woods, Soo-mi finds old pictures and reveals that Eun-joo was previously her mother’s nurse. Enraged and paranoid, the sisters create further tension in their relationship with their ‘new mother’ as motives are questioned and clues are found. Compounding the tension further is the fact that all the protagonists begin to hear and see the supernatural, so that suspicion and mistrust are commonplace. The performances by all three actresses are engaging and compelling as each struggles with themselves and their environment, and expertly convey the tense, terrifying situations in which they find themselves.

Flower motifs and colours serve to heighten the suspense

Flower motifs and colours serve to heighten the suspense

Verdict:

A Tale of Two Sisters is an incredibly detailed and psychological horror that ranks among the upper echelons of the genre. Writer/director Kim Ji-woon plants enough red herrings and twists amongst his superb use of mise-en-scene that, from start to finish, makes the film an entrancing and enthralling viewing experience. If there are any criticisms to be highlighted, it would be that certain scenes of horror could perhaps be more inventive in their presentation, but this is a minor quibble. A Tale of Two Sisters is a fascinating journey of familial tension, teenage angst, and the supernatural and comes highly recommended.

★★★★☆


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Expressionist lighting conveys suspense in the basement internet cafe
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The Hideout (소굴) – ★★★☆☆

The isolated internet cafe of Hideout (소굴)

The isolated internet cafe in          Hideout (소굴)

Driving alone through the countryside in winter, a journalist is in danger of missing a crucial deadline. Spying an isolated internet cafe (PC 방) on a rural road, the journalist pulls over and enters the basement domain where she can complete her assignment, but doesn’t realise the other occupants may have criminal agendas.

The journalist must defend herself

The journalist must defend herself

The Hideout (소굴) has a simple and generic, but interesting premise. Trapped in the basement of a remote internet cafe, the female journalist must use her ingenuity to overcome all obstacles and escape her basement prison. Her captors are ambiguous to say the least, and while they certainly qualify as unnerving miscreants, their true motives are never fully revealed. The Hideout is successful in conveying the fear of being a lone woman trapped in a situation she cannot escape, although the ambiguity of her ‘jailors’ are such that the journalist often appears paranoid and unstable.

Expressionist lighting conveys suspense in the basement internet cafe

Expressionist lighting conveys suspense in the basement internet cafe

Director Lee Chang-hee (이창희) competently creates an eerie atmosphere in its 30 minute running time, however a narrative as simple as The Hideout requires a directorial flair to convey suspense and horror which is unfortunately lacking. There are sufficient obstacles in the path of the main protagonist as she attempts to flee, yet narrative devices such as a uncharged cell phone battery, power cuts and sharp instruments are hardly original. The Hideout is successful in representing a powerful female central character and her resourcefulness, and there are adequate moments of suspense and tension that make it compelling enough to be invested in the safety of the journalist, which is under constant threat. It may well be unoriginal, but The Hideout contains more tension and suspense than typical teen-slasher films.

★★★☆☆

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