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Ruthless Myeong-soo visits Berlin to find the mole, but gets more than he bargained for

February 2, 2013January 31, 2015

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The Berlin File (베를린) – ★★★★☆

The Berlin File (베를린)

The hype generated for writer/director Ryoo Seung-wan’s (류승완) latest action-thriller The Berlin File (베를린) has been fierce. Boasting a stellar line-up of acting talent, and with the director’s last film The Unjust (부당거래) proving popular with audiences and critics alike, curiosity has been fervent as to whether director Ryoo could take his trademark mix of multiple narratives and high-octane action to the next level.

The Berlin File features a genuine evolution in director Ryoo’s style, with some of the most adrenaline-inducing action sequences in recent memory and a huge leap up from his prior films. Yet as with his past filmography, The Berlin File is also stunted by far too many protagonists and a highly convoluted narrative, while his preoccupation with male characters relegates Jeon Ji-hyeon (전지현) to the sidelines. However, the director must be congratulated for the scale of the film, not only for filming in a foreign country with the inclusion of several languages, but also for featuring a North Korean spy as the hero of the film.

After a weapons deal in Berlin goes wrong, top North Korean agent Pyo Jong-seong (Ha Jeong-woo (하정우) attempts to flee the scene. Unbeknownst to him however are the South Korean agents on his tail, led by Jeong Jin-soo (Han Seok-Kyu (한석규). As the two men clash Jong-seong manages to escape back to his safe house and wife Ryeon Jeong-hee (Jeon Ji-hyeon (전지현), who works as a translator – and ‘entertainer’ – at the North Korean consulate. With the new Kim Jong-un government establishing themselves, suspicions arise that a traitor exists in the Berlin offices. Dispatching ruthless North Korean agent Dong Myeong-soo (Ryoo Seung-beom (류승범) to find the mole, all the evidence seemingly points to Jeong-hee. Yet Jong-seong and Myeong-soo come into conflict, tensions reach breaking point when the CIA, Mossad, Arabic forces and the South Korean agency all enter the fray, leading to a violent showdown.

Following a botched weapons deal, North Korean agent Jong-seong’s life is in danger

With The Berlin File, director Ryoo has eschewed the reverential martial arts fare of his prior films in favor of the brutal espionage style exhibited within The Bourne Supremacy/Ultimatum, and emerged all the stronger for it. Indeed, the director has adopted many of the features of Paul Greengrass’ spy classics by utilising a moving camera and rapid editing during the lighting-quick action sequences, producing some of best work of his career and representing a true evolution in his abilities. In addition to the exhilarating action and stunt work, the danger of the spy world is wonderfully conveyed. The various betrayals and secret dealings between the disparate agencies produce an intense atmosphere of uncertainty and distrust that continually keeps the audience guessing, harnessing the paranoia of the Cold War era in a contemporary context. By tapping into the fear of the transitioning North Korean government, the story achieves potency as the war for information and power takes on an all-too-real aspect that serves to heighten tension further. Similarly the choice of Berlin is a masterstroke given its history, and director Ryoo films the city as if it were a character itself. The distinctly European style coffee shops and restaurants, the lively streets and the shadowy alleyways all converge to portray the German capital as a hub of culture and intrigue, and one where danger lies at every turn.

Placing a North Korean agent as the ‘hero’ of The Berlin File is also an enthralling decision, representing a genuine shift in the relevance of protagonists from the country. Just as Shiri (쉬리) opened up a wave of storytelling regarding ‘brotherhood’ between the two nations, The Berlin File takes it a step further by emphasizing Jong-seong as more active than his South Korean counterpart Jin-soo, despite the corruption that blights them both. As the top spy of the communist country, Ha Jeong-woo gives a great performance and is highly convincing as the cold, detached secret agent. His lines in English and German are delivered with confidence and assuredness and are quite impressive throughout, while his composure during action sequences mark him out as a genuine action star. Ryoo Seung-beom also handles himself particularly well as ruthless agent Dong Myeong-soo, conveying an unsettling villainy with cocky self-assurance that serves as a great counterpoint to Jong-seong’s naivety. It is acutely fitting that Shiri star Han Seok-Kyu features within the film as older South Korean agent Jin-soo, almost forming as an angrier, more frustrated extension of the prior character. While he occasionally stumbles when performing in English the actor conveys the bitter frustration of his situation convincingly. Unfortunately, out of all the protagonists it’s Jeon Ji-hyeon who is short-changed as translator Jeong-hee. The actress performs the role with skill, however it simply isn’t developed enough for her to display her talent, and as such she functions as little more than a damsel in distress.

Jong-seong’s wife, translator Jeong-hee, comes under suspicion as a traitor

The issues with Jeon Ji-hyeon’s underdeveloped role highlights the main, and rather large, issue within The Berlin File. There are just far too many characters within the narrative, each containing their own history and motivations for taking part in the proceedings, enacting scores of double-crosses with those around them to achieve their goals. Director Ryoo ambitiously attempts to give service to every faction and individual, yet in doing so he loses focus on the core protagonists and as a result their development suffers. The array of narrative tangents also bogs down the main impetus of Jong-seong’s mission which a great deal of time and effort was spent constructing, while the variety of betrayals and red herrings that occur make the plot a confusing, and somewhat frustrating, viewing experience.

Perhaps for this reason director Ryoo seems unsure how to finish his spy thriller, and as a result the finale boils down to something of a stereotypical stand-off seen in generic action films. To the directors credit, the final act is indeed exciting as gunfire hails from all directions while physical confrontations feature some vicious, wince-inducing moments. Yet despite the exhilarating fun of watching the good and bad guys duke it out in the high stakes battle, it’s difficult not to feel that it is mismatched with what came before, and that a less convoluted plot would have ultimately led to a more rewarding finale.

Ruthless Myeong-soo visits Berlin to find the mole, but gets more than he garbained for

Ruthless Myeong-soo visits Berlin to find the mole, but gets more than he bargained for

Verdict:

The Berlin File represents a stylistic evolution for director Ryoo Seung-wan, featuring some of the best action and stunt sequences in recent memory and arguably the best of his career. The director captures the paranoia of the spy world with confidence and skill, employing the city of Berlin incredibly well as the location of espionage. While the over-abundance of characters and narrative tangents bog down Jong-seong’s mission, director Ryoo deserves credit for going beyond the themes of ‘brotherhood’ by actually placing a North Korean agent as the ‘hero’ of the film, making The Berlin File an exhilarating, if somewhat convoluted, spy thriller.

★★★★☆

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The tributes for Lee So-seon following her death are moving

January 31, 2013January 31, 2015

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Mother (어머니) – ★★★☆☆

Mother (어머니)

The past 100 years of Korean history is fraught with tragedy. From occupations by neighbouring Japan and the resulting atrocities, through to several coups, the Park Chung-hee dictatorship, and the hard-fought struggle for democracy, the people of Korea have endured generations of adversity in a staggeringly short period.

With documentary feature Mother (어머니), director Tae Jun-seek (태준식) follows the final two years in the life of Lee So-seon (이소선), also known as ‘the Mother of Workers’. The mother of the iconic human rights campaigner Jeon Tae-il (전태일), Le So-seon has worked tirelessly since his death in 1970 protesting for workers rights and equality.

Yet with this documentary, director Tae sidesteps the past of his central figure and instead focuses on her present and the legacy that she created. As such, Mother is a very sweet and charming exploration into elderly Lee So-seon’s final years, yet the absence of information about her past achievements – which the audience are presumed to already be aware of – highly detracts from the impact of witnessing such a powerful historical figure live out her final years.

Lee So-seon continually displays dignity and strength of character

Mother is a lovely and fitting tribute to Lee So-seon, with director Tae capturing her dignity and strength of character effortlessly. Her good humour positively radiates as she cracks jokes and mocks those around her with a playfulness that belies her years. Similarly Lee So-seon’s ideology of equality and humanitarianism shines throughout the film, not only in answering probing questions but just as sincerely through her everyday activities. Her natural charisma draws people close, and the opening sequence of Mother– in which a host of different people help Lee So-seon to traverse up a hill path – perfectly conveys her status as a much loved and respected figure in the community. Director Tae’s style in filming Lee So-seon is gentle and unassuming, allowing for her mannerisms and anecdotes whilst undertaking daily routines to come to the fore, with the realism that this styles exudes subtly but effectively conveying her resilience and indomitable will.

Yet director Tae falls into the trap that so many Korean directors suffer from, in that he expects the audience to have full awareness of contemporary Korean history and by extension Lee So-seon’s, and her late son Jeon Tae-il’s, historical relevance and achievements. For those who are fully-reversed in modern Korean history Mother contains genuine poignancy in watching such a strong figure live out her final years with dignity, but for those ignorant – primarily young Korean and foreign audiences – the emotional impact of the documentary is lessened to a great degree. Director Tae clearly wishes to focus on this particular period of Lee So-seon’s life and the respect and tributes that are paid in her honour, yet without the prerequisite knowledge of her life it is left to the audience to guess, through piecing together the clues throughout the documentary, why she has earned them. The play of Lee So-seon’s life emphasizes this trend, as a Taiwanese director travels to Korea to help orchestrate the production, and it is only through watching the performance that the audience comes to understand some of the tragedy she had to endure.

Theater actors attempt to create a story about Lee So-seon’s life

However director Tae does seem to be aware of this issue. While most of the running time is spent documenting Lee So-seon’s last movements with a scattering of hints alluding to her historical prominence, her death is the catalyst for an expansion on her achievements. The overwhelming tributes that occur and the marches that take place in her honour are simply incredible, and are edited with black and white scenes of Lee So-seon at demonstrations and rallies in support of workers rights. Such scenes are particularly effective in conveying her motivations and role in contemporary Korean history. While moving, such scenes are nevertheless too little too late as they provide context only after the final moments of her life. Indeed, had such context been present at the start of the documentary – and running throughout it – Lee So-seon’s remaining years would have conveyed much greater poignancy. Yet as it stands, Mother is – for the uninitiated at least – a sweetnatured documentary about a charming, kind, and strong-willed lady who meets her end with dignity.

The tributes for Lee So-seon following her death are moving

Verdict:

Mother is a loving and gentle tribute documenting the final years of Lee So-seon, a human rights campaigner who has worked tirelessly since the death of her son Jeon Tae-il in 1970. Director Tae Jun-seek captures her spirit in a highly reverential manner, with his gentle style allowing her charisma to shine through. Yet he also expects the audience to be fully aware of Lee So-son’s history and achievements and as such doesn’t provide context, meaning for the uninitiated that the film loses an enormous amount of poignancy.

★★★☆☆

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January 30, 2013January 31, 2015

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Mother (어머니) screening and Q&A with director Tae Jun-seek (태준식)

Mother (어머니)

A special screening of independent documentary feature Mother (어머니) was held at Indieplus in Gangnam, on the 29th of January. Director Tae Jun-seek (태준식) was also in attendance, and very kindly answered the questions posed by the audience following the screening.

Mother (어머니) is a documentary that follows the final two years in the life of activist Lee So-seon (이소선), a powerful figure in the battle for human rights for workers. Her late-son, Jeon Tae-il (전태일), is a legendary figure throughout Korea and other Asian nations for his dedication to improving rights for laborers. His protests against the abuses and of the dictatorship of Park Chung-hee (박정희) during the ’70s actually had the opposite effect as the government brought further exploitation, and as a result the then 22 year old set himself on fire. Jeon Tae-il’s death galvanized the workers’ rights movement, and since then Lee So-seon has tirelessly campaigned in his memory. Rather than focus on her efforts however, director Tae Jun-seek explores Lee So-seon’s final moments on Earth and her indomitable will in the face of ailing health.

Following the screening, the Q&A was translated by independent film producer Hwang Hye-rim (황혜림). Producer Hwang began by asking about the background of the film, and how director Tae began the project.

Director Tae Jun-seek: Well first, as producer Hwang explained, Jeon Tae-il is really one of the most important figures in modern South Korean history to the extent that he’s almost like a myth. And he’s a very important figure not just in Korean history, but also he was an inspiration to other countries in north-east Asia. He’s like a figure that symbolizes struggles for democracy in these areas. That’s one of the reasons you can see the director of the play (within Mother) is from Taiwan. That’s part of the reason why he was willing to do a play about him. I think the reason it was possible, the whole journey that Jeon Tae-il had, was because of his mother and even after his death Lee So-seon was very faithful to what her son believed and she tried very hard to keep those principles throughout her life. And that made me curious about her. What could make her strong like that? What could make a person like her? That was the start of the journey of this film. In this film you can see just a part of her life, but I thought it would be meaningful to show that part of her life, to understand Jeon Tae-il and also to understand Korean democracy. So I met her in 2009. I visited her, and told her I wanted to make a film of her. That was the start of the film.

Lee So-seon’s everyday life is revealed during her final years

Producer Hwang Hye-rim: I should also give you a little bit of information about director Tae. He started his film making as an activist and a documentary film maker in Labor News Production, which was one of two of the earliest film documentary companies in Korea. The other was Documentary Pureun Audio/Video Collective. These are the two companies that started making productions back in the ’80s, on the scene of the struggle. So he started as one of the members of Labor News Production and produced a lot of documentaries and newsreels, and feature documentaries as well, which included mostly the scenes of struggles, and depictions of real life.

Question: Because Jeon Tae-il is already very iconic figure, and his mother is also a big figure, it must have been quite a challenge to start a story and make a story out of it. What kind of concerns do you have when you started?

Director Tae: Well it’s been a while since this film was released, it was released last year (2012) in Spring. I kind of thought afterwards, “Gosh I really chose a really really big figure for my film.” It was probably almost impossible to tell her story in a feature documentary. And also I had pressure from time as she was dying at the time and she passed away during filming. So I was running out of time, and I had this pressure of having to finish as soon as possible. So that was the limit I had, from nature. But the idea arose from the first meeting I had with her. I knew about this person from documents, I read a lot about her, I thought I knew about her, but from the first meeting she kind of gave me this inspiration on how I should tell her story. Because she was even back then, in her last days, still very funny, very interesting, and a very strong person. And I thought maybe it would be ok to tell her story from the present, to start the story from now, and not giving too much information ahead, but telling the story from her present and make a story out of it. I thought she was a beautiful person and strong enough to be in the film as she was. That was part of the intention, to make the story like this. Also I thought that I definitely need a long time to film her, and after a while I thought it would be effective to have a structure to go back to the past [and show her history] from the present.

Question: Were you able to distinguish any of the main influences on her life? Her parents were no doubt dead already, but what did you think were the really important factors that made her the strong personality type that she was?

Director Tae: I think that there were a lot of influences that made her who she was. She spent her childhood in Korea when it was a Japanese colony, and it was a really hard time. She couldn’t live with her parents when she was young, and she also had the experience that she was almost dragged away to be one of the ‘comfort women’ for the Japanese army. But luckily she escaped and she had to live in the mountains for about a month by herself. It was a time of hardship for all Koreans, so she had to live all the tragedy of modern Korean history by herself. So I think that’s part of the reason that made her as strong as she was. There was also the big influence from religion. She was a Christian and she always believed from a very young age about love for humanity, and to love and take care of your neighbours, and she also taught that to her son Jeon Tae-il. There were part of her principles from a very young age even after she lost her son in that tragic event. That was part of the influence that made her strong, I think. It’s not just about religion, but also her basic nature, to take care of her neighbours, people who share the world with her, people who suffer more than her, and she wanted to take care of these people. And she taught her son like that too. Also you can see in the film, when she was telling the story of her childhood she was saying [to bullies] “Beat me if you can.” She was that brave, and always against unreasonable power, and she always stood for justice. She did resist as much as she could, and they all influenced her into being strong.

Question: Can you tell us a bit about your history? You said you worked for one of the first documentary companies. How was your work used? Was it used to help the democracy movement, or did the government try and use it to strengthen their position? How did your history influence this documentary?

Director Tae: At that time I started working at Labor News Production I didn’t really think – not just me, but all of us – we didn’t really think we were documentary film makers. We started it as a labor movement, that we were taking part in the movement at the time. So we thought of ourselves as activists. So that was the start. I thought of myself as an activist taking part in the movement for 6 years, and I worked there as a documentary maker for that time. That’s quite different from thinking of yourself just as a documentary film maker. It was always about the real scenes of struggle, and I learned about making a documentary and the reasons why we need this fight for certain issues. And I also go to know Lee So-seon. So all these experiences led me to this film, I think, after all these years. Also I learned several techniques to actually be able to make a film, which became sometimes a survival technique. Making films is a difficult job sometimes. All those years at the Labor News Production became the influence for this film.

The tributes for Lee So-seon following her death included marches

The tributes for Lee So-seon following her death were incredible

Question: I really enjoyed the film. What is the importance of this film, and these types of films and history, for young people in Korea? And are they aware of these things in public schools, or just in history books?

Director Tae: I don’t think we have any public education or records for students in elementary, middle and high school, or even in university that teaches about Lee So-seon. But there are several books in the public education process that tell about her son, Jeon Tae-il. He is known to a certain extent, and there are also documentaries about him, and also a fiction film about him. So I’d say her son is well-known, but the mother not as much. There have been many efforts made to let Jeon Tae-il and his work more widely known to the public, but I think it’s never enough. There are still many ongoing efforts. The reason that this is important is that there are still many struggles over human rights, especially for workers, laborers. Lee So-seon was a person who spoke throughout her life about human rights and solidarity and the struggles we have to go through to achieve it. That’s why I thought her story was inspiring. There is still not enough consideration about the human rights of workers. It’s not really reflected in the process of public education. I think we need more records and films that can tell the younger generation about the importance of human rights. That’s why more and more films are coming out of the independent film scene which deal with these kinds of issues. It’s still never enough, and we are living in a country where a dictator’s daughter is president, so as you can guess it’s more difficult and more tricky to make these kinds of films now, but there are still efforts by independent film makers.

Question: I was really touched by the film, I thought it was better than other dramas and soap operas. I thought from the poster it was a film about an old woman, but I realised it was about the ‘Mother of Workers’ and it was really interesting. You put a lot of focus on her ordinary life and behaviour. I’d like to know why you choose those kind of tactics to portray her.

Director Tae: Well I think in Korea, people think of the labor movement as too serious sometimes and too violent. A lot of people think of the labor movement with those kinds of stereotypes. I think that’s the basic background I had when I started this film. As you can see in the film, the director of the play from Taiwan, he says, “It’s always about big action, or red ribbons and violent actions and demonstrations.” So people connect the image of throwing stones and Molotov cocktails at police when they think of the labor movement. They think of the images first, and it’s the big preconception about the labor movement here in Korea. Why it’s like that is another question. But Lee So-seon also thought it would be better if we can change that preconception and those images of the labor movement with this film, and I was trying to say that I don’t think these people are more violent or more organised or skillful in fighting. They are not those kinds of people. Fighting for your human rights is your basic right, that’s why they are fighting. It’s not because they are specifically violent people, that’s part of the report I wanted to make. Rights to work and for survival are your basic human rights. That should be natural. Lee So-seon was a person that symbolised that kind of idea. As long as you are human, you need to fight for your rights when they are threatened. I thought because she’s a person like that, I thought it’d be more effective to show her charm in everyday life, to show trivial things, to reveal her strong message. I tried to use those things to approach those ideas in her life, and to show you that. I also tried to depict the events backwards in the timeline, from the small to the big ideas, that’s why I didn’t want to put specific focus on the promise [to her dying son], or talk too much about it. I didn’t want too much melodrama out of it. I tried to leave Jeon Tae-il out of it as much as possible, although it’s impossible to leave him totally out of the film. I tried to show her as ordinary as possible, just as we are and her that her fight is not something too noble or too difficult, but a fight that has to be done for human beings. I wanted to show her life.

Lee So-seon continually displayed her strength of character

Question: You mentioned Park Geun-hye earlier. Now that she’s in power, do you think making these kinds of documentaries will become more difficult? She quite famous for being sensitive about anything bad said about her or her father, so how will you go about making future documentaries? Will you change anything?

Director Tae: Well I don’t think I will change anything under the regime of Park Geun-hye, as we already survived the Lee Myung-bak era. It will be difficult, but we already know about the difficulties so I don’t think I’ll change anything. At least, when it’s concerned about making films. I hope and believe that as we’ve achieved a democracy it wouldn’t go back as far as the old days when we had a fascistic dictatorship. Of course I can guess that there will be certain kinds of pressures on people who are making these kinds of films, and who are not afraid of getting their voices heard. So there will be that kind of suppression. But I don’t think people who are making those kinds of films are too afraid, whatever may come. The more difficult thing is everyday survival. We have achieved a democracy in terms of politics, but not as much in cultural aspects. There is still less and less support for public art, like making documentaries or independent films, so I think there is not enough support for independent artists these days. I think I’ll spend these 5 years under Park Geun-hye to try and make things better for independent artists.

Thank you to director Tae Jun-seek for generously answering the questions, and to producer Hwang Hye-rim and manager Kwon Mi-hui for translating and hosting the event.

Directors Interviews/Q&As

Padak attempts to flee the sushi restaurant

January 29, 2013January 31, 2015

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PADAK (파닥파닥) – ★★☆☆☆

PADAK (파닥파닥)

Animated films have made several attempts to capture the world that exists in the ocean. Pixar’s Finding Nemo undoubtedly leads the pack, yet Help! I’m a Fish, Shark Tale and A Turtle’s Tale: Sammy’s Adventures all work hard to convey the vibrancy of life under the waves. Coupled with the great variety of species that dwell there, the animations offer some fascinating visual storytelling.

Given the bright and cheerful poster of PADAK (파닥파닥), parents could easily be forgiven for thinking that this feature by writer/director Lee Dae-hee (이대희) is of a similar ilk. Yet their children would be horrified to discover a dark story featuring cannibalism, torture, and characters being eaten alive. Such violence cannot help but overshadow the themes of freedom and identity that run throughout the narrative, while the crude animation does little to help matters.

Captured at sea, a mackerel (Kim Hyeon-ji (김현지) is taken to a sushi restaurant and placed in a tank ready for customers. There she encounters other species of fish trapped in the same predicament, yet as they are from a fish farm they can’t understand the mackerel’s desperate desire to return to the ocean. Her constant attempts to escape earn her the nickname ‘Padak’ due to the swishing of her fins, while the other fish teach her methods to survive. But before long Padak’s knowledge and persistence comes into conflict with Master Flatfish (Si Yeong-joon (시영준) an old halibut that holds an iron-fisted regime over the tank.

Padak attempts to flee the sushi restaurant

PADAK begins ominously during a depressingly overcast morning, where the fisherman haul their wares into large lorries ready for the local restaurants. The atmosphere generated by such scenes is bleak and foreboding, and director Lee Dae-hee does a great job in emphasizing the melancholy through the colour palette. Combined with utilizing Padak’s point-of-view, the confusion and stress that she endures is conveyed well.

Yet these early scenes immediately highlight one of the great animation problems of the film, as the people are so stiff and rigid it is distracting. The animation style is reminiscent of the old Sony Playstation/Sega Dreamcast era, where ‘cell-shading’ was employed to convey the 3-D features whilst also masking the limitations of the technology. This is perhaps an unfair criticism given that Padak is an independent film, but whenever a human appears it immediately draws the audience out of the story. However, when the story centers on the fish at the heart of the film the animation becomes much more bearable, and it is clear that a lot of time and energy went into their creation. Indeed, the details on the fish ‘skins’ are quite impressive, especially following conflict.

Such violence is an enormous issue within the film, and is often quite horrific. Characters that are the focus of the film are cruelly beaten, while others are shown being decapitated or boiled alive by the sushi chef, and even eaten alive by customers while the face of the fish is still moving and breathing. If the intention of director Lee Dae-hee is too scare people away from sushi restaurants, such sequences must be considered a success. The true horror however is reserved for the scenes depicting cannibalism, as the fish kill injured newbies and devour it in a mess of flesh and dissipating blood.

The fish resort to cannibalism to survive

The terror such scenes convey also detract from the core themes of the film, which are concerned with freedom and identity. Old Master Flatfish has created a dictatorship inside the tank, forged through fear of death as well as the lack of education his subordinates exhibit. Padak, with her knowledge of the ocean and dreams of liberty, challenges the regime forcing a conflict between them. The debate between democracy and fascism is nothing new, yet the manner in which it is explored in the tank offers somewhat of a fresh approach to the concept. Yet as Padak slowly starts to win over the other fish with her desire to return to the sea, it is impossible not to reminisce about similar scenes from Finding Nemo which dealt with the same issues but in a more enjoyable – and less bloodthirsty – fashion.

Musical numbers are a surprising addition to Padak, and as they appear in the form of dream sequences director Lee uses the opportunity to experiment with alternatives forms of animation. The songs are not particularly uplifting or catchy, but the different animated styles are interesting and are used effectively as bridges between the dialogue in the tank and the hopes and dreams of the fish involved.

The sushi restaurant is a place of genuine horror

Verdict:

PADAK is a novel attempt at capturing the lives of fish, one that explores the predicament of living in fear of death due to containment in a sushi restaurant tank. Writer/director Lee Dae-hee competently conveys the issues of freedom and identity at the heart of the narrative, but they are subsumed by the awful violence and cannibalism that arises. While the animation of the fish is enjoyable the film staggers greatly when conceiving humans. As such PADAK an incredibly mixed, and rather dark, animation.

★★☆☆☆

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Yeong-gyoo and his team prepare for trafficking organs

January 28, 2013January 31, 2015

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The Traffickers (공모자들) – ★★★☆☆

The Traffickers (공모자들)

Exploring the black market organ trade between Korea and China, The Traffickers (공모자들) is the directorial debut from writer/director Kim Hong-seon (김홍선). The film, which is loosely based on the true story of Korean newlyweds who became embroiled in human organ trafficking, also earned director Kim the ‘Best New Director’ award at the 2012 Blue Dragon Film Awards.

The Traffickers is indeed a thrilling film, one that captures the horrifying reality of the trade and depths organ traffickers will go to in order to secure their product. The tension generated from such scenes is palpable, whilst the horror of those effected by trafficking is gut-wrenchingly poignant. Yet bizarrely, director Kim attempts to align the audience with the traffickers themselves, forcing them to care whether the mission is a success despite the criminals’ sinister machinations. The result is a thrilling yet odd story, and one that deserves credit for examining the very nature of such controversial subject matter.

Following a failed attempt at securing organs that cost the life of his best friend, trafficker Yeong-gyoo (Im Chang-jeong (임창정) and his team quit the business and become simple smugglers instead. Yet the meager sums generated from smuggling make it difficult to rise out of squalor and pay debts, and the team are in need of a big score. Simultaneously, Yu-ri (Jo Yoon-hee (조윤희), the woman of Yeong-gyoo’s affections, has a sick father in need of a transplant and visits black market dealers to secure an organ. For her sake, and for the team, Yeong-gyoo secretly agrees to perform one last job with the help of righthand man Joon-sik (Jo Dal-hwan (조달환) and alcoholic surgeon Kyeong-jae (Oh Dal-su (오달수). As everyone gathers on the boat to China, businessman Sang-ho (Choi Daniel (최 다니엘) and his disabled wife Chae-hee (Jeong Ji-yoon (정지윤) board the same vessel only to find themselves the targets of the traffickers.

Yeong-gyoo and his team prepare for trafficking organs

The opening sequence of The Traffickers is the stuff of nightmares as a man, naked and wounded, stumbles through the hallways of a boat smearing his blood on the walls. Writer/director Kim Hong-seon captures the horror of the situation with skill and conveys a disturbingly compelling introduction into the world of the traffickers. Indeed, the director displays a keen eye for tension and violence throughout the film and is a seemingly perfect fit for the genre, building suspense-filled sequences until a release of blood soaked terror. The scenes in which Yeong-gyoo’s team abduct disabled Chae-hee and prepare to harvest her organs are horrifying yet engrossing, whilst the tension generated by her husbands frantic search of the claustrophobic and labyrinthian hallways of the boat is genuinely disconcerting. Similarly, the abuse Chae-hee suffers contains chilling realism as the traffickers take advantage of her predicament by abusing and cutting her, all voyeuristically captured on camera for their clients.

It is therefore quite odd that Yeong-gyoo and the traffickers are given such central, vital roles within the narrative. Korean cinema is no stranger to the concept of the anti-hero, with films such as The Chaser and The Thieves performing incredibly well, but The Traffickers really takes the notion to the next level. Criminals executing a high-stakes heist is one thing, but human organ traffickers that sexually abuse a drugged disabled woman is quite another. The perversity and violence that pervades whenever the traffickers are around is quite shocking, yet more is so that the audience are intended to root for them to succeed. In fact, all of the criminals have zero redeeming features with which to forge empathy, something director Kim seems to realise in the final act as a hasty back story is given to Yeong-gyoo through flashback scenes. This is particularly problematic as while the team appear to be winning, it just feels wrong.

After abducting disabled Chae-hee, the team get to work

With the exception of leader Yeong-gyoo, the characters themselves are generally stereotypes including the effeminate sleazy boss, the mentally challenged trafficker, and the drunken surgeon. Despite this the dialogue is well written and competently acted by all involved, and the world in which they inhabit and the stakes they face are conveyed with the appropriate danger. As the most developed protagonist, Yeong-gyoo is actually quite a complex, and disturbed, figure within the film. Wonderfully acted by Im Chang-jeong, Yeong-gyoo is a particularly nasty piece of work due to his penchant for violence and swearing, as well as the abuse he delivers to the middle aged women who smuggle goods for him. As he is quite unlikeable, director Kim attempts to provide Yeong-gyoo with a ray of hope in the form of love interest Yu-ri, but as she wants absolutely nothing to do with him, he appears to be something of a stalker. Yeong-gyoo’s motivations are therefore unclear. Does he intend to give money to Yu-ri for her father’s operation? Does he intend to give Chae-hee’s organs to Yu-ri? He is incredibly mysterious, but the fact that Yu-ri doesn’t even like him gives rise to the question why he bothers at all.

Director Kim appears to be aware of these issues however, and attempts to address them all for the finale. It’s too little too late of course, but by giving Yeong-gyoo a moral impetus and back story he finally becomes a figure audiences can root for, and hope to succeed. The action and suspense during the final act is frantic and exhilarating as the chase sequences and fighting scenes are tense and brutal as cars are smashed and eyes gouged. The Chinese hospital in particular stands out as a source of abject horror, as the camera moves past rooms filled with organ-less corpses. While the race against time is highly enjoyable, it is ultimately undermined by the silly coincidences and plot absurdities that transpire to transform Yeong-gyoo into the hero, which is a shame considering the action is so engaging.

Yeong-goo must race against time to salvage the operation

Yeong-gyoo must race against time to salvage the operation

Verdict:

The Traffickers is a thrilling and violent film about the black market organ trade that exists between Korea and China. Director Kim Hong-seon captures the tension and action with skill in his debut feature, and the abject horror that arises throughout the film is palpable. Yet the film is hugely problematic as the central protagonists are the exploitative, perverse traffickers who sport zero redeeming features, but the audience are expected to will them to succeed. Combined with some quite absurd narrative occurrences in the final act, The Traffickers is an engaging albeit paradoxical thriller.

★★★☆☆

Reviews

When violence enters her life, Tae-yeon takes up arms

January 28, 2013January 31, 2015

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Bloody Fight In Iron-Rock Valley (철암계곡의 혈투) – ★★★☆☆

Bloody Fight in Iron-Rock Valley (철암계곡의 혈투)

Premiering at the 2011 Puchon International Film Festival, director Ji Ha Jean’s (지하진) Bloody Fight in Iron-Rock Valley (철암계곡의 혈투) was particularly well received. Indeed, the low budget spaghetti western homage earned several awards during its run at PiFan including Best Korean Independent Film, European Fantastic Film Festival Asian Award as well as the Fujifilm Eterna Award.

It’s not hard to see why; the film is a genuine love letter to the classic westerns of Sergio Leone with the nameless outsider-redeemer hero, a town besieged by corruption, and a pretty prostitute with a heart of gold. The Morricone-esque soundtracks for the characters add even further reverence to the respectful homage, heightening the tension of the violent quest immensely. While the budget limitations hinder the storytelling and certain areas require further development, Bloody Fight in Iron-Rock Valley is a thoroughly entertaining indie western.

Finally released from serving a 12 year prison sentence, the man with no name (Lee Moo-saeng, 이무생) begins his quest for revenge. After dispatching a police officer and a gangster in brutal fashion, the man travels to a sleepy backwater town in Gangwan-do in pursuit of his final targets – Ghostface (Yoon Sang-hwa (윤상화) and Axe (Kwak Ja-hyeong (곽자형). Yet upon his arrival the man discovers the town is plagued with corruption due to gambling dens presided over by a crippled boss, causing destitution in its wake. As the nameless man violently brings justice to the town, he encounters prostitute Tae-yeon (Choi Ji-eun (최지은) and wild man Pan-ho (Ji Dae-han (지대한), who join forces for a bloody showdown in iron-rock valley.

The man with no name rides into town

There is much to admire about Bloody Fight in Iron-Rock Valley. The film is a pure and sincere tribute to the western genre, and even film noir classics such as Chinatown, albeit with a Korean twist in the form of the violent revenge thriller. Writer/director Ji Ha Jean amalgamates the features of each incredibly well as the lone anti-hero pursues justice against the corrupt, eliminating them with appalling methods ranging from knives, beatings, and even flame throwers to the mouth. Yet Ji Ha Jeon never allows for the action to subsume the story, continually reinforcing the reasons for such violence through teasing flashback sequences and props a la Once Upon A Time In The West. The references to Leone’s westerns are hugely enjoyable, from the mysterious musical box that holds the key to the past, through to the nameless man dragged through the streets by his neck (via motorcycle), and identifying such sequences are a real thrill for fans of cinema. The villains, branded with pseudonyms rather than names, also hark back to the miscreants of the ol’ west as criminals that have ultimately been acquired by corporations intent on consolidating power.

In this respect Ji Ha Jeon also aligns the film with Korean cultural concerns. Just as the change from wilderness to civilization is a key theme in the western, the director relays this sensibility through Korea’s rapid urbanization. Such disparity is represented well, with wonderful cinematography of the natural misty landscapes from which the nameless man emerges, contrasted with the dilapidated houses and dark quarry pits of industry. The powerful corporation at the source of the transition, headed by a symbolically crippled boss, abuses the land, the community, and Korea’s religious and cultural heritage in the form of a Buddhist temple. The ongoing crimes of the syndicate pull other outsiders into the conflict, making for some engaging, and cathartic, violent confrontations.

When violence enters her life, Tae-yeon takes up arms

Yet aside from the genre pastiches and violence, the restrictions imposed by the shoe-string budget are quite clear. This is perhaps an unfair criticism as what director Ji Ha Jean has achieved with Bloody Fight in Iron-Rock Valley – which was filmed in a month – is remarkable, and the rough-around-the-edges sensibility actually adds a great deal of atmosphere to the film. However, the narrative is in general need of further development particularly in regards to villains and their machinations. Of all the bad guys, Ghostface stands out as the most ruthless and sinister, and his stoicism is competently performed by Yoon Sang-hwa. The other henchmen are merely stereotypical fodder for the nameless anti-hero to challenge and overcome, and in the case of the boss’ son, a general annoyance. The boss himself is woefully underwritten, and rather than a power hungry nefarious fascist he is something of a kindly old man which is frankly bizarre. The gravest underdevelopment however is reserved for the ultimate goal of achieving power in the area, a pivotal feature of the plot and of prior westerns, as the personal vendetta of the anti-hero becomes one that redeems the town. As this element of the narrative is rapidly passed by there is never the sense that the quest has saved a community, and is therefore lacking in compulsion.

Luckily however the finale of Bloody Fight in Iron-Rock Valley features all the classic hallmarks of the western genre, and is downright disturbing as the tragedy of the man with no name is revealed. The confrontation between him and Ghostface in the quarry is full of tension, and is a fitting final tribute to the spaghetti westerns of yore.

The man with no name confronts his nemesis

Verdict:

Bloody Fight in Iron-Rock Valley is a genuine love letter to the classic spaghetti westerns of Sergio Leone. Featuring classic features of the genre, including a nameless outsider-redeemer anti-hero complete with Morricone-inspired score, the independent film provides a huge service for fans of cinema. Director Ji Ha Jean also combines Korean anxieties surrounding the rapid urbanization, making it a distinctly Korean production. The low budget and underdeveloped script hamper the film, but Bloody Fight in Iron-Rock Valley is otherwise an enjoyable, and entertaining, take on the modern western.

★★★☆☆

Reviews

'J' stands victorious over a beaten Detective Choi

January 26, 2013January 31, 2015

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Confession of Murder (내가 살인범이다) – ★★★☆☆

Confession of Murder (내가 살인범이다)

Opening with a surprising and riveting action sequence, Confession of Murder (내가 살인범이다) begins in earnest as tough Detective Choi Hyung-gu (Jeong Jae-yeong, 정재영) and serial killer ‘J’ (Jung Hae-Kyun, 정해균) brutally assault each other. Writer/director Jeong Byeong-gil (정병길), who previously released Action Boys (우린 액션배우다) in 2008, captures the kinetic ferocity and its intensity with skill as the two men beat, throw and chase until exhaustion. And then the story begins, and suddenly everything becomes incredibly problematic.

Requiring huge leaps in logic for the narrative to remain conceivable, Confession of Murder is best enjoyed as an action movie rather than a thriller. The story is, quite frankly, ludicrous while the tone of the film continually shifts dramatically. The stunt team however have created some highly entertaining and adrenline fueled sequences that are engaging. Unfortunately the plot just doesn’t match the action, progressively becoming worse until a final act which manages to undermine everything about the film.

Drinking alone, Detective Choi Hyung-gu is suddenly attacked by ‘J’, a serial killer of 10 women he has been attempting to locate. After a brutal confrontation J stands victorious and, slashing the Detective’s face, runs into the night. Fifteen years later, after the statute of limitations has expired, the murderer appears on television promoting a book which details all of the killings. Calling himself Lee Du-seok (Park Si-hoo (박시후), his book ‘I Am A Murderer‘ becomes an instant best-seller, while his boyish good looks earn Du-seok hordes of fans. His popularity does not sit well with the relatives of the victims, however, and while they launch plans Detective Choi investigates the validity of Du-seok’s claims.

‘J’ stands victorious over a beaten Detective Choi

The stunt team behind Confession of Murder deserve considerable praise for their ingenuity and creativity. Their dynamic, and often quite aggressive, action sequences are the genuine highlight of the film and are thoroughly entertaining. The team also manage to shift the style of action in accordance with the narrative tone, as the sinister and ruthless opening stands in stark contrast to the mad-cap comedy of a later abduction sequence, which is quite a feat.

Yet such tonal changes are just one of the many problems that plague the story. Confession of Murder is never really sure what kind of film it wants to be, and by attempting to appease fans of several genres it manages to entertain but not satisfy any. The gritty urban landscapes of the opening are reminiscent of The Chaser, but are eschewed in favor of exploring the notion of celebrity, then later altered again into screwball comedy, before amalgamating them all. In attempting to juggle such disparate forms the depth required for each doesn’t materialise, and the narrative suffers for it. The release of Du-seok’s book ‘I Am A Murderer‘, and his subsequent rise to stardom due to his handsome appearance, provides the potential for biting social satire and criticism that is only ever hinted at. Similarly, the relatives of victims who transpire to capture and kill Du-seok for his crimes evokes themes from Sympathy for Lady Vengeance, but their pain is wholly undermined by their transformation into comical characters. The most glaring oversight is reserved for the manner in which the statute of limitations is explored. While certainly interesting for much of the running time – if disbelief can be suspended – it ultimately becomes quite farcical by the conclusion.

Appearing after the statute of limitations has expired, Lee Du-seok releases a book about the murders

Despite such drawbacks, Confession of Murder is entertaining in places. The tension generated between Detective Choi and Du-seok is engaging and continually leaves audiences wondering which of the rivals will outsmart the other and emerge triumphant. As the hard-boiled detective, Jeong Jae-yeong delivers another highly competent performance albeit one that he has played several times before. The role never really stretches Jeong Jae-yeong, and as such he appears quite comfortable throughout rather than a desperate man. His counterpart, Park Si-hoo, is surprisingly effective as Du-seok. The actor has clearly been cast for his handsome features, yet he channels this into a smug arrogance convincingly well. The egotistical grin that adorns his face whenever confronting nemesis Detective Choi is wonderfully sleazy, ramping up the tension between them.

For any thriller to leave a lasting impression, however, a certain degree of psychology is required in understanding the motivations of those involved. Director Jeong Byeong-gil realises this far too late, and attempts to flesh out such a back story during the final twenty minutes. This is puzzling to the extreme, as had such scenes transpired during the first act as per tradition, Confession of Murder would have ultimately been a much more engaging film and given incredible impetus to Choi’s mission. Similarly, the murderer clearly sports a host of psychological issues which are barely acknowledged. Instead the finale hinges on masculine prowess, and the highly capable stunt team once again do not disappoint.

Detective Choi gives chase during a dramatic car chase

Verdict:

Confession of Murder is best enjoyed as an action film rather than a thriller due to the wonderfully orchestrated work by the stunt team. While exploring the statute of limitations and notion of celebrity has plenty of potential, writer/director Jeong Byeong-gil ultimately doesn’t assert the required depth – both in narrative and characterisation – due to his attempt to appease fans of multiple genres. An entertaining way to waste a couple of hours, Confession of Murder is a mediocre entry into the thriller canon best enjoyed by fans of the actors involved.

★★★☆☆

Reviews

Hyun lives a life of containment and isolation

January 24, 2013January 31, 2015

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Stateless Things (줄탁동시) – ★★★★☆

Stateless Things (줄탁동시)

As an experimental queer art-house film, Stateless Things (줄탁동시) is a quite a rarity in Korean cinema. Director Kim Kyung-mook (김경묵) has crafted an incredibly unique production that explores the subjects of alienation and homosexuality within the metropolis of Seoul, employing a variety of cinematic techniques in emphasizing ostracization and identities in flux. Through the dual narratives that transpire, the protagonists are forcefully excluded from and contained within the confines of Seoul, allowing for an examination of the city not as a romanticized hub of commerce but as an overbearing arena where identity is subsumed. While the English title Stateless Things points to such themes, the Korean title offers more potent symbolism. ‘줄탁’ means pecking from inside and outside while ‘동시’ means at the same time, alluding to the relationship that exists between the ‘inner’ and ‘outer’ worlds, between senior and junior, and the realization of truth. While director Kim exhibits his fascinating trademark stylization throughout his frank exploration, he is also let down by his eccentricities that makes the story somewhat incoherent and certainly overly long.

Working in a gas station and handing out pamphlets in his spare time, North Korean immigrant Joon (준) lives on the edge of poverty. His manager continually attempts to take advantage of him and co-worker Soon-hee (순희), who is continually sexually harassed by the owner. Having taken enough abuse, Joon and Soon-hee run away together to discover Seoul and a new life. Simultaneously, on the other side of Seoul, a young gay man known as Hyun (현) is facing a different set of problems. Confined to a luxury apartment, the former gay prostitute is comfortable yet lonely and isolated, and at the beck and call of his older businessman boyfriend. As events transpire against them, Joon and Hyun must make a decision that will change them forever.

Joon and Soon-hee traverse the unwelcoming Seoul landscape

Stateless Things is very much a film of two halves, which director Kim uses to contrast themes of alienation exceptionally well. For the first half of the film the narrative focuses on Joon and his poverty-stricken life. As an immigrant in Seoul, Joon is located on the fringes of society and is barely negligible as he pumps gas for customers and distributes unwanted leaflets. His existence is continually represented in terms of exclusion, shunned from the world he is trying to be a part of. The second half of the film explores the life of gay prostitute Hyun, who is confined within the luxurious capitalist trappings of an apartment in a rich neighborhood. Hyun is repeatedly framed as a caged being, watching the world outside from his window and unable to join the masses below. In each case, the framing, tones and landscapes are employed brilliantly to convey the senses of alienation and lack of identity that perplex the central characters. Seoul, and the culture within, are always just out of reach for Joon and Hyun; they can observe, but are not embraced by it and as such their statuses as the ‘other’ are the source of the poignant drama.

Homosexuality is also represented in such a manner. Director Kim deserves credit for interrogating the secretive gay culture that exists in contemporary Seoul, as multiple perspectives of homosexuality are represented from affluent middle-aged men through to young gigolos. Throughout Stateless Things sex is a commodity, often victimizing those outside of mainstream culture and serving to further ostracize them. For many of these scenes a handheld camera is used, adding a documentary-esque realism – and terrible danger – to the proceedings that emphasizes their ‘forgotten’ status within society. Similarly the editing techniques employed enhance the atmosphere of loneliness as Joon is continually passing through his story, while Hyun travels back through time to realize how he came to be in such a predicament.

Hyun lives a life of containment and isolation

While most of director Kim’s technical flourishes serve the story well, there are moments when his experimental style detracts from the film. Chief among these is the character of Soon-hee. Throughout Joon’s story, director Kim works hard to convey Joon and Soon-hee’s delicate bond as outsiders in Seoul, hinting towards the possibility of a deepening relationship and helping each other overcome adversity. Yet Soon-hee is rather unceremoniously dropped from the film altogether, with only a few subtitles indicating what transpired between her and Joon. This, in turn, points to the larger issue that Stateless Things feels somewhat unfinished. This is ironic considering the roughly two hour running time, yet in addition to unresolved narrative bridges, certain scenes require serious editing. Notably, Joon walking down a street last for several minutes as does his and Soon-hee’s visits to tourist destinations, while Hyun’s appointment in a karoke bar lasts incredibly long.

Yet despite these issues, director Kim enhances the story greatly in other areas with such creative touches. This is acutely the case in the finale when Joon and Hyun finally meet and commit to each other, whilst the sexual sequence between Hyun and his older boyfriend is beautifully shot in long take, conveying tender realism as the two begin to fall in love.

The sexual scenes are tender and shot with realism

Verdict:

Stateless Things is a real rarity in Korean cinema. Bold and unflinching in the examination of homosexuality and alienation within contemporary Seoul, director Kim Kyung-mook has produced a heartfelt film full of his trademark technical flourishes. While they don’t always work and the film is overly long, Stateless Things is an intriguing experimental film that explores ostracization and gay culture in a manner which others can only dream of, making the drama a pivotal entry in the Korean queer cinema canon.

★★★★☆

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January 23, 2013January 31, 2015

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Stateless Things (줄탁동시) screening and Q&A with director Kim Kyung-mook (김경묵)

Director Kim Kyung-mook at the Q&A

A special screening of Stateless Things (줄탁동시), followed by a Q&A with director Kim Kyung-mook (김경묵), took place at Indieplus in Gangnam on the 15th of January. Stateless Things is quite a rarity within Korean cinematic culture as experimental queer art-house films are few and far between. The version shown was the two hour ‘uncut’ edition, featuring the sexual scenes that had to be edited in order for general release.

The film explores the concept of alienation within Korean – or, more specifically, Seoul – culture from the perspective of an illegal immigrant and a young gay man. While the immigrant, known as Joon, experiences alienation through exclusion, homosexual Hyun struggles against confinement. Director Kim Kyung-mook explores his protagonists employing various cinematic techniques, primarily non-linear editing and alternating cameras, for a highly unique production that prompted several questions from the audience.

Before the Q&A began, translator and independent film producer Hwang Hye-rim (황혜림) began with an introduction.

Producer Hwang Hye-rim: As it is quite a ‘different’ kind of film, even considering it is an independent film. It is unique, bold, shocking and too ‘obscene’ for some people. At first it was rated ‘R’, a restricted rating, which is like a XXX film in America. It means when you get this ‘R’ rating in Korea you can only screen the film in a certified cinema which is approved for screening ‘R’ rated movies. Which doesn’t exist in Korea at all. There is no cinema which is certified to show those kinds of films. It means if you get an ‘R’ rating, you can’t get it on the screen. So you have two choices. You can either delete or modify certain scenes and get an NC17 so it can be shown in cinemas, or you can have screenings only for specific kinds of events like festivals. That’s the fight that it had to go through to be in the cinema last March. It got NC17 after certain modifications. Not just because of the ratings, but you can also see it’s a very rare kind of film. So we can start with how he made the film, and how it started.

Stateless Things (줄탁동시)

Director Kim Kyung-mook: My first film was called Faceless Things (얼굴 없는 것들) in 2005. This story (Stateless Things) evolved from one of the characters of my debut, which is a story of a young gay boy. From Faceless Things and from that boy character I tried to tell a story about this boy, what would happen to him when he goes out into the outside world, what kind of things would happen to him? That’s how I started to make the story. I wanted to make a coming-of-age story of this young gay boy, that’s how Stateless Things started. The English title is Stateless Things which is named in relation to Faceless Things, but the Korean title is quite different. The Korean title can be interpreted like a hen pecking inside and outside. I don’t know if you’ve read ‘Demian‘ by Hermann Hesse. It’s a story like a bird fighting its way out of an egg by pecking. ‘줄탁’ means pecking from inside and outside and ‘동시’ means at the same time. So it’s an idea of zen. Which means like if a chick is trying to come out from an egg it’s pecking from the inside, and the mother hen hears the sound of the pecking and pecks from the outside. So it’s normally used as an expression to show the relationship between a parent and child, or a teacher/mentor and student. That’s the process of giving birth to life, or realizing a truth. The Korean title has that meaning. But in this case it’s obviously the relationship between the two boys, one boy from inside, one boy from outside. So it’s like they are pecking the shell of an egg to come out to the outside world in a sense. As I mentioned about ‘Demian‘, in the film the expression was used to show the divided identity of this boy – these boys can be one boy or two boys – but he has two different kind of egos inside him. That’s why I used this title, to show that kind of idea.

Question: There’s a very strong feeling of alienation in the movie. And it seemed like a conflation between personal and social or national. Can you tell us anything about the influences that brought those two senses of alienation together?

Director Kim: Like most other directors this story also comes from my personal experience. So that was one of my influences. And it’s kind of related to my experience from when I came from Busan to Seoul. I moved to Seoul when I was about that age. And that’s why there’s a feeling of alienation, one of the main atmospheres you felt when watching this movie. I’ve heard a lot that the depiction of Seoul, or the scenes that have the landscape of Seoul, looks very different and strange. I’ve heard that a lot from Korean audiences. It’s probably because I felt like that when I first came to Seoul, like an alien or total stranger. So that’s how I looked at Seoul when I first came. Of course it has changed now as I have been living here for more than 10 years. So it’s not exactly the same, I don’t feel the same way I did before. But still it has a certain kind of strange look, Seoul has that kind of face when I look at it and that’s why it’s in the film. The feeling of space and moving, that’s how alienation becomes one of the main feelings in the film. That’s exactly the feeling I felt the most at that age when I came to Seoul. The alienation is about social alienation but it’s also the kind of feeling about being alienated from yourself, because you feel the chaos at that age. And you are often confused about who you really are, thinking about your identity and who you are and searching for yourself. So it was that kind of time for me. And that’s why they are feeling lonely as well, it’s not because they have no girlfriend or boyfriend, it’s because they have no answer to the question ‘Who are you?’ They are still searching for it. That was my experience around that age, and that’s how the story evolved from that experience.

Some of the gay sex scenes were deemed controversial

Question: In the end credits, there were actors that played two characters. Was it because of lack of money or budget, or was it intentional?

Director Kim: Well it’s kind of intentional, it wasn’t because of lack of money. I wanted to give you the feeling of when you are seeing the same faces but in a different kind of feeling or story. So the first part of the film, and the second part, you see these people but they are not main characters. But you see the same faces in very different situations. For example you saw the women from the labour office, she was spanked in part 2 by the gay boy so it’s completely different kind of character played by one actor. That was my intention, to give this different kind of feeling from the same faces. There is other male character as well who played two roles, but it was cut out during the editing process. The film was already quite long enough so I had to remove it in editing.

Question: You showed a lot of different perspectives of having a gay lifestyle in Korea. A man with a double life who has a wife and a boyfriend, a young gay man who is trapped, another who is forced into homosexuality through poverty. But Korean movies are quite popular, the ones that have gay themes, like The King and The Clown and Bungee Jumping of Their Own. Why are movies with gay themes very popular, but it doesn’t translate into society? Why do you think that is?

Director Kim: I think one of the biggest reasons is the generation gap. I think the younger generation are much more open to gay culture and gay themes, or having gay friends. And the films you have mentioned are quite young at heart, in a sense, and there are a lot of dramas and soap operas and comic books which deals with gay issues very openly. A lot of young people are ready to embrace it, they don’t have any problems with that. But I think the older generation, maybe over 40s or 50s, they have lived a totally different life in a different era. So for them it’s still quite difficult to recognize this kind of culture or embrace it. That’s probably why. But they are the ones who still have the power, social status, and authority, to change things legally or politically. That’s why you cannot see as much difference in terms of law or social changes. But I think we have seen very big changes in recent years with young people and culture.

Joon and Soon-hee traverse the unwelcoming Seoul landscape

Question: I have two questions. The first is, how did you do the casting of the actors? How much was scripted, and how much did the actors do themselves? What was their feedback and input into the characters? And the second question is, I’m sure it’s probably often asked but why is the title so far into the film?

Director Kim: To answer the first question, except for some adult actors, most of the actors who played the main roles were first time actors. I found them through an audition. For most of them it was their first feature film experience. I was trying to find appropriate actors for the characters. Most of the scenes, especially the scenes with exposure, were written in the script already. So most of the actors who came to the audition said no to those scenes, it was too much for most of the actors who auditioned. So I had to find actors amongst those who wouldn’t say no to the script. I also tried to talk a lot with the actors, that’s how I work usually. I also tried to research a lot about North Korean defectors and gay people. I visited the gay clubs in Itaewon a lot. I also talked a lot to Korean-Chinese people with my actors. That’s how it happened. And the second question, about why the title came so late, I thought putting the title at the beginning of the film doesn’t really fit with this film. That’s what I thought. I didn’t want to start the film with a title. The question was then, where should I put it? I thought the scene when the two boys are meeting each other is kind of a beginning of the story for me, so I chose to put the title in front of that scene. But right before that scene, you remember the long sequence where Joon is walking down the street, it feels like an ending scene so I wanted to put a little bit of atmosphere of an opening scene as well. It looks like an ending, but it’s also a beginning at the same time. That’s the feeling I wanted to create. It’s like the end is the beginning is the end, in a sense. I thought that’s a better fit considering the whole rhythm of the film.

Question: When you started telling the story of the boy in the apartment, why did you decide to play with time? What was the symbolic reason for that?

Director Kim: Actually I tried to play with time throughout the film at first, but I thought maybe it would be easier if I reduced that a little to make it easier to understand the whole story, if I made it more chronological. So I reduced, or focused it more, on the apartment scenes. But as you can see in the opening scene when they are on the bike and running by the street, I also played with time a little bit there as well. The reason is that I was trying to show the story as if it is remembering something. It’s like telling a s tory about your past. The story is like the past of these two boys. And if you remember they are burning a diary at the end of the film, and I was trying to give this feeling, of getting rid of your past, and it’s time to move on to another future, in a sense. So that’s why the story is going backwards. Whenever you feel hard or difficult times in your life you go back to past memories. That’s why the movie has the structure of playing with time. It’s like telling a story by looking at the past and their memories. The structure, or frame, of memory was the main structure I was thinking of when I was making this film.

Hyun lives a life of containment and isolation

Question: I have noticed, in the past year especially, quite a lot of Korean films have dealt with issues that are usually very taboo to talk about in society. What I have noticed, which is quite exceptional, is that they have been dealt with full-on without any hidden facets, and very truthfully and realistically but at the same time very sensitively. What special attributes do Korean directors have that enables them to make films that are so frank and honest and extremely good? It’s very much appreciated.

Director Kim: Thank you! I’m not sure if I have the right answer but I’m going to try it anyway. I think maybe it’s because we had a history that changed very very quickly. Our society has gone through fast changes in the last few decades. So in the process a lot of things were suppressed and there was a lot of pressure in every aspect of society. Culturally, socially, politically. We went through this in a very short time compared to other societies in other continents. That’s probably why we end up having this power or strength against it, from that experience. I also feel the same way when I see some of the films from South-East Asian countries, and China. And I would like to say the same comment that you said about Korean films. In those countries, they are going through a change as well from a not very democratic society to a hopefully better society, so I think that kind of status of being more suppressed means you have more will and more energy to express. Resistance. You’re more willing to resist.

Question: It’s slightly related to structure. There were two scenes before Hyun and Joon meet that quite surprised me because they were unexpected scenes from each others lives. And they were both scenes of prostitution. The way that I picture it in my head is like kind of a yin and yang. It’s one persons story, but then there’s this punctuation of sex as a commodity in each of them. I think as far as I remember, those are the only two scenes in each others stories that appear. I was wondering about those scenes.

Director Kim: To me, as you said it can be like Yin and Yang, or like two different egos in one character. But for me these two boys were connected as one. Its like they’re behaving the same way, but have two different faces, for example. They are having paid sex, doing the same thing, but have different faces. For me those two scenes were related in that way. I wanted to create a feeling that they might be one person and not two. Also the scenes with the diary, some parts were shown in different parts of the movie. That was to give the feeling that they are from one diary, and that these boys are the same person. So the diary and the sex scene were devices for me to show that they are one. I also used several bridge sequences, like the video camera and hidden camera images, to show their mindscape being connected. It’s not consistent, but that’s how I wanted to show their minds were connected.

Director Kim addressed the audience in English, thanking them for attending

(Director Kim then spoke in English to address the audience) It’s a really rare chance to have a Q&A in English here. I haven’t actually had a chance to talk in English in a theater in Korea, so it was kind of surprising. I actually didn’t know that before coming here. I feel like I should of asked where you guys came from, but I missed it. Maybe after the Q&A I can maybe ask you, if you guys come to me.

Question: Are you making any new projects these days?

Director Kim: I’ve been working on a documentary for 2 years but I think I’m screwed! I’m not sure if I can go on. I’m just kidding. I’m still editing and I think I’ll be finishing the editing process by the end of this year. It’s about prostitution, women prostitutes. This time it’s about women, not men.

Sincere thanks to Director Kim yung-mook for graciously answering questions, and to Producer Hwang Hye-rim and Manager Kwon Mi-hui for translating and hosting the event.

Directors Interviews/Q&As

January 14, 2013January 31, 2015

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Jiseul (지슬) – ★★★★★

Jiseul (지슬)

Director O Muel’s (오멸) Jiseul (지슬) quickly became known as one of the most interesting and exemplary screenings upon its debut at the 2012 Busan International Film Festival. The monochrome film depicts the little-known events of the 1948 Jeju Island Uprising – or rather, massacre – in which the Korean military brutally suppressed and killed up to a fifth of the entire population. For fifty years after, even mentioning what transpired was a crime punishable by torture and incarceration. Yet with his fourth feature director O Muel, a Jeju Islander himself, presents the atrocities that were committed with stark and uncompromising realism, simultaneously portraying the horrifying events alongside the indomitable spirit of the Jeju villagers. While Jiseul suffers due to lack of context and scope, the film is poignant and harrowing in its account of the tragedy, with the five awards won at BIFF, and an invitation to the 2013 Sundance Film Festival and International Film Festival Rotterdam, testament to its raw cinematic power.

Jiseul (지슬)

Throughout Jiseul director O Meul employs stunning directorial flair in capturing the range of experiences brought about by the Uprising. Of particular note are the astonishing long takes that are utterly absorbing, drawing the audience into such awful events as exploring a homestead following a raid, and an all-out assault on a village. In addition to the monochrome colours, such long takes are highly effective in conveying stark, chilling realism and as such are powerfully emotive. It’s impossible not to feel horror as farmers and the elderly are mercilessly stabbed and brutalized during such sequences. The incredible cinematography by Yang Jung-Hoon also adds potency as the snow covered landscapes and farming villages are attractive yet foreboding, and the tension as these arenas are traversed is often palpable.

The residents of the town seek shelter and safety in a cave

Yet the heart of Jiseul is undoubtedly the assortment of colourful characters that populate the film, particularly the Islanders who flee to the safety of the caves. O Muel displays his talents as a scriptwriter with their dialogue as the Islanders laugh, bicker, and discuss the farming lifestyle amongst themselves, all of which are highly amusing. While there are too many figures to delve into serious character development, the conversations are unfailing in creating empathy with their plight. Initially, due to the lack of context, it seems as if the Islanders are running from a threat that doesn’t exist. Yet as the narrative progresses, and the terrible physical and sexual assaults perpetrated by the soldiers are portrayed, the threat becomes ever more real. In Korean cinema such atrocities are most commonly aligned with an external threat – typically Japanese imperial forces – and O Muel deserves credit for challenging this ideological form and locating the threat internally. The director also wisely moves beyond mere stereotypes of evil in depicting factions of soldiers breaking away from the main Korean army, holding true to historical accounts.

It is in this historical regard that Jiseul suffers the most, as anyone unfamiliar with the Jeju Uprising will find precious little context given. Aside from a few sentences that bookend the film, it is difficult to achieve a sense of appreciation as to why the events are occurring, and what led to this point. Hints are occasionally given as to the wider conflict ongoing around the island, yet as there is little sense of scale it is difficult to determine. Yet in place of scale, Jiseul contains potent symbolism through the use of iconography and other facets of the mise-en-scene that not only convey the tragic loss of life, but also the attempts to conceal the truth. As such the power of the film lies in its intimate, raw visual aesthetics and makes Jiseul one of the most intriguing, and important, Korean films of 2012.

The monochrome palette and symbolism are highly effective

Verdict:

Jiseul is a powerful and harrowing account of the 1948 Jeju Uprising, with director O Muel’s monochrome palette and intense visual style adding incredible potency and realism to the true-life events. Accompanied by some wonderful cinematography by Yang Jung-Hoon, director O Muel deserves credit for challenging dominant ideology by not only attempting to create awareness of the massacre, but also for locating the source of horror internally with the Korean military. While the film suffers from lack of context for those ignorant of the Uprising, Jiseul is an exemplary independent production and one of the most important releases of 2012.

★★★★★