Kim Sae-ron 김새론

May 25, 2015July 6, 2015

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Snowy Road (눈길) – ★★★☆☆

Snowy Road (눈길)

During the Japanese occupation of Korea, Yeong-ae (Kim Sae-ron (김새론), the arrogant daughter of a rich man in the village, studies hard to learn the language of the hostile force and be accepted within the ranks. Poverty-stricken Jong-boon (Kim Hyang-ki (김향기), meanwhile, must contend herself with menial chores until the possibility of marrying out of hardship arises. Yet when the Japanese forces come looking for girls to be ‘comfort women’ – or rather, sexual slaves – financial status does not enter consideration and both youngsters are abducted into a life of horrific servitude.

In the present day Jong-boon (Kim Yeong-ok (김영옥), now an elderly woman, lives alone in a dilapidated part of town. Noticing that her teenage neighbour Eun-soo (Cho Soo-hyang (조수향) is in trouble, she takes it alone herself to help the girl and in doing so is forced to confront the traumatic experiences of her past.

Yeong-ae and Jong-boon are abducted and forced to provide sexual services to Japanese troops

Snowy Road originally aired as a two-part television drama, yet for the purpose of a cinematic release the episodes have been edited together to create a powerful testament to the horrific abuses Korean women suffered during the Japanese occupation. Despite a large number of films and documentaries exploring the subject matter over the years, upon receiving its world premiere at Jeonju Film Festival 2015, Snowy Road left audiences sobbing at the depiction of two of Korea’s youngest and most celebrated actresses reenacting the torture so many women suffered at the hands of the Japanese Imperial Army. While the film does not always escape the production shortcomings and melodramatic trappings of K-drama, Snowy Road is a particularly emotional piece that strongly resonates.

Director Lee Na-jeong and writer Yoo Bo-ra have crafted an impressive tribute to women’s suffering in both the past and present through the non-linear story, cutting between the two periods to reinforce how women’s rights have changed and how far they have yet to go. For scenes in the past, director Lee conveys the atrocities committed to Korean women through the abduction, imprisonment and abuses Yeong-ae and Jong-boon endure at the hands of the Japanese. Yet in the present a rather different set of injustices are dealt with, as elderly Jong-boon is routinely treated with disrespect while her young charge Eun-soo, alone and in need of money, becomes easy prey for wealthy middle-aged men. It is difficult to state how brave director Lee and writer Yoo are for examining the abuses of the past (Japanese men) and present (Korean men) and depicting them parallel to each other through the narrative, especially given the current highly conservative and patriarchal political climate, as well as with anti-Japanese sentiment so high following Prime Minister Abe’s denial that the incidents ever occurred. That is not to say that the crimes are in any way equal – rather, that Lee and Yoo’s bravery comes from not over-simplifying the debates put forth as purely the result of an external ‘other’, but also critically looking within contemporary Korean culture to explore the plights that effect modern Korean women. Snowy Road presents the issues well, impressively articulating that women need to stand united against injustices past and present to draw attention to their plight, rather than internalise guilt and shame.

Elderly Jong-boon and Eun-soo form a unique bond through their experiences

Elderly Jong-boon and Eun-soo form a unique bond due to their experiences

While Snowy Road ambitiously tackles such sensitive issues competently, the film consistently struggles to escape its origins, existing somewhere between a TV drama and film but not quite fitting into either category. Cinematography of landscapes are generally composed with skill and appear cinematic, yet when faced with more intimate moments or generating tension the budget limitations become increasingly clear. As such crucial scenes, most explicitly apparent at the internment camp where Yeong-ae and Jong-boon are abused, lack the potency and sense of urgency that a film of this nature should contain.

The film also falls into cliche TV drama territory as the narrative attempts to come to a close. Melodrama has long been a feature of Korean TV and film output so it comes as little surprise that such generic devices arise in Snowy Road, however a film dealing with the subject matter of comfort women hardly requires such heavy-handed efforts to evoke tears from the audience. The story is tragic enough without additional manipulative melodramatic tropes, and their inclusion does a disservice to those who experienced such horrific trauma.

However that said, director Lee has chosen a particularly solid cast to express the issues being put forth. Kim Sae-ron is really developing into a wonderfully talented actress, and following her stellar performance in A Girl at My Door she exudes the icy arrogance of her character in Snowy Road delightfully. Playing off Kim’s cold demeanour is no small effort yet Kim Hyang-ki (Thread of Lies) is especially likeable as the young and warm-hearted Jong-boon. The actresses have established their careers with monikers such as ‘the nation’s daughters’ which undoubtedly serves to generate even more emotional resonance. The actresses in the present are somewhat shortchanged by the script yet Cho Soo-hyang, who scored Best Actress at Busan Film Festival 2014 for Wild Flowers, and Kim Yeong-ok acquit themselves admirably.

Jong-boon and Yeong-ae attempt to flee the internment camp

Verdict:

Snowy Road is a highly emotional charged film about ‘comfort women’ and the horrific abuses they suffered during the Japanese occupation. Yet director Lee Na-jeong and writer Yoo Bo-ra impressively combine the sensitive subject matter with the issues faced by contemporary women, and deserve credit for it. While the film often struggles to escape its TV drama origins, Snowy Road is a powerful and resonating story on a vital topic.

★★★☆☆

October 3, 2014January 30, 2015

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A Girl at My Door (도희야) – ★★★★☆

A Girl at My Door (도희야)

Forced to relocate in the countryside due to an undisclosed issue in the city, police officer Yeong-nam (Bae Doo-na (배두나) prepares herself for a year of exile. Despite being one of the youngest adults in the city Yeong-nam is appointed chief of police, and in getting to know her new surroundings she is quickly exposed to the middle-aged, laid back way of life, as well as the migrant workers who help keep the town alive through manual labour. Yet no sooner as she attempts to settle, Yeong-nam is confronted with horrific child abuse against her young neighbour Do-hee (Kim Sae-ron (김새론) by her father Yong-ha (Song Sae-byeok (송새벽) and grandmother (Kim Jin-goo (김진구). To protect Do-hee from further domestic abuse Yeong-nam takes the child under her care, just as her past begins to catch up with her.

Do-hee is a victim of terrible domestic abuse in the country town

A victim of terrible abuse, Do-hee is a social outcast in need of protection

A Girl at My Door (도희야) is a simply phenomenal debut by writer/director July Jung (Jeong Joo-ri (정주리). Director Jung’s film is a powerful and intelligent exploration of discrimination and violence in Korean culture with a uniquely feminist spin that is all too rare in the industry. The approach taken in exploring such social issues is reminiscent of cinema legend Lee Chang-dong‘s work, particularly Poetry, which more than likely explains his decision to take a producer credit on the film. A Girl at My Door differentiates itself from director Lee’s work however in that director Jung’s layered script not only employs a multitude of perspectives in interrogating discrimination, but also in that she keenly conveys the ironies of Korean culture, particularly in regard to pretense. Central protagonist Yeong-nam projects a strong and stoic image as the chief of police, concealing her fraught complexity in regards to her history, emotional state, and very identity. Her dependancy on soju, which she conceals in water bottles, adds potent irony to an already paradoxical situation as she hides her addiction from those around her in a bid to remain a socially acceptable image. Director Jung captures moments such as these with incredible prowess conveying them in ways both subtle and obvious, balancing her character study with a skill belying her experience.

Yet where director Jung truly excels is through the relationship that develops between Yeong-nam and abuse victim Doo-hee. This is in no small part due to the astounding performances of both Bae Doo-na and, particularly, Kim Sae-ron. Bae Doo-na is constantly captivating as the police chief as she wrestles her internal conflicts, conveying a cold stoicism when in the presence of others yet a subtle fragility when alone. Yet it is youngster Kim Sae-ron who steals the limelight with her astonishing turn as social outcast Do-hee. Her range throughout A Girl at My Door is staggeringly impressive as an abuse victim desperate for love, with her unpredictability compelling to the utmost degree. Despite having two radically different characters director Jung crafts their relationship with a natural sincerity that never fails to be engaging. From small moments at meal times to more intimate scenes as they become closer, director Jung captures Do-hee’s reverence and Yeong-nam’s responsibility-turned-devotion with palpable affection.

Yeong-nam invites Doo-hee to stay with her for a summer, where their relationship considerably develops

Yeong-nam invites Do-hee to stay with her for a summer, where their relationship considerably develops

Through the central relationship as well as Yeong-nam’s position as law enforcement, A Girl at My Door explores discrimination within Korean society through the microcosm of a small countryside town. Director Jung interrogates the issue from a variety of perspectives, chiefly the sexism, homophobia and ageism that is so openly expressed by those in society. Despite her position as chief of police Yeong-nam is still subjected to gender and age discrimination by those she protects and works with, while her status as someone from the city also adds to the prejudice received. Do-hee is subjected to abuse which is justified due to her social status as a young orphan of sorts. The narrative impressively examines how such discrimination has become normalised within culture at both societal and governmental levels, with the frustration of innocents attempting to fight against it a source of inspiration and empowerment. Racism also arises through the incorporation of migrant workers within the story, adding a further perspective on the issue as they are forced to endure manual labour. Through her sense of irony director Jung astutely conveys how contemporary society is willing to accept such prejudice as long as their quality of life is assured, and their terrible reaction when it is challenged even in the name of the law.

The stakes are raised when Do-hee’s father Yong-ha is arrested for assaulting his workers

Verdict:

A Girl at My Door is a phenomenal debut by director July Jung, who examines issues of discrimination in contemporary Korea through the microcosm of small countryside town. Featuring beautiful cinematography and an intelligent, irony-laced script, A Girl at My Door also boasts two exceptional performances from Bae Doo-na and in particular from rising star Kim Sae-ron. Not to be missed.

★★★★☆

Busan International Film Festival (제19회 부산국제영화제) Festival News Korean Festivals 2014 Reviews

Young Kim Geum-hwa is visited by a plethora of gods on her path

February 17, 2014January 30, 2015

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Manshin: Ten Thousand Spirits (만신) – ★★★★☆

Manshin: Ten Thousand Spirits (만신)

Manshin: Ten Thousand Spirits (만신) had the distinction of being the opening film for the 2013 DMZ Documentary Film Festival, and deservedly so. Director Park Chan-kyong’s (박찬경) film not only provides an autobiographical account of renowned shaman – and intangible cultural asset – Kim Keum-hwa, but also explores her life and times in conjunction with an incredibly tumultuous period of (recent) Korean history.

The result is a fascinating look at key components of Korean history and culture through the endurance of Kim Keum-hwa and her dedication to traditional shamanism. By delving into her past and reenacting key moments, issues ranging from the evolving state of feminism, the relationship between North and South Koreas, and the Park Chung-hee era all combine into a portrait of a woman and a country who have held on to tradition despite the odds.

Kim Geum-hwa endured an awful childhood in North Korea before embracing shamanism

Kim Keum-hwa endured an awful childhood in North Korea before embracing shamanism

Director Park Chan-kyong has previously expressed his interest in shamanism through his excellent short film Night Fishing, yet with Manshin he examines the cultural form in a much more profound fashion. One of the great strengths of the film lies in not only exploring but reenacting Kim Keum-hwa’s life. Talented actresses Kim Sae-ron, Ryoo Hyeon-kyeong and Moon So-ri all depict the shaman at different stages of her development and portray the various trials she was forced to endure with sincerity and depth. These scenes, combined with Kim Keum-hwa’s interviews and quotes from her published work, make the autobiography a palpable and moving account of a woman who has endured much throughout her life. Her marriage at 14 years old in North Korea is a harrowing story of violence and fear, while her embrace of shamanism and emigration to the south years later is one of hope and sorrow; the persecution Kim experienced in her middle-ages despite her dedication to Korean culture adds even further tragedy. Each stage of Kim Keum-hwa’s life would be enough for a novel or film in itself, yet her perseverance through so many challenging events is constantly admirable, while the poignant performances of the three lead actresses, in conjunction with Kim’s interviews via voice-over, add incredible weight to the story.

Brilliantly, in depicting Kim Keum-hwa’s life Manshin also reveals Korea’s astonishing recent history. Director Park seamlessly aligns Kim’s efforts to remain alive and strong with that of the country and culture itself, as the shaman attempts to avoid the Japanese occupation in North Korea, her departure to the south following the outbreak of civil war, and dictator Park Chung-hee’s desire to erase anything considered old or antiquated in his quest to modernise the country. Director Park emphasises Kim’s struggles as national ones, trials dedicated to the preservation of cultural materials and practices despite the odds. As such the film never takes a stance on whether shamanism is real or otherwise, instead focusing on cultural value and national identity, as well as Kim’s empowering status as an intangible cultural asset.

Young Kim Keum-hwa is visited by a plethora of gods on her path

Manshin is also a very attractive documentary. Director Park Chan-kyong certainly has a keen eye for composition, with shots throughout the reenactments of the shaman’s life often akin to paintings. Furthermore symbolism is also skillfully woven within such scenes, from the connotations of finding a shoe through to the appearance of the gods themselves, that add an understated beauty and mysticism. The use of light and colour are consistently appealing and capture the vibrancy of Korean shamanism with confidence, as well as conveying the different stages of Kim’s life, her emotions, and her otherworldly abilities. The animated sequences, which serve to explain philosophies behind shamanism, are exquisite and beautifully convey the uniqueness of Korean culture, and are a genuine delight whenever they appear.

However, Manshin is an extremely ambitious documentary, so much so that the overall film suffers for it. In attempting to contain so much about Kim Keum-hwa’s life, shamanism and Korean history, the film becomes a somewhat superficial exploration, exploring key moments yet tending to gloss over further details as well as occurrences in the intervals between. Manshin often loses focus due to this, and the structure of the film generally is rather loose requiring audiences to ‘stick with it’ for certain periods before getting back on track.

Despite such criticisms, Manshin is a very rewarding documentary, and one that serves to enlighten and entertain in a myriad of ways.

Kim Geum-hwa is persecuted by Protestants during the Park Chung-hee regime

Kim Keum-hwa is persecuted by Protestants during the Park Chung-hee regime

Manshin: Ten Thousand Spirits (만신) is a very enlightening documentary about Kim Keum-hwa, Korea’s premiere shaman. Director Park Chan-kyong beautifully captures, and reenacts with three of the country’s top actresses, the key events of her life from Kim’s youth in North Korea through to her contemporary life in the south. Masterfully, director Park also depicts Kim’s life as a shaman in conjunction with the development of Korea itself and the preservation of cultural identity. While the structure is uneven and the story tends to lose focus, Manshin is a rewarding and illuminating experience.

★★★★☆

Reviews

Soon-yeon looks after her sickly younger sibling

December 27, 2012February 1, 2015

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Barbie (바비) – ★★★★☆

Barbie (바비)

Director Lee Sang-woo (이상우) has earned the moniker of the ‘ogre of independent cinema’, a title which he is interestingly in favor of. The titles in his filmography attest to his desire to explore controversial subjects, notably Mother is a Whore (엄마는 창녀다) (2009) and Father is a Dog (아버지는 개다) (2010), both of which scrutinize the Korean family unit. As such, the influential director’s films are fascinating insights into taboo subjects often ignored by mainstream cinema.

With Barbie, the topic of international adoption is broached yet throughout the narrative director Lee Sang-woo also examines the concept of the ‘American dream’, the materialism within Korean society, and the poverty and human rights abuses that impact those living on the fringes of contemporary society. The film is a fascinating perspective on such an array of controversial subjects and, while it does takes some time to establish the story, Barbie is an incredibly compelling and poignant production.

Soon-yeong (Kim Sae-ron (김새론) and her sickly younger sister Soon-ja (Kim Ah-ron (김아론), live with their mentally ill father on the coast of Pohang city. Life is extremely difficult for the family, and while Soon-yeong diligently takes care of everyone her sister dreams of escape. Their uncle Mang-taek (Lee Cheon-hee (이천희) exploits them all in running his coastal motel where drunks and vagrants frequent. Yet everything changes when Mang-taek’s associate, an American named Steve (Earl Jackson) arrives with his daughter Barbie (Cat Tebo) with an offer to take Soon-yeong back to the USA for ‘a better life’. With the family thrown into chaos, and Steve’s motivations becoming increasingly unclear, Soon-yeong and Soon-ja must make decisions that will change them forever.

Soon-yeon, Soon-ja and their father have their lives turned upside down by Mang-taek

The world of Barbie – the coastal area of Pohang City – is expertly constructed as a nihilistic purgatory by director Lee Sang-woo. The bleakness of the surroundings and the poverty that afflicts Soon-yeon’s family is palpable, while the vagrants and sexual predators that move in and out of their lives bring a genuine sense of danger to their well-being. The director constantly challenges the family with the society and culture that surrounds them, allowing for a slow-paced yet highly interesting examination of those struggling to survive in contemporary Korea. With no mother and a mentally ill father, it’s down to Soon-yeon to take on the roles of mother for her sibling Soon-ja, as well as wife and bread-winner as she sells home-made accessories and prepares meals. Yet the real tragedy lies in the fact her efforts are never appreciated, as her father cannot articulate his affection while Soon-ja has grown to despise the life into which she has been born, fantasizing of an escape of make-up and pretty dresses. Such protagonists are complex and acutely difficult to portray, yet the casting of real-life sisters Kim Sae-ron and Kim Ah-ron is an absolute masterstroke. The two young actresses are simply wonderful in conveying not only their poverty-stricken lifestyle, but also how it has forged them into very different beings. Kim Sae-ron, who has honed her talent through films such as The Man From Nowhere and Neighbors, is startlingly poignant throughout Barbie as her indomitable spirit overcomes the heartache before her. Yet younger sister Kim Ah-ron continually threatens to steal the show with her vehement bitterness towards those around her and the desperate attempts to make her fantasy of becoming a princess a reality. However, Soon-ja’s poor health always brings her back to the homestead and Soon-yeon’s care, adding further layers of nuance in exploring the family unit.

Soon-yeon looks after her sickly younger sibling

The notion of escape is ultimately provided by uncle Mang-taek, and his associate Steve. Mang-taek is a shockingly awful parental figure due to his abusive language and the manner in which he treats the young girls, bullying and insulting them to get what he wants. His awareness of their plight, and his refusal to share the burden, adds further animosity to his untrustworthy nature. His relationship with Steve is complex to say the least, with the two secretive men disliking and reviling yet needing one another, allegorizing the nature of Korean and American ties. While Mang-taek curses Steve with racial slurs and offenses under his breath, Steve openly displays his detest of Korea in a similarly offensive fashion, highlighting their mutual dislike and lack of cultural understanding yet are forced to work together. Furthermore, director Lee Sang-woo continually emphasises the wealth gap between them through contrasting the luxurious arenas in which Steve and daughter Barbie inhabit, with the extreme poverty occupied by Soon-yeon’s family. Hope appears, however, through the burgeoning friendship between Soon-yeon and Barbie. While they cannot communicate there is an unspoken mutual respect which the director uses to explore the generational ideological differences.

The crux of Barbie’s narrative is the adoption of Soon-yeong by Steve, yet her friendship with his daughter angers him to an unreasonable degree. The plot takes an incredibly long time to explore why this is the case, yet when it finally arrives the film shines as one of the most compelling and poignant pieces of independent cinema of 2012. The contrast between Soon-yeon, who wishes to stay, and Soon-ja, who wishes to go, is central in exploring the concept of the Korean family as well as the dream of America as a land of opportunity and escape. The bittersweet nature of both philosophies are wonderfully conveyed by director Lee Sang-woo, and his approach leaves a lasting and indelible impression.

Soon-ja dreams of America as an escape from poverty

Verdict:

Barbie is a highly compelling and poignant drama from director Lee Sang-woo that explores an incredible array of social issues within contemporary Korea. As with the director’s previous work the focus is squarely on interrogating the family unit, yet the inclusion of international adoption allows for an expansion in highlighting a variety of socio-cultural themes and issues. While it takes the film quite some time to get going, Barbie serves as a powerful reminder of the issues facing those in poverty and leaves an indelible impression.

★★★★☆