Did You Bit, Or Get Bitten?: Sector 7 (2011)

I am known for my over defense of South Korean cinema, because to accept that bad movies emerge out of their highly transgressive and decidedly evocative country would be to admit anything short of perfection, even though I am aware that South Korea, much like the other major players in the state of world cinema, are equally subject to rushed production, blockbuster bait films and a general concern for the capital success of a film over its aesthetic, social product.  This, of course, does not entirely mean that a film cannot be enjoyable, I will openly admit to finding far more pleasure in many popcorn movies than many, but again South Korean cinema manages to make this slightly different in the existence of The Host, Bong Joon-ho's 2007 monster movie, from which a film like Sector 7 is undoubtedly attempting to emerge.  The Host is a spectacle film that uses its heavy CGI reliance to overlay one of the most earnest and poignant looks at contemporary family issues, transcendent of nationhood or class.  Indeed, Sector 7 is a film that was shot with the intent of being seen in the third dimension and since my viewing was done in the home, it does lose that sense of excitement that pushed something like Pacific Rim from simply being alright to being outwardly engaging and thrilling.  Yet, even aware that I was losing a degree of the cinematic offering without the extra dimension, I was still quite aware of the way the film bookended its film with the special effects as a means to mask a half-hearted attempt at considering issues of group unity, capitalist consumption and to a further degree the validity of gender divides in a "post-feminist" society.  I use the word mask very purposefully, because not only does the spectacle of the film consume any possibility of this becoming a key element in the narrative, it also uses the glossy sheen to hide the clear inability of the director and writer to formulate a clear commentary on its characters, becoming nothing more than a set of cookie cutter characters slowly falling victim to a giant beast.  Sector 7 borrows from many classics in this vein, yet manages to pick the worst elements from each.

After a brief introduction involving a man checking the integrity of an oil pipe in 1985, only to be attacked by something off screen, Sector 7 focuses on a group of oil riggers off the coast of South Korea who have been facing a rather bad string of outings, each time finding little to no oil.  The leader of the crew, while not the captain is Cha Hae-joon (Ha Ji-won) a tough around the edges woman, who despite her demeanor shares deep feelings with one of her other crew members.  When yet another drilling fails miserably, the captain explains to the crew and an infuriated Cha that they will be leaving Sector 7 in hopes of finding a new place to drill.  This idea is changed however when Cha's uncle arrives, a higher up in the oil refinery's ranks, he explains that they will continue their efforts here, while also working more closely with a marine biology project researching a new species of fish that was discovered during a failed drilling.  Confused, but not lacking in hesitancy, Cha and her crew take up their task with great fervor, until things become weird when during a routine line check, one of the divers' harnesses breaks leading him plunging into the dark abyss of the ocean right in front of Cha's eyes.  This odd and tragic occurrence only begins a series of unfortunate events including an apparent suicide, before it is realized that one of the previously studied fish has appeared to mutate into a destructive amphibian being that is devouring the crew members one by one.  While mounting a defense, it is revealed that Cha's uncle, along with the larger corporation, had been breeding this creature for its particular genetic similarities to unrefined oil, hoping to tap into it as a future source for fuel.  While frustration, Cha is afforded little time to confront the issue, as members of the group are continually being killed, eventually leading to the point when it is only Cha surviving to face off against the creature on the deck of their oil refinery.  Her quick thinking and motorcycle based elusiveness afford her an opportunity to bait the creature back below deck, using the very drill that exposed it to the surface to destroy it.  The film then closes with a panning of multiple oil refineries, explaining that the Sector 7 refinery is a real place, currently existing in a state of inactivity awaiting a divide between Japan and South Korea over who rightly owns the oil from the rig.

It is this unapologetic shift into the real in the closing moments that make Sector 7 a particularly frustrating viewing experience.  I am not opposed to genre films or blockbuster movies taking on serious and real topics, but it is usually done so from the onset, as opposed to purely being an addendum to a film that aside from location really shares nothing with its geopolitical issue.  I find this sort of haphazard dumping of social, gender, and political issues into a film like this not unwelcome, but problematically frustrating.  The film, assuming that it can distract viewers with a showiness, that at times is quite captivating even in a non-3D viewing, and in doing so it can flippantly throw narrative tropes at the wall hoping those viewing can overlook their non-sticky quality as they slide down the wall, at no point proving evocative or integral to a plot that proves nothing more than a glorified game of cat and mouse, wherein the cat is outwitted by the sentient mouse.  I understand that this could serve as the films greatest metaphor, in so much as the creature, purportedly existing purely from emerging out petroleum, is therefore an extension on the rampant destructive nature of consumerism within a capitalist framework, but the problem with this reading is that the characters are either set up as being to naive or intensely self aware, whereas, to refer back to The Host, the family on display takes the emergence of the monster, in all it implausibility, as though it were yet another issue for them to face collectively, dealing with it earnestly.  Blame it on the 3D veneer calling attention to the fabrication of the film, but I at no point thought the plot to be attempting anything profound, beyond simply attempting to set up viewers for the intense and showy chase scene that encompasses nearly forty minutes of the runtime.  Other readings also fall to the wayside in the face of misguided attempts at establishing grounding, most problematically the one centered on considering Cha as a female authority figure in the face of questioning masculinity, sure she saves the day and sure it is intense, but to whom does she prove this feat, when the questioning is not quite the same as that mounted against Ridley in say Alien, but is assumed to carry the same levity hear.  Sector 7 wants to be much more than its immaturity will allow.

Key Scene:  The jellyfish do look quite wonderful and were the only point where I truly wished I were watching the film in 3D.

Honestly, avoid this film and just watch The Host instead.

2013 Summer Reading Classic Film Book Challenge (Book 6) Korean Film: History, Resistance, and Democratic Imagination

If I were to ask even the more seasoned of cinephiles in my circles of friends and colleague and even fellow bloggers about their experiences with South Korean cinema the likelihood of their awareness will only extend to, at most Oldboy and maybe The Host.  This is not entirely their fault as much of the knowledge around South Korean cinema specifically, is trapped under the weight of its contemporary Asian film predecessors with successful global offerings in the Hong Kong action cinema of the 90's and Japanese horror films of the early 2000's.  Running alongside these two movements was an emerging South Korean film world unfolding some of the most avant-garde and challenging films of the past two decades and has since garnered much more writing both academic and general interest, much of which I have read.  When figuring how I could possibly include a text on Korean cinema for this my final offering to Out of the Past and their 2013 Summer Reading Classic Film Book challenge, I was fortunate to stumble upon the text Korean Film: History, Resistance and Democratic imagination, which pulls deep into the traditions of Korean film, both before and after it divided into its respective North and South political spaces.  Co-authors Eungjun Min, Jinsook Joo, and Han Ju Kwak compile what proves to be not only the most detailed account of the century old tradition of filmmaking with Korea, but also manage to depict the troubled historical landscape of a country(ies) whose cinema invariably and irreversibly influenced by the presence of Chinese, Japanese, British and American occupations, noting the ways in which each foreign entity influenced the film of the Koreas both in highly positive, as well as problematic situations.  While the pinnacle of classic Asian cinema still proves to be the late Donald Richie's love letter to Japanese cinema, this text offers an astute, albeit, specialized set of voices on a country who has become both a point of revolutionary filmmaking in the past decade by showing that as a moviemaking entity the wild themes, challenging cinematic landscapes and inherent subversiveness of the work of the Koreas is nothing new and certainly only seems to be expanding beyond all other countries at an exponential rate

This co-authored text works, precisely because it is clearly influenced by film theorist, historians and even possesses a keen eye for the economics of filmmaking and distribution.  Despite it being authored by three distinct individuals, the narrative voice is that of a singular statement, pulling upon ideas inherent to Korean culture, lifting phrases that have contexts inexplicable to Western audiences using the moments in the countries storied history to develop this enigmatic concepts.  While, the book does often fall into the trap of listing every film possible from an era, particularly true for the post-Korean war film section, the authors do afford it a considerable amount of space to explain particularly important authors or ideas, both in terms of how they relate to the historical narrative of Korea and the various regulations of filmmaking from the prospective eras.  While it can prove a bit dense at times, it is refreshing to visit a text that does not feel it necessary to overexplain the ideas it is working with, making only brief notes on political factions and economic burdens from era, always remember that it is firstly a text about film, allowing discussions of Im Kown-taek to receive precedence than overly detailed accounts of the various student revolutions and failed political coups which occurred, and for awhile were still occurring, in the respective Koreas.  Furthermore, the authors do something that is often impossible in this kind of work, they manage to insert their opinions of certain films or filmmakers without it coming off as flippant, pretentious or worse, ill-informed.  This is perhaps most evocatively and engagingly done when discussing the melodramas of the fifties, wherein, the authors note the heavy degrees of exploitative politicized filmmaking that is neither subversive or well-executed making the works seem hokey and ill-conceived by a contemporary gaze.  Any opinion posited in this book is always reason, almost over analyzed as though the authors realize their text will serve as the only work of reference. Indeed, many of the works mentioned escape a global audience, but the optimism spouted within the various chapters only proves to make the case for their emergence on a global scale in the near future.

Best Film Discovery of the Book:  This is a bit tricky as much of this is unavailable, however, I will say that it has made me want to hunt down the early works of Cheol-su Park whose films seem as though they were wildly subversive well before his cerebral 301, 302.  It is worth noting that this book is quite expensive, I would suggest do like I did and rent it from a library, through the wonder of inter-library loans.

We Knew The Box Was Empty All Along: Volcano High (2001)

If I have learned anything from the narrative world of cinema, it is that for anyone going to high school in a fictional world, things are especially tough, whether it be need to plan elaborately just to skip a day of school only to have Ben Stein repeatedly call your name a la Ferris Bueller's Day Off, or realizing that planning as something as simple as a house party for your friends requires deceiving your father, fighting a ton of high school bullies and then dealing with racist cops in the film of the same name.  Yet, in all their absurdity, these films manage to still exist within a state of normalcy, in the sense that the endeavors are understandable, while the obstacles might be a bit inconceivable.  This is not the case for contemporary South Korean cinema in the slightest.  While much of their output is already non-linear and narratively rejects a fictional world that fabricates a simulacra of the world viewers are to share, it is no more obvious then in the High School films being released by the country.  This is clear in the supernatural horror series that includes both Whispering Corridors and Memento Mori, wherein a ghost attack serves as a metaphor for a larger ridicule faced by a young lesbian couple.  In a more wild example, a work like Daesepo Naughty Girls looks at dealing with difference and high school cliques through a sci-fi invasion narrative that will have even the most expansive of cinematic tastes questioned and confused.  In the middle of these films exists a work like, Volcano High, which is very much in the vein of the paranormal high school narrative, while also being a film that exist within the martial arts and kung fu genre, although the fights in this film take on an psychic extension yet seen in a large degree during this marathon.  While the film is not absolutely stellar and often relies on the aid of style to negate from dealing with some of its more substantial narrative issues, it is a fun movie to look at and Tae-gyun Kim's high flying choreography paired with an industrial editing style and mise-en-scene do invoke a style of filmmaking that existed around the late 90's and early 2000's that plays very much off of the breakout cult hit The Matrix.

Volcano High, as the title suggests, focuses on the experiences of Volcano High School, a school riddled with authority problems as various leaders of clubs and organizations attempt to take back the Secret Manuscript, which holds unknown power.  The manuscript, however, is held by the heads of the school and has recently been seized by the power hungry Vice Principal (Byeon Hee-Bong).  Meanwhile a new student has come to the school in Kim Kyung-Soo (Jang Hyuk), who has been kicked out of eight schools previously for his "disruptive" classroom behavior, although the narrative seems to suggest that in every scenario it was a result of prodding and bullying by others.  Needless to say, when Kim comes to Volcano High he is instantly approached by various members of the earlier mentioned clubs to join their groups and it is made abundantly clear that these groups function as high profile gangs who engage in bouts with one another, whether it be Jang Ryang (Kimm Soo-ro) who is the captain of the weightlifting team and all around tough guy.  Ryang's willingness to assert his physical authority has led to his being labeled as the dark ox.  Furthermore, there is also Hak-rim (Kwon Sang-woo) the school's most powerful martial artist, who is framed for the disappearance of leaders after the Vice-President's move for power, nonetheless, agreeing to train Kim when he realizes his latent psychic abilities.  During his time at Volcano High, Kim also takes to liking the captain of the kendo team Yoo Chae-Yi (Shin Min-a) whose love for Hak-rim only has led to her being known as Icy Jade in that she refuses to acknowledge the advances of even Kim.  As the narrative unfolds it becomes clear that the students are being played upon one another while a push for wild power occurs by the Vice President, who hires a new set of faculty to deal with the skills of the various students, thus resulting in an authoritarian rule in the space of Volcano High that leads to a wild revolt and confrontation, which affords even the most unlikely of allies unity.  Kim, learning to harness his unique powers, becomes a hero in the school, but as the closing montage suggests, this also comes with the continued expectation that he defend such a title.

It is in this sense of contesting and reaffirming authority that Volcano High excels.  Indeed, much of the narrative is spent considering the power that words, symbols, age and gender play into who is allowed to assert their opinion or reject the ideas of a person in charge.  The most obvious sense of this comes through the constant reminder that the President of the school exudes the most authority, despite spending nearly the entire narrative in a stone like state, after being poisoned by the Vice-President.  In the case of this his age, masculinity and name have afforded him a place of unquestioned privilege and to a degree exploitation, since it is rather obvious that Volcano High is not the most well-run of high schools.  The lingering authoritative presence of the president is only one aspect of this authority, in so much as the collective of the faculty seem capable of exploiting the students based on threats of expulsion and punishment that are often vague and non-physical, which is interesting in that it seems to speak to a larger cultural issue of shame and identity.  The students at Volcano High are already a diverse group of individuals, either socially different for personal choices or physical abilities that are deemed almost that of a mutant and the thought of having a mark on their record that would suggest anything but positive would therefore ruin their career.  Knowing that once I graduated from high school and began college, everything I did in high school became irrelevant, I can still remember believing that even the smallest misstep might result in my future downfall.  It was authority working at its finest, in that its mere presence resulted in my paranoia to the point of acting far too conservatively for a majority of those years.  Foucault would have been ashamed.  While some of the students at Volcano High fear similar results, they seem far more concerned with the power possessed by the Secret Manuscript that affects the choices and movements of the main characters, despite it being revealed relatively early on that it is merely an empty box.  This empty box and indicative of rules and authority is perhaps the greatest of the filmic metaphors on authority, because it is grounded in nothing, in a very literal sense, much like many institutions of oppression and ruling.

Key Scene:  The first bamboo forrest fight is quite watchable, all be it highly referential and a bit of a rehashing of other fight scenes.

I would probably overlook this film, unless you really like Korean cinema or high school movies.  In which case you will probably adore this film.  Only thoroughly liking the former, the high school elements all seemed highly forced to me.

I Trained While Watching Bruce Lee Movies: Punch Lady (2007)

I have included a couple of South Korean films in my consideration of kung fu/martial arts movies thus far in my endeavor to become more aware of the genre, although the two films in question, The Man from Nowhere and my most recent viewing of Punch Lady are indicative of a revisionist approach to the genre, one that applies social issues while only tangentially being related to whatever stylistic tropes and themes are emergent within the genre.  Of course, while I found myself initially surprised by this choice, I also remember that it is very much an element of South Korean and to a larger extent much of the East Asian cinema output, to take genre and use it as a means to cleverly consider poignant social woes, whether it be the use of a wrestling calamari to look at masculinity and performance in the eponymous Calamari Wrestler, or a scathing critique of othering non-heterosexual bodies as occurs in Memento Mori.  Punch Lady, in the guise of a fighting/boxing movie manages to take on the very controversial topic of spousal abuse, while also considering a larger issue of violence as spectacle and the consumption of such brutality as a means of escapism.  While on the whole Punch Lady does not always succeed in its message or methodology, it does manage to do one thing that is worth high note, by employing a female lead into a world of cinema that while visceral, incredibly watchable and currently the most essential in the world, still proves to be heavily dominated by patriarchal privilege and masculine issues.  The parts of this film that do work, do so on a highly engaging level and manage to add fresh looks and styles to the boxing film, which has arguably been perfected in the way of Scorsese's Raging Bull or more recently in the post-modern look at the sport in David O. Russell's The Fighter.  As noted though, Punch Lady is only a boxing movie to a degree, instead, existing as a social commentary first and genre film second, resulting in a film whose narrative is certainly winding and twisting, but in relative consideration to the countries other works it is considerably straight forward and accessible on, at the very least, a cinematic and visual level.

Punch Lady focuses on a woman named Ha-eun (Ji-Won To) who has always had a viscerally disconcerting experience with violence since she witnessed her father beating a thief when she was a child.  This unusual relationship with violence has led her to become involved in a violent relationship with her professional fighter husband Joo-Chang (Park Sang-wook) who beats and attacks Ha-eun for reasons that are completely inexcusable.  Ha-eun, however, seems content to just bear the attacks, until one day the couple's daughter Choon-sim (Sulli) confronts Joo-Chang, leading to his throwing a bowl at the young girl causing her to bleed.  The resulting rage felt by Ha-eun leads her to attack Joo-Chang with a frying pan, thus knocking him unconscious.  Despite his constant physical attacks, Joo-Chang is audacious enough to sue Ha-eun for spousal abuse, leading to a brief stint in jail.  When she gets out of jail, Ha-eun moves in with an old friend and briefly considers rekindling a relationship with an old high school fling, however, when she discovers that this former lover is himself a professional kick boxer, she is hesitant, particularly considering that he is to fiht Joo-Chang and claims that he will act as a vessel of revenge for Ha-eun.  When the fight does occur, Joo-Chang does not hesitate to fight dirty and through cheating kills the man, leading to a new level of rage in Ha-eun who during her blind fury demands that the two fight one another, much to the confusion of Joo-Chang and his promoters.  Yet when it becomes clear that the fight will result in huge viewership and sponsorship possibilities a planned bout for three months later emerges.  Ha-eun knowing that her martial arts skills are limited, if not non-existent, goes about finding a trainer in Su-Hyeon (Son Hyun-Joo) a math teacher whose recent acquisition of a old dojo is only to turn it into a nursery.  However, upon the begging and prodding of Ha-eun, along with her promise to share a considerable amount of the prize money, Su-Hyeon agrees and begins a considerably unorthodox training program.  There are various attempts on the part of Joo-Chang and others to stifle the fight prior to its occurrence, but as Hae-eun evolves in her self-worth things grow and her desire to prove so to Joo-Chang and all others who have been abused, results in the fight occurring, and the results being a surprise to all involved, including, most importantly, Hae-eun.

I mention that this film does not entirely deal with the spousal abuse elements in a positive and non-problematic manner and most of this criticism comes directly from the unfortunate choice of the director to situation the middle section of the film as fully comedic.  Doing so, at times, negates the very serious book ends of the film that graphically deal with the bruises and physical suffering experienced by a person who is a victim of domestic violence.  Now I understand that the producers probably hoped to avoid a completely dejecting experience for viewers, especially since the people involved, aside from the director, seem previously engaged in the decidedly upbeat world of Korean drama.  Nonetheless, shying away from the jarring and abject seems unusual for a South Korean film when one considers the films made by Chan-wook Park or Kim-ki Duk, both of who use violence extensively and comedy sparingly.  It is really off-putting to see moments of Ha-eun's training played up as humorously exhaustive, when only moments earlier her body was on display as a thing of inhumanity to be beaten into submission in a non-comedic form of exhaustion.  This is where the film goes completely in the wrong direction, but it does manage to do things correctly, particularly in its acknowledgement that the act of abuse often extends beyond the physical.  Indeed, Joo-Chang is an absolutely evil and terrible person, exploiting all of those around him merely to assert his own disgusting hyper-masculinity, killing  a person for suspecting that he might be involved with his wife of which he violently beats.  However, Joo-Chang also looks at Ha-eun as an object of verbal ridicule referring to her as stupid and less than human, thus becoming a form of psychological abuse, not to mention his own role as an economic provider, threatening both Ha-eun and her daughter with making their lives worse by having no money, one of the more scathing criticisms in the film as South Korean society still manages to be highly impossible to navigate for a single woman, particularly one who is in her thirties or older.  Finally, the film deals with the absurdity of spectacle and deconstructs a society, particularly one that has capitalist and democratic ideals for allowing the reality of domestic violence serve as a spectator sport, when indeed it should be a thing that is dealt with in the most serious of manners through the legal system.  Sure the film plays up the possibility of a spousal boxing match, but think about any domestic violence case that makes national headlines, even in America, the rhetoric is uncannily similar.

Key Scene:  The "eye-opening" scene for Ha-eun is a perfectly simultaneous execution of acting, cinematography and editing that manages to make the last act flow with a considerable degree of intensity.

This film is somewhat hard to come by and the current DVD is a bit dodgy, often freezing due to being a bad transfer.  As such, I would actually suggest seeking out another of the directors  works My Wife Is A Gangster, for a rewarding viewing experience.

You Only Live For Tomorrow: The Man From Nowhere (2010)

One of the more interesting elements of engaging with this kung fu marathon was what I knew would be its affects on contemporary action films, particularly ones that are much more in line with the action/crime thriller than the special effects laden, high flying fight sequences of their predecessors.  While I could have picked from a variety of different Chinese films for this, I decided to branch out slightly and consider a film from South Korea, because, after all, it is my area of research interest and an excuse to catch up with yet another film I had been meaning to check out, this time Jeong-beom Lee's The Man From Nowhere.  I say it is only a slight departure from the Chinese films so far, in that it does indeed involve Chinese characters, despite its decidedly South Korean setting, although transnational narratives are far from unusual in South Korean cinema, or much of East Asian cinema for that matter, when one considers proximity and politics.  Despite all this I was quite hesitant to include The Man from Nowhere on this month of viewing, because for all intents and purposes it did not appear to be a kungfu film proper, nor even a film whose fight sequences exist with a martial arts based setting.  Yet multiple "top martial arts films" lists included this, which I felt justified its inclusion, and while  guns are uses in this film on a few occasions, I was quite happy to discover that this is, at its heart a martial arts action thriller, especially considering that when action does occur it often does involve a considerable amount of very intense and well-choreographed hand-to-hand combat.  Considering its contemporary style and the state of South Korean cinema, however, the fighting is not poetic or evocative of rhythmic dance, but is, instead; quite brutal and jarringly stripped of its stylized elements, drawing attention to the scars and aftermath of very real physical engagements.  Sure it is amazing to watch the protagonist deliver a viscerally filmed beat down, but it always follows with images that remind viewers of the physical tolls such brutality takes on the enemy, as well as the body of the hero.  It also does not hurt that The Man From Nowhere might be one of the best shot action films I have ever seen.

The Man From Nowhere, despite being a South Korean film, shies away from completely non-linear narration, excluding a few flashbacks, yet manages to provide a gripping story in the process.  The film primarily focuses on the drifter Cha Tae-sik (Bin Won) a pawnbroker, who seems entirely detached from the world around him, aside from a friendship he has formed with a young girl named So-mi (Sae-ron Kim) whose mother, a strung out heroin addict often abandons her to the streets in drug fueled indifference.  Content to exist as a pseudo-guardian angel to So-mi, Cha merely moves about his world, although when he fails to help her escape trouble with the cops she dismisses him and suggest that he is just as bad to her as the rest of the world.  It is revealed, however, that So-mi's mother has recently been involved in a high scale drug heist and upon failing to deliver the necessary goods becomes wanted by the mob, who take little time finding her and destroying her, also kidnapping So-mi in the process.  Cha, is also confronted by the mob, who want their drugs which have been hidden in an item So-mi has pawned.  When the mob members assume that Cha was involved and attack him, it is revealed that his fighting abilities are excellent, destroying one man while disarming another in seconds.  Word of this gets to the various higher ups and they enact a plan to exploit Cha for his skills with the false promise that he will be afforded the return of So-mi after a completion of the various tasks.  Unfortunately, as Cha realizes he is being played into part of a larger mob and police battle, landing himself briefly in jail, all the while worrying for he safety of Cha.  Upon escape through a bit of cleverness on Cha's part, he takes it upon himself to hunt down the mob, while the police discover that his skill set is the result of a past life in the Korean equivalent of the CIA, where he lost his pregnant wife in a hit put out by a mob member.  This insurmountable loss, helps to explain Cha's unchecked drive as he enters the mob's secret hide out, only to discover that they are exploiting young children for free labor in meth production and eventually trafficking them sexually.  Cha then loses all sense of self-control, killing all the mob members and destroying the lab, eventually chasing down the boss of the mob and shooting him in his car, all before finally discovering that So-mi is indeed safe.  The closing moments depict Cha playing father figure to the now parentless So-mi, before he heads off to jail for his necessary, albeit, illegal killing spree.

Ethics are a thing that play heavily into South Korean cinema and something that I have discussed ad nausea in relation to the countries contemporary cinema, whether it be in the misappropriation of meaning through religion in Secret Sunshine or the notion of justified revenge that exists in Sympathy for Lady Vengeance.  In these films and many others, it is clear that a moral compass is far harder to align than one might like to admit, and it would certainly seem to extend to the narrative space of The Man from Nowhere as well.  However, I would posit that, unlike the previously mentioned films, it is made quite clear that Cha and So-mi are good characters, whereas the mob boss and So-mi's mother are less so, although it does not justify the latter's brutal death in the slightest.  The police, perhaps serve as a bit more of a grey area in terms of ethical outlook, but they are certainly far from corrupt and are merely attempting to execute their jobs while working against an economically powerful and transnationally fueled crime syndicate, therefore, any interference, even in Cha's taking out of major figures, proves detrimental because it means they find themselves bogged down in paperwork and rediscovering leads.  Indeed, The Man from Nowhere plays out much more like a sporadic and intense game of chess than one of insidious warfare.  There seems to be a set of agreements about how events should occur, yet, what is less certain is how many individuals are playing in the game.  In this game, Cha is somewhat of a wild card, not because he acts in a counterintuitive manner, but because where the mobsters desire money and safety and the cops desire justice, Cha merely wants to assure the safety of So-mi at any cost, driven to act more violent as he comes to realize her chances at survival are dwindling.  Indeed, his breaking out of the jail is interesting, because he seems to understand that the cops are not terrible people, but, nonetheless, serve as a barrier to his ultimate concern, therefore, he maims them temporarily, as opposed to the mobsters whose exploitation of children and those without power is loathsome and deserved of death.  Indeed, by the end of this film I found myself drawing parallels to the killing spree enacted by Liam Neeson in Taken, although in every tangible and qualitative way The Man from Nowhere is a far better film than Taken, which I already adore greatly, I think that only speaks to the wonder in this recent South Korean masterpiece.

Key Scene:  In the case of this film it is a singe shot, which shows Cha after he has fallen out of a window only to land on a large net.  I let out a distinctive gasp of amazement, something that rarely occurs when I watch action films.

This is available streaming on Netflix and Hulu and I am sure it will look just fine, however, this bluray is beyond amazing and worthy of owning.  I waited with baited breath for Jeong-beom Lee's next offering.

Life Is About Chasing And Being Chased: The Good, The Bad, The Weird (2008)

Considering that the month of May is to be devoted to westerns entirely, it should be little surprise that I will include, at some point, at least one spaghetti western, but the most recent viewing was not to be that instance.  I felt it only necessary to begin by contrasting one of the most traditional notions of a western, with one of the most unusual and revisionist westerns to date, in what has been dubbed by some to be a "kimchi" western.  Of course, this proves a double bonus for me because the film in question The Good, The Bad, The Weird, manages to be both a western and a Korean film simultaneously, therefore, making a perfect fit within the constraints of this month of specific films while also managing to allow me another viewing within my specific concern for expansion in the particulars of East Asian cinema.  The director of The Good, The Bad, The Weird, Jee-woon Kim recently received notoriety on this blog for his wonderfully absurd The Foul King and continually proves to be a diverse and engaging filmmaker, although I am not so sure that his English-language debut will prove as rewarding and intense as Chan-wook Park's Stoker.  What viewers receive in the highly engaging and action heavy adaptation (all be it, quite loose) of The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly is nothing short of a simultaneous embracing of everything within the tradition of westerns, as well as a complete rejection of its traditionalist notions of periodization.  In fact, it is quite impossible to tell whether the film and its narrative exists somewhere far in the past, or is simply an insanely realized dystopia loaded with some of the most vile, yet incredibly engaging individuals.  Between its decidedly modern soundtrack and use of masterful cinematic and editing techniques, The Good, The Bad, The Weird nearly bursts at the seams of the genre, but when it matters it manages to reign in its narrative beautifully, ultimately, adhering to the idea of a western film when it matters most, moving from the embracing of ultra-cool gunslingers to the stark and alienating realization that their own concerns with anonymity and indifference are exactly what will result in their being alone in their last moments of life.

As a pseudo-remake of Leone's classic spaghetti western, Kim's film centers around three distinct characters attempting to attain a map that will lead them to a treasure buried by a group of Japanese soldiers.  The Bad (Byung-hun Lee) is a ruthless, thief and assassin who pulls a cue from Johnny Cash, moving through the world of Manchuria donning black clothing and a smoldering scowl befit to set the world ablaze.  The Weird (Kang-ho Sung) is a madman whose lone wolf nature and complete indifference for social etiquette allow him to move about the landscape with an absurdly carefree attitude that seems to make him immune to death, although it is clear from early on that he harbors a rather intense past.  Finally, The Good (Woo-sung Jung) stands as a symbol of justice with his shotgun and leather trench coat, he screams out to be the epitome of the sheriff figure in the world, although, like his two rivals he possesses his own problematic selfishness, which all runs amok when the three become aware of a the previously mentioned treasure map and its seemingly endless fortunes.  However, while the three are clearly adept shooters and generally superior in every way, they are certainly not the only ones after the cherished items, confronting entire armies, motorcycle riding bandits and a gang of black market dealers along the way.  Moving through the space of Manchuria, The Good and The Weird end up begrudgingly relying on one another to assure their outpacing of the maniacal The Bad who seems perfectly willing to kill all persons who bar his path and eventual success.  It becomes clear, however, that The Bad's desire to beat the other two to the treasure has a high degree of revenge about it, so much so that he openly states his willingness to reprimand an injustice.  After a handful of wild shootouts and chases, the three meet at the point of the treasure only to discover it to be far different that suggested, resulting in them making a game out of who is to survive that ends in a truly fatal manner, while the map blows away, revealing a treasure none of them expected.

Given that the setting of The Good, The Bad, The Weird is assumed to be in an unusual western world within the context of East Asia it has a certain impossibly ethereal nature about it, which makes it seem more science fiction than western, however, tropes, which will be the manner by which I approach the films this month, nonetheless emerge.  In the case of this film everything has to do with identity and reappropriating one's past.  For The Good, it is clear that he seeks to enact his wild sense of justice upon the landscape, one that breaks laws and moral guidelines when it fits the warped idea of good he seems to have created and reflects nicely on the often ambiguous nature law has within the traditional western.  The Bad, much like The Good, is far more than his name suggests and indeed moves through the filmic space with a quest for revenge firstly, and an obtaining of riches second.  Of course, he seems willing to kill those in his path, but his silence speaks to the inability he possesses to speak to his suffering which is both unusual and traumatic.  Finally, in, as his name would suggest, bizarre contrast is The Weird, who absolutely rejects any sense of normalcy and moves through the madness of Manchuria expressly concerned with the most basic human needs and a desire to stay alive, yet it proves by the films closing to be the case that The Weird is indeed the most flawed of the three central figures, making his place within the quest for inconceivable riches one driven by his desire to clean his impure slate and return to a simpler lifestyle, one with livestock and agrarian simplicity.  The past for each of these men is both obtuse and decidedly troublesome, allowing the expansive deserts and tight alleys of the cities to serve as figurative escapes from not only the threat of death, but from their own trouble psyches.  Furthermore, given that contemporary Korean cinema is particularly concerned with deconstructing the patriarchal nature of masculinity, the film doubles as a sort of rejection of unchecked male privilege, especially in the closing moments of the film, wherein what is essentially a large scale pissing contest, results in an exceptionally defeatist end.

Key Scene:  Given that it necessarily had to borrow the famous three way shoot out, Kim manages to both do credit to Leone's directorial choice, while updating it into something newly engaging and cinematically fresh.

This is on Netflix watch instantly, drop what you are doing and watch it immediately.

I'm Sorry, Mommy Was Wrong: The Red Shoes (2009)

I was a bit bummed as to not waiting to include the Powell-Pressburger film The Red Shoes into this month of films, however, I was able to find a film that I assumed only shared the name of the British classic in a South Korean film that I had been longing to see of the same name.  While it is certainly not a remake, or a homage for that manner, it does appear to borrow heavily from the Anderson fairy tale of the original, particularly in the element of a pair of shoes being the jumping off point for an individuals descent into madness.  While The Red Shoes is not the greatest South Korean film I have come across, it is not entirely an awful film to watch, although it is incredibly graphic and quite intense, dipping into some deeply scary imagery in its closing moments.  Yet, even in its imperfections, it adheres to many of the experimental, non-linear, culturally provocative and revolutionary imagery that makes it such a fruitful national cinema to discuss.  The film makes a perfect addition to this month of films because it makes considerable use of women in major roles, all be it, quite problematic ones, and does a great job of considering the negative manner with which vanity and a lust for consumer goods intrude upon women's attempts to navigate and already unwelcoming society.  It is a film that makes sure viewers are aware of how mentally distraught the various characters are, drawing their problems from a variety of external forces as well as pent-up internalized issues.  The filmic space explodes and clashes with the various issues as they relate the the individual and the collective within the film, often in highly expressionistic manners, while at other times being definitively grotesque.  It is a film with a clear message, or call against, vanity and internalization of women's lack in regard to illogical male standards and does a masterful job of suggesting its generational transference, particularly when its issues are purposefully and problematically repressed.  If it were not an already absolutely convoluted plot the insistence Yong-Gyun Kim, the inclusion of the singular panoptic eye into the narrative manages to make its theoretical execution marvelous.

The film focuses on Sun-jae (Kim Hye-soo) a woman who has just left her husband after discovering him to be cheating on her while she was taking their daughter to school.  Frustrated and stunned, Sun-jae takes her and her daughter and moves into an apartment, hoping to make a new life, one that will have her find success opening an optical care center.  Yet, when she returns home to pick up a few more items she also sees a pair of red (pink, if we are to be honest) shoes that she found on a subway.  As she moves these shoes into her home, it becomes quite evident that they also bring a terrible past along with them, one that spirals Sun-jae into a state of mind filled with vanity and greed, finding it hard to navigate the world of caring for a daughter, opening a business and getting back into the dating world.  Sun-jae's daughter, and eventually a friend of Sun-jae's fall victim to the curse of the red shoes, which leads Sun-jae's daughter to act out against her mother and for her friend to become possessed by an unseen spirit while admiring a wedding gown.  Realizing the terrible problems that the shoes causes, Sun-jae attempts to discard of the shoes, only to have them return to her inexplicably, in some cases in the hands of her daughter, who spouts incoherent claims about a dead husband in the process.  The fact that she is incapable of ridding herself of the shoes, leads her and her boyfriend to attempt to find the origin of the cursed footwear, leading to a realization that the shoes were tied to a young woman whose own abuses led to her death and resulting quest for some degree of vengeance.  In the end, Sun-jae's inextricable attachment to the shoes mean that she must accept the death given to her at the hands of the vengeful ghost, which occurs in an intense and violent manner.  The narrative then closes in on Sun-jae's daughter as she stares into a mirror practicing her dance moves, yet her darkened eyes and pale visage, suggest her own attachment to the curse as well.

Despite being a narrative complex film, there are some theoretical moments that draw upon ideas of exploitation and objectification that justify the film receiving my praise.  Firstly, the deconstruction of consumerism and beauty myths as a problematic relationships is dealt with excellentlly, whether it be Sun-jae's own self-worth changing upon putting make-up on and appropriating Westernized beauty looks, or when her friend longs for a wedding-dress that is so skinny that it would prove unwearable to a much smaller person.  Their own desires to appease their negative body image issues result in their very real destruction, an undeniable commentary on body dysmorphia and its negative affects in can place on women.  Each woman, even the daughter, believe that by possessing the shoes they will somehow be able to comfortably navigate their respective spaces, even in the case of Sun-jae who simply wants to be admired by her father again, whose leaving she is far too young to truly conceptualize.  Mirrors also factor heavily into the film, whether it be with Sun-jae's constant obsession with her blind eye for a considerable portion of the narrative, or her own daughter at ballet class lingering on her body perhaps longer than necessary, a likely result of the young age at which beauty ideals are thrust upon children.  The eye, as a ever present figure also serves as a great metaphor within the film, in a panoptic, or all-seeing, manner the presence of the eye serves as a constant point of judgement for the women in the film, their looks and bodies always in question and constant judgement, even in their private spaces and internal thoughts.  It is not an irony lost that Sun-jae's seemingly admiring and progressive boyfriend paints the eye, because even if he thinks himself a standup guy he, nonetheless, engages in objectification and openly considers Sun-jae's addition of makeup and Western beauty norms a good thing.  It is a film brimming with beauty myth criticism and has a ton more to be read into upon later revisits.

Key Scene:  When Sun-jae's sanity finally splits, the visual metaphor is fantastic and disconcerting and made the narratively complex movie come together magically.

This is likely a rental for most people, I will personally keep a copy for myself, but can easily understand doing otherwise.

The Ending Sucks. Gotta Change It: My Sassy Girl (2001)

It should, as always, be no surprise that a Korean film will make it into my viewing rotation, especially considering that women are to factor specifically into the films I focus on for this month.  My Sassy Girl was one of those films I had been seeking out for sometime once I began to do heavy research within South Korean cinema, and thanks to its eventual discovery via a Taiwanese distributor on Amazon I have my copy.  I will admit that it is not a film, despite its title, that absolutely and always concerns itself with the a woman, as the title might suggest, with that being said, it will not be the farthest stretch I make regarding the films I plan to incorporate this month.  I will say though, despite it being a film that focuses more heavily on its male protagonist, the manner with which the character the title refers to within the space of the narrative certainly argues for its inclusion on my list of films for this month.  Like so many South Korean films made since the mid-to-late nineties, it is both simple to define My Sassy Girl as a romantic comedy, yet the refusal to adhere to genre normalcy and linear narration, means that it is also obvious that the film makes sure to avert and revert viewers narrative expectations, even managing to simultaneously create homage to an satire other genres prevalent within the traditional South Korean filmic history.  Furthermore, for being a decidedly comedic film, My Sassy Girl, manages to have enough twists and plot redirections to make Chan-wook Park proud.  Divided into two halves and an overtime segment, I will admit that I was quite uncertain as to how the film would unfold, yet when the pacing picks up in the second half I found myself decidedly enamored with the film and even being forced to pause moments before the heartfelt closing, I found myself welling up a bit at is rewardingly romantic reveal.  I was never quite certain as to how such a decidedly comedic film kept finding itself on the list of greatest South Korean films of all-time, yet after a much desired viewing of this masterpiece by Jae-young Kwak makes me want to revisit it soon, not to mention check out a handful of his other works.

My Sassy Girl centers on Gyun-woo (Chae Tae-hyun) a somewhat reclusive man who admits to his parents being a bit dismissive of him since they had actually hoped to have a girl child instead, despite having a decent job, he moves through life a bit haphazardly, until he finds himself saving a drunken girl from falling in front of the oncoming subway, leading to his being forced to take care of her as she vomits on passengers, only to pass out of the floor of the subway train.  The Girl (Jun Ji-hyun) is never given a proper name, but, instead; formulates into an object of affection for Gyun-woo who sees his life beginning to become greatly affected by the presence of this new, decidedly, unruly girl, who fancies herself a romantic and a playwright, constantly forcing Gyun-woo to read her scripts, despite his rather flippant attitude towards their existence.  It is not until a rather unusual run-in with a AWOL soldier that Gyun-woo comes to realize the how much he actually cares for The Girl, leading to him pouring out his  every action in a hope to attain her affections, however, it is made quite clear that The Girl has her own past, and, as such, expects Gyun-woo to navigate through a series of tests before assuring their unity, ranging from expecting him to bring her a rose during class, in one of the films sweeter moments, to wearing her high heels when her feet become sore.  When Gyun-woo attempts to make friendly with The Girls father, he is repeatedly shot down, not due to his refusal, but the fact that the father passes out drunk far before any conversation can occur.  After a decided break-up at the train station where they met, the two decide to plant a time capsule, under a tree, and agree to meet up in two years.  Gyun-woo holds true to his promise, although when he arrives, The Girl is nowhere to be found.  Yet when he opens the capsule he discovers a frog, which is somewhat inexplicable, as well as a letter explaining that The Girl had lost her boyfriend the day before they met and had still been learning to live without his presence, even when they dated.  Defeated, but understanding, Gyun-woo leaves the tree and the narrative then focuses on The Girl as she talks to an old man at what she assumes to be the tree, only to be told that it is, in fact, a similar tree that had replaced the old one that died after being struck by lightning.  This causes The Girl to realize that she could find happiness with Gyun-woo, although at this point in the narrative fate serves as the final decider in their unity.

I know I am including this film within a month dedicated to women and, ideally, it should focus on the element in some way, but I cannot help but ignore the sweet philosophic poetics present within the film.  I will say, however, that the film makes it expressly clear that gender is a thing of fluidity.  In fact, both characters seem expressly focused on noting how against the gender norm they are making their entire relationship a disregarding of any established gender norms based on sexual identity.  In this way, the film does engage within issues of womanhood, thus allowing it to be a perfect narrative within this month of women oriented films.  With that being acknowledged, I really want to talk about the clear Buddhist, all is one, mentality existing within the film, particularly as it relates to human interaction.  The narrative suggests that those who are intended to be together will interact, even if it is initially under the worst of circumstances, as is the case in My Sassy Girl, when Gyun-woo meets The Girl while she is drunk and in the throes of despair, yet he cannot shake off his preoccupation with her.  It is essentially a film about discovering one's soulmate, and longing for that connection, although it is set up in a non-Western terminology so it is not necessarily two souls meeting, but a moment of interconnectedness realized on a human level, although in regards to the philosophy of Buddhism this direct relationship that is always existing, is, in fact, simply something one must awaken to with time and learning.  It is then no coincidence that the other individuals they run into also seem to inexplicably tie to their forming relationship, whether it be a distraught soldier or a security guard who is particularly hungry for some radishes.  The most brilliant moment comes, however, when the narrative reminds viewers that a persons connections are often a lot closer than they had ever possibly imagined.

Key Scene:  As much as I want to go for the closing moments, I was a sucker for the rose and piano scene in all its sentimental simplicity.

I would say buy this film, but it is hard to come by and not necessarily region free depending on the device you view it with, until then just repeatedly search it on Amazon, until distribution companies take notice.

Documents Never Lie: Memories Of Murder (2003)

For somebody who has become a self-proclaimed academic on South Korean cinema, it has been quite awhile since I have reviewed or even watched anything from the country, which led me to dive into Memories of Murder, an early offering from one of my favorite South Korean directors Bong Joon-ho, probably best known for his massively realized monster movie The Host, if not for his spastic and cinematic Mother.  The later, as well as Memories of Murder, focus heavily on violent crimes and catching the culprits, however, where Bong avoids reality and grounding in his later work he seems completely at ease with depicting an uncomfortable amount of realness in his early work.  Memories of Murder is wickedly funny, while never failing to remind viewers that rape and murder are real acts, often, if not always, leading to the untimely death of those attacked, in this case every one being woman.  Bong is such a stellar director that even when noting that the film is based on true events, he manages to create such a gripping and melodramatic narrative that it is hard not to get lost in the spectacle and execution of the film, its elaborate nature and seemingly layered element of deception cause viewers to justifiably assume the work to be entirely fiction.  However, one may feel about the events depicted in the film, or whether Bong was even justified in portraying such freshly given wounds on screen, one cannot deny the means with which he uses this narrative to paint a picture of divides in Korea that still haunt the continually progressing nation.  Set, for the most part, in 1986, the film represents a rural area of South Korea, clearly affected by colonization, but not via a physical presence.  Bong, in Memories of Murder, creates a film that contests notions of identity and assumed privilege, particularly as it relates to notions of masculinity, age and education.  So very realized is this film, that one often has trouble situating its time period, as it is clearly not intended to visually represent contemporary Korea, yet the visual realm is not archaic either, instead existing in some area of transcendent cinematic space where metaphor and meaning are undoubtedly universal.


Memories of Murder begins, as should be no surprise, with the discovery of yet another raped and murdered body, in what has become a string of violent attacks in a rural South Korean community.  The main figure in the investigation proves to be Detective Park (Kang-ho Song) a traditionalist as far as detective work goes, although he is not adverse to twisting the words of suspects to assure the moving along of his investigations.  Park's partner Detective Cho (Roe-ha Kim) on the other hand seems to resort to violence at the flip of a hat, assuming that he can beat a confession out of any person he assumes to be guilty.  There wily tactics yield little results, mostly because they lack proper higher police education, which leads to the calling in of a Seoul based detective named Detective Seo (Sang-Kyung Kim) whose main objective appears to be linking the crimes into a series of murders enacted by a single serial killer.  Seo and Park constantly but heads, mostly as a result of Park's pride and desire to retain an alpha dog status, something Seo's intelligence seems quick to threaten.  However, as the clues begin the collect and the dueling detectives realize that one another possess some undeniable investigation skills, they slowly piece together a list of legitimate suspects and even chase down a variety of other criminals in the process.  Yet when they come to a standstill as a result of waiting for the FBI, who possess far better technology, to analyze some DNA, another murder occurs, driving Park specifically to chase the assumed culprit down himself.  Park, Seo and the assumed criminal meeting an an intense semi-shootout at a train tunnel entrance, only to be forced to let the suspect go when it is shown that they only possess inconclusive evidence.  The narrative then moves to the present as Park revisits a crime scene, only to be told by a passing girl that another man had been there only moments earlier, perhaps the killer whose whereabouts remain unknown even today.

It is hard to make any definitive statement about Memories of Murder in regards to critical theory, as so much of Bong's intent is clearly a result of his personal conviction in calling attention to the fact that this  killer has yet to face justice.  The clear choice of the camera to linger on the beaten and bruised bodies of the victims is an all to visceral call to demand that justice be sought with little rest during the process. Of course, to overanalyze this element of the film would be counterproductive, because the very act of Bong making the film proves this argument valid.  Instead, it is far more interesting to consider the way masculinity serves as a point of contention in the film, especially between Park and Seo whose desire to catch the killer seems more to do with selfish pride than with proctoring justice, especially for Park who has his communal identity to maintain. It is then no coincidence that all the victims in the film are women, one's who cannot defend against an intensely aggressive masculine antagonist, ultimately, causing Park and others to serve as saviors to a weaker sex, a problematic underlying issue of internalized oppression invariably emerges.  It is also interesting to consider the suspects when reading it through a masculinity critique, as it is clear all of Park and Seo's suspects appear to engage in varying degrees of gender betrayal/transgression, whether it be one culprit who dons women's underwear for sexual gratification, or another suspect whose telling feature is his unusually soft hands, something which is the result of his job in clerical work.  The final confrontation of the train emerging from the tunnel as a means of losing their assumed victim then takes a clear phallic meaning as it explodes out of the entrance severing any possibility of apprehending the suspect.  Masculine oppression is at the root of crime in this film, however, it is also the barrier that results in a killer never being found, in fact, the only persons who seem to be able to clearly identify the perpetrator are females, unfortunately, their voice in the narrative is relegated or ignored even in the closing moments, a masterful and biting commentary by Bong no doubt.

Key Scene:  There is a confrontation between Seo and Park in a karaoke bar in which they are both peeling bananas.  The biting nature and satirical composition of this moment hand me bursting at the seams with laughter.

This is certainly one of the premier films in South Korean cinema's history and it is somewhat pricey on Amazon, yet purchasing a copy is well worth the money, it is seriously a spectacular film.

Your Shadow Is Over The LIne: J.S.A.: Joint Security Area (2000)

Sitting nicely between at the beginning of The New Korean Cinema wave, as well as clearly show influence from the Hollywood infiltration in Suth Korea the few decades prior, Chan-wook Park's much heralded and well received J.S.A., or Joint Security Area is an action thriller done right.  Often credited as Park's introduction to popular moviegoers, J.S.A. has subtle hints to the methods and commentaries the director would later incorporate in his Vengeance Trilogy, of which Oldboy is perhaps his most well-known work.  It contains a handful of well-known Korean actors, ones whose faces I can now identify, although learning names is still taking some practice, and comments upon perhaps the most strenuous of subjects to the Korean person, the hyper-intense relationship to their bordered communist neighbors North Korea.  Like Shiri, a work that was for quite some time the highest grossing film in South Korea, J.S.A. considers the validity and necessity of a division between Korea and goes so far as to cross the seemingly impenetrable, all be it non-physical, border.   As a thriller, J.S.A. is exceptional, playing into the all to familiar practice of a non-linear narrative within South Korean films, yet managing to use this detachment from temporal space to create contradictions between the recounting of hotly debated events resulting in the murder of a North Korean soldier.  As a film deeply entrenched within the political concerns of a divided Korea moving into the 21st century, Park is careful to consider the validity and verifiability of accusations of rule breaking, particularly when the tensions are predicated on political ideologies, ones enforced by colonized forces and non-present entities.  A border crossing film in the most literal sense, J.S.A. questions the notions of ideological divides and posits a possibility of something transcendent of such detachments, especially when loneliness and a longing for fraternal bonds come into play.

Joint Security Area situates itself quite knowingly within the history of a divided Korea, going so far as to incorporate images and writings reminding viewers, mostly Koreans already aware of the hostilities, of the lynchpin created by the DMZ in the 1950's.  With little explanation beyond this the film depicts the results of this pin being pulled when a shot fires and a North Korean soldier is killed, resulting in a shoot-out between two divided nations.  What follows is the joint investigation by a fictitious global initiative noticeably similar to the United Nations, which intends to investigate how the incident began. The investigation is led by Major Sophie Jean (Yeong-ae Lee) a child of a Korean War refugee and Swiss woman.  If her gender were not already a point of contention, her problematic mixed identity certainly adds a problematic layer. Yet as her investigation begins it becomes clear that the stories provided by the South Korean soldiers engaged in the act, as well as their North Korean counterparts do not match up, heavily predicated on a lack of explanation to a missing firearm slug.  For the South Korean army Sergeant Lee (Byung-hun Lee) represents the point of inexplicability, yet it becomes apparent that he has crossed over to the North Korean side, purely by accident, but, nonetheless, stepping on a mine in the process.  Lee is discovered by Sergeant Oh (Kang-ho Song) who is wary at first of his pleas for help, but after explaining that he can diffuse the bomb with his help Oh reluctantly agrees.  The two share a few moments of discussion and eventually end up sending mail to one another via a flying brick.  Upon the joking suggestion of another soldier in the North Korean Army Lee finally crosses the border and after initial fears the group begins hanging out, eventually bringing another soldier from each side into the picture.  The group keeps their meetings secret, but during one night of revelry, they are discovered leading to a panicked firefight that kills two North Korean soldiers.  The remainder of the narrative centers on Sophie's discovery of this, as well as her own problematic past as it relates to the Korean divide.  Tragically very few survive the entire altercation and the two countries remain problematically severed.

I mentioned in the introduction that this is a film entirely concerned with border crossing, this of course expands way beyond the simple idea of moving from the South to the North and exists on metaphorical levels as well.  Firstly, Sophie represents a variety of crossed borders, firstly in her mixed race identity that crosses national borders, as well as social and political ones.  Similarly, her place as a female within the masculine oriented world of the military represents a border as well.  Even the methods by which the film narratives itself transcend borders, Park's non-linear narrative and use of time both as a grounding signifier and a means to undermine moments crosses temporal borders quite frequently.  Of course the film, while bookended by Sophie's experiences is inevitably about the soldiers experiences as they do cross that literal border.  In crossing the "Bridge of No Return" Lee and Oh have invariably crossed their countires ethical and political borders as well, ones that have very dire consequences resulting in the very least with incarceration and at the very most death. However, the group also transcends notions of fraternal relations, almost to the degree of intimacy as they share food, fond memories of their girls back home and a latently sexual exchange of spit.  However, what proves to be the greatest border crossing has to be Park's choice to depict North Korea not as a place of propaganda driven blind followers, but a country being destroyed by lack of food and a grounded economic future that, nonetheless, finds hope in their leaders and the ideas of communism.  Park's film advocates a unison between two opposing ideas that does not mean synthesizing, nor does it mean absolute exclusion.  It, like Shiri, envisions a a border that exists to mark nothing more than delineations, but can always be moved across with little threat to one's life.

Key Scene:  The moment when the soldiers decide to take a picture of their friendship, Park choose to up the graininess of the scene, subsequently causing it to have a nostalgic feel in line with sentimentality and it comes off beautifully.

This movie is a bit pricey and I had to rent it from the USC library to watch.  With that being said it is quite excellent and purchasing a copy is on my to do list, as it should be on yours.

A Whole World Realized On A Single Boat: The Bow (2005)

If I define a film as being poetic realism one could certainly assume it to be Italian or French, if I add that it is set on a boat with noticeably sparse dialogue one might narrow the field down to a Scandinavian offering.  If I add that it deals with some heavy issues of patriarchal oppression and problematic ties to the womb, it might be situated within the Spanish filmmaking tradition.  However, if I include all of these factors and mention that the film climaxes in a moment of violence that has an inherent tie to sexual awakening then it is highly likely that the film is probably comfortably residing within the New Korean tradition.  Ki-duk Kim, who has been reviewed multiple times on this blog manages to create such a film in The Bow, something so surreally poetic that I felt moved in a way emotionally more indicative of melodrama.  I have not encountered a soundtrack so perfect for a film in quite awhile, both in is serene almost ethereal quality, as well as its constant intersections within the diegetic world of the film.  The acting in this movie, for being a somewhat absurdist plot, is well-executed and quite believable.  It manages to take a narrative space that is quite condensed and spread out a message about humanity, or at least the South Korean notion of humanity, throughout the film.  I am coming to realize that when one discusses the work of Ki-duk Kim one must necessarily consider a multitude of narrative possibilities, as well as an incredible intersection of identities.  While it is not as diverse in The Bow as it is in some of his earlier works, one must nonetheless contest a variety of class, gender and race identities before truly configuring the message promoted by the popular and controversial filmmaker.  I have been dabbling in finding specific Korean directors to write lengthier research pieces on an realize that Chan-wook Park is far to mainstream, while Chang-dong Lee proves to obscure.  Perhaps with a few more films by Ki-duk Kim under my belt I could go with his oeuvre, because it is equal parts problematic and revolutionary, a great trove of research to any burgeoning scholar.

The Bow focuses on life as it occurs on a small fishing boat, somewhere in the non-descript waters surrounding Korea.  The young girl (Yeo-reum Han) finds herself a member of a crew that aside from her only consists of an old man, played magnificently by Seong-hwang Jeon, who appears to be keeping a schedule of her aging, with the intent of marrying her upon her seventeenth birthday.  Viewers are provided with little context as to why she resides on this boat, aside from her initial arrival some ten years earlier.  What is made quite clear is the old mans severe protection of the girl from the lecherous advances of other fishers, going so far as to ward of their lingering touches with warning shots from a steady and precise bow and arrow.  Furthermore, the old man provides fortunes via firing the arrow as they young girl swings back and forth, narrowly dodging the missiles as they whiz by.  It seems as though the old man will receive his reward for stalwart patience, until the emergence of a particularly dashing young man sends the young girl into a infatuated tizzy, one which is clearly shared by the man who provides the young girl with some of her first glimpses into the technological world outside the boat, via a walkman and cell phone.  Of course, the old man contests this and makes certain that she is distanced from him, only to be threatened that he will return with the girls parents to save her from the boat.  When the man does return with news that her parents are indeed seeking her out, the young girl becomes confused and grows weary of her place on the boat, pushing the old man away despite his best efforts.  Agreeing to have his fortune read, the young man discovers that he is not the rightful owner of the young girls heart, but, nonetheless, demands that she be allowed to leave her prison.  Reluctantly agreeing to this the old man attempts suicide only for the young girl to return and marry him and act that is never consummated sexually, at least in the traditional sense, a carefully placed arrow might say otherwise.  The film then ends with the boat sinking into a bottomless darkness, the girl waving all the while.

The criticisms run deep for this film, not unlike the ocean which the boat floats ever so stagnantly on throughout the narrative.  Specifically, as they relate to notions of oppression, all of which are enacted upon the body of the young girl.  Firstly, as a female body she is a point of objectification to the various males throughout the film, firstly, the old man who has sexual intentions for, problematically, guised in earnest care.  However, the various men who come and go from the boat seem to desire conquest or sexual satisfaction, undertaking acts that range from innocent snuggling to foul placement of fish bait.  No protection is provided for the girl that is not predicated on another's own sexual desires.  She is clearly the othered body in the narrative, as far as sexuality is concerned.  Beyond this, she is also oppressed in terms of class presence, as a surrogate daughter to a fisher she lacks wealth and is invariably unable to expand her worldview, this is reaffirmed when she is given headphones as a gift, only to use them without realizing that they provide no sound when not attached to an output.  Furthermore, one can find points of oppresion that emerge from the young girls lack of education or apparent muteness as a handicap.  These forms of restraint are eventually broken in the closing moments of the film as she explodes in a near orgasmic manner in her troublesome sexual awakening scene, yet what her minds opens up to is likely far more than purely sexual notions.

Key Scene:  Pretty much any of the moments involving the bow violin music are aurally and visually pleasing.

This is a solid Korean film and perhaps the most arthouse of any seen to date, with the exception of some of Ki-duk Kim's earlier work and is well worth owning.  A new copy of the DVD is not terribly expensive either.

The Spider Web Drips With Water: The Day A Pig Fell Into The Well (1996)

Yet another Korean film and yet another piece of cinema I find myself enamored with.  While The Day a Pig Fell into the Well, manifests itself somewhat differently from many Korean films I have viewed, as well as those mentioned on the blog here, not because it is non-linear or multi-narrative, but because it is a work solely concerned within the tragic monotony of a few middle-class individuals in modern Seoul.  In that aspect, it is similar to other films I have seen in its fear and frustrations resulting from improper dealings with modernity, however, the better portion of this film just depicts a group of people failing on a large scale.  This is a poetic, highly sexual and incredibly watchable film, yet it is also a tragic film in which characters possess very few redemptive skills, lack the will to advance beyond their  insufferable existence and constantly cross behind each other back to engage in devious monetary mismanagements and a seemingly unending set of infidelities.  All that being said, director Hong Sang-soo in his debut manages to offer something so inherently realized and necessary that I am not surprised by its great success at the festival circuit and its constant mention in the various books on Korean cinema that I read.  I am a bit bothered though by its lack of familiarity on a larger cinema scale, not only on the stage of world cinema, but within Korean cinematic history as well.  Sure it is not Oldboy, or a classic Korean melodrama, but it is an opulently cinematic film that masks itself within the veneer of a gross and reprehensible set of characters, managing to create something that borders perfectly between disturbingly sparse and melodramatically grandiose.  The Day a Pig Fell into the Well, is a work that should stand as a lesson in how to produce an independent work that is always and at once well-acted, forward thinking and earnestly reflective of its previous influences.  While not one of the best made films by a long shot, perhaps a sounder made film does not exist.

The Day a Pig Fell into the Well, is a set of heavily interconnected stories about a group of individuals who exist within deceitful lives, in terms of monetary engagements, job related tasks and most importantly sexual exploits.  Arguably the largest factor within this film centers around characters going behind one another to engage in sexual acts, whether it be a writer who is having an affair with his wife, by having sex with a woman who is having an affair with her husband.  However, if this were all he was doing it would be one thing, the man also borrows money from one female only to turn around and give it to the person with whom he is having an affair.  Another segment of the narrative focuses on the cuckolded husband as he makes a trip to Seoul for business, only to turn around and sleep with a prostitute, something that leads to him getting an unspecified venereal disease, which in turn leads his wife to realize that he too has cheated, even though she is guilty of similar actions on a far more frequent basis.  We are even provided a glimpse into the writers other lover, who is head over heels about him, going so far as to buy him presents and swoon over him, yet when she comes to his apartment and finds him with another woman she becomes upset, leading him to chastise her and kick her around in the street.  Eventually, by some means of absurdism the group comes together at what is assumed to be a wake or funeral, the levels of infidelity become clear yet little confrontation occurs.  It is only in the end that the husband reasserts his masculinity upon his wife, but as the narrative suggests she has yet another relationship on the back burner.  Also some people are killed at some point, but that is almost a trope within Korean cinema at this point.

I cannot begin to expand on the possibilities for interpretation within this film, one could always touch upon the fears of modernity within contemporary Korea, a theme that I have mentioned frequently on this blog, but these are obvious critiques something not worth reiterating at this time.  I could even talk about the gender components in this film, because at times they are glaringly problematic, while in other moments they are quite revolutionary, however, I have an academic paper I am currently working on which will afford me that opportunity.  Instead, I am going to glean something from an article on the film that I have yet to read that discusses temporality and repetition in the work.  This seems to be a rather keen focus for this, film considering that it is essentially the same group of people, committing the same acts in somewhat similar spaces.  In fact, the only separating factor appears to be time a very temporal thing, but one that serves to solely sever a direct tie between each act.  Psychologically speaking this is what allows the characters to commit awful acts, ranging from money laundering to murder, a disconnect not by spacial awareness, but one of time, which I know makes little to no sense, but something about detaching oneself from a moment as it relates to spacial recognition is far more difficult than detaching oneself from a differing time period.  An obvious example is how we often overlook previous acts of genocide, because if we were not there we would not have committed them, this film suggests the opposite of that notion to varying degrees.  An individuals acts are contingent to a moment in time, we could all commit the crimes if they time, not the space allowed for its occurrence.  I know I have not hashed this theory out very well, but it is something I want to look into more and perhaps reflect on better in a later review.

Key Scene: The means by which sexual acts abruptly intercept scenes is so jarring and appropriate that it might be one of my favorite uses of intercourse in a film to date.

This is yet another film suffering from region blocks, once again, making Youtube your best viewing source.

You're Admitting It, Just By Being Silent: Memento Mori (1999)

I was going to dodge doing films within the horror genre for at least a month, however, this Korean film project has meant that I am tied down to watching a particular set of films, not that I mind of course considering it is a main area of research interests, particularly in the ways gender is portrayed within the films.  Yet even when I reflect on Memento Mori while writing this blog I realize that referring to it as a  a horror film is somewhat misleading and were it not for the last fifteen to twenty minutes of the film, it would seem to be the complete antithesis of anything of the genre.  Instead, as others of have argued, Memento Mori is a study of young love, in this case in a lesbian context and manages to stick to its guns about this theme for a good portion of the film.  Of course when I say that this is a horror movie, set in a high school about two young girls discovering their lesbian desires, one could easily read it as being something of an exploitative flick, particularly considering the latent violence and sexuality within so much of New Korean Cinema, yet, in the hands of co-directors Tae-Yong Kim and Kyu-dong Min we are provided with an earnest look into two girls falling head over heals for one another despite the aggressive and physical abuses enacted upon them by their fellow students, as well as the faculty and staff of the high school they attend.  In a tradition somewhat normal in the Korean psychological thriller, the film's narrative is quite non-linear and even appears to contain dueling narratives existing within the same film space.  While this is apparently a loose sequel to an earlier film titled Whispering Corridors, something I am now dying to see, Memento Mori manages to make strides in its commentaries on youthful angst and ill-will, as well as draw serious attention to issues of silencing and bullying the other.  I often find myself engaged in conversations in which much criticism is brought about as to the lack of interesting and appropriate lesbian figures within film, had I known of this film prior I would have leapt at the opportunities to discuss this highly overrated work.  I would boldy suggest that were Memento Mori not suffering from mislabeling as horror, it would be a far more recognized work.

The film, as mentioned, primarily centers on the burgeoning love between two young girls, one the somewhat well-respected, if not despised Min Hyo-sin (Park Ye-jin) and the reserved athlete Yoo Shi-eun (Lee Young-jin) who suffers from some sort of hearing loss that causes her to be the subject of ridicule by classmates and teachers who all seem to suffer from an insane lack of understanding.  While they manage to keep their romantic involvement somewhat of a secret, the discovery of their journal by a fellow student named Soh Min-ah (Kim Min-sun), leading to speculation and a fabrication of their evolving relationship.  This spirals the film into something incredibly non-linear in which viewers may find trouble attaching moments to their proper moment in time, particularly when scenes involve both the lovers, as well as Soh.  It is only when we witness Soh secluded reading the diary that we can assure a present state, but it moves to their moments of intimacy with such instantaneous fervor that it is never certain.  Eventually, it is revealed that despite an initial bond, Shi-eun becomes somewhat distancing towards Hyo-sin who she sees as becoming far too attached to be a healthy relationship, going so far as to sleep with a male teacher as a means of assuring that the two will have a child together.  This drives Hyo-sin over the edge causing her to commit suicide, expecting Shi-eun to follow along as part of a suicide pact made earlier in the film.  Of course, Shi-eun does no such thing and attempts only to exist and distance herself from her past choices.  This leads to Hyo-sin haunting the school for the latter portion of the film, at times possessing Soh since she is key to bringing the entire narrative to light, considering that she possesses the journal.  The film ends rather abruptly as the ghost distances itself from the school and we are again shown a moment of Hyo-sin and Shi-eun engaging in young romantic affairs on the school's roof, as though the events to follow were just a troublesome figment of their young and vibrant imaginations.

This film has received a lot of criticism, and deservedly so, for not sticking to a central cinematic concept, especially the films third act which is exceptionally frantic and damn near impossible to follow.  However, I would contest that the films message requires this sort of ambiguous and non-linear format to drive home issues of oppression and ignorance.  The relationship we are shown is created through not a factual account per se, but a gleaning for emotive notes written in an equally non-traditional diary, one full of pictures, phrases and hidden pockets, but rarely of any flat out writing.  Hyo-sin clearly struggled to explain her feelings for Shi-eun, just as she ponders existence when reading her poem for class.  She cannot properly categorize her feelings for another girl, because the societal constructs not only do not allow her to possess such feelings, but, in fact, completely lack a language to describe such moments.  The narrative reinforces this both by the hateful language spouted by the oppressive forces within the film, as well as by creating a narrative that is not traditional in its construct.  At times Memento Mori reads more like a feminist experimental film or a piece of Third World Cinema, something more inclined to deal with the intersectionalities considered in this work.  Sure this film masks itself in a horror film at its closing moments, I imagine some of that is likely to be a result of nitpicking producers, however, despite its problematic genre location, Memento Mori is very much a film to be grounded and admired within the constantly growing and emerging Gay and Lesbian cinema.

Key Scene:  The moments on the rooftop are sweet and sentimental, something not often shown in Korean cinema.

This is a great film and one worth checking out, unfortunately, it is a bit hard to come by via Netflix, but Amazon has decently priced copies at the moment.