Hwangsanbeol April 10, 2011
Posted by koreancinemahouse in : Uncategorized, Comedy, Action/Thriller, Drama / Romance , add a commentStarring: Park Joong-hoon,Jung Jin-yeong, Lee Mun-sik, Kim Seung-woo, Shin Hyun-jun, Lee Won-jong, Kim Seon-ah.
Directed by Lee Jun-ik.
Year: 2003
Throughout much of the 6th century, continuous feuds between Korea’s three Kingdoms: Baekche, Koguryo and Shilla had taken a heavy toll. In 660AD the fate of these kingdoms would be settled.
Kim Choon-Chu, the king of Shilla, had set up diplomatic relations between his kingdom and China, the powerful General Tang (China being known as the superpower Tang at that time) having all say at meetings. Soon he would be paid a visit by Kim Yu-Sin (Jung Jin-yeong), a general who had been ordered to go by his king, Kim Choon-chu. Upon their meeting, Tang had ordered Kim Yu-sin to go back with a message, telling his king that for their new relationship to work, the kingdom of Shilla would have to offer a gift (rice) as a sign of respect and that this would have to be delivered no later than July 10th.
The biggest problem, however was that the troops of Shilla would have to make their way through Baekche and Koguryo. Having heard about Shilla’s duty, Baekche and Koguryo became increasingly weary and worried that relations between Tang and Shilla would cause future chaos, and so refused Shilla to pass through their land. Baekche’s decision to refuse Shilla’s access would go on to infuriate the general Tang, who then told Shilla to launch an assault on Baekche, the smallest and weakest kingdom.
Eventually, Tang’s fleet would arrive just outside of Baekche. The king of Baekche worried that Tang’s troops would attack them and the other kingdoms and immediately contacted his superiors to form an army. These lords were already at qualms with Baekche’s king, but regardless by that time it was impossible to set up as Tang and Shilla already had made their move, forcing the lords out with their more powerful arsenal. Baekche had not much left to defend itself with. The king of Baekche did have one man he could rely on though: Kye-Baek (Park Joong-hoon). Kye-Baek was an honourable man, forged by war and agreed to lead the defence of Baekche. But Kye-Baek wasn’t stupid, he knew that with such small numbers he couldn’t lead his army to victory. The thought of Shilla becoming victorious and subsequently attacking Baekche with the intent to rape and destroy meant that he would go home and kill his own wife and children to spare them the torture they would face in the future. Soon he made his way to Hwang San-Beol - the gateway to the king’s palace.
The Shilla army consisted of roughly 50,000 men. Baekche had just 5,000 at their disposal. The spirit of the Baekche people carried them strong and many a time they managed to hold off their aggressors. Shilla would start to resort to low tactics in an attempt to break Baekche’s morale but they kept on fighting a war that would soon leave no true winner.
Based on an important and historical event in Korea, and one that’s been retold many times, director Lee Jun-ik chose to take a more viably comedic approach in adapting the tale for the big screen. To tell this story in 2003 in a more satirical way that would depict the absurdities of war seems appropriate enough. Given that the exact ins and outs of historical documents may be somewhat obscure this allows the director a bit of freedom to explore various avenues in presenting a film that needs to be an entertaining as it is educational. He chooses to take a look at the different warring sides and how they might have reacted toward each other off the battlefield. His gimmick is one which leaves Hwangsanbeol (a.k.a. Once Upon A Time on the Battlefield) a difficult film for western viewers to approach. With the assumption that the dynasties presented in the film would have spoken with different dialects, much of the dialogue relies on accented slurs which are likely only going to appeal to native viewers.
I would have to admit to certainly being dumbfounded when it comes to these moments, of which there are many. The humour is split between dialogue and physical actions; visually, it’s easy to appreciate and whether you find the rest funny or not depends on your tolerance for childish verbal taunts. Sometimes it raises a smile, but it’s also rather silly, which is where I don’t doubt that the dialects start to take effect. As a satire though it works reasonably well, going along with the adage that why shouldn’t we laugh in the face of war? After all the very notion is utterly ridiculous. Regardless of how well the humour might work, part of the film’s confliction lies with trying to present a believable historic event. As Hwangsanbeol charges toward its climactic and bloody finale, the tone takes quite a shift; it certainly does well to put across its point and remind us that when our lands were fought for it was no stroll in the park, but the offset presentation makes for somewhat jarring experience.
With a budget of $800,000 the film certainly looks the part. A lot of care and attention to detail was clearly employed, with some impressive set designs that give us a remarkable feel of what Korea in the 600’s would be like. The scale is even more impressive as the film hurries along, in particular the final battle, taking up much of the last 20 minutes being wonderfully staged. It doesn’t quite reach the epic scale of some fo the more higher budgeted sword and sandles epics, but it’s no less effective in bringing home the realities and desperation of war.
Heading up a fun cast is Park Joong-hoon and Jung Jin-yeong who are both excellent in their respective roles. Park manages to bring a nice touch to the character of Kye-Baek, depicting him as a tough character, loyal to his king, but who has a caring heart toward his men; despite knowing that he may not live past the great battle he does his best to bring motivation to those serving by his side. Jung is equally strong as Kim Yu-Sin - a man who was known more for his intellect and psychological strategies. He also brings humour to his role with good effect. He and Park share the more subtle humorous scenes, whereas much of the other cast get to go all out with endless yelling. Kim Seung-woo and Shin Hyun-jun make nice cameo appearances together in one of the better comical moments, while viewers will pick out other fun, familiar supporting faces.
Reviewed by Kevin Gilvear
Teenage Hooker Became A Killing Machine
Posted by koreancinemahouse in : Uncategorized, Horror, Action/Thriller, Science-fiction/Fantasy, Black Comedy , add a commentStarring: Lee So-yun, Kim Dae-tong, Bae Soo-baek, Kim Ho-kyum.
Directed by Nam Gee-woong.
Year: 2000
Teenage Hooker Became A Killing Machine [lit. The high-school student who got chopped up while selling herself in Daehakno is still in Daehakno] is a sixty minute short directed by Nam Gee-woong, who also produced, wrote, edited, scored and provided cinematography. Shot on MiniDVD in 2000, it stars Lee So-yun as a high school girl who has fallen into prostitution, but when her secret shame is discovered by her teacher (Kim Dae-tong) he threatens to tell all, unless she provides him with sexual favours – or rather she offers them. When she becomes pregnant the teacher hires three brotherly hit-men to take care of her. Their mission is a success, or was, until she’s revived as a cyborg by a crazed inventor working at the mysterious DSH Division 6. Recalling the traumatic events she sets off down a path of bloody revenge…
Teenage Hooker came at a time when the South Korean film industry had just started to get exciting, though given its nature it never really became anything more than a minor cult oddity, managing to slip through with little fuss back home, before slinking off to the United States where it was banded around the festival circuit to much higher praise. And it is indeed a curious little number, owing itself to the kind of visceral cinema ushered in by the likes of Sogo Ishii and Shinya Tsukamoto during the 1980s, not to mention some of the same period’s more cult-y U.S. efforts, which should in turn appeal to those with their tastes a little more firmly rooted in the bizarre.
With little in the way of dialogue, Nam Gee-woong uses the surrounding environment and eclectic, alternative music offerings to drive along much of the sparse narrative, which at its core consists of a familiarly recycled revenge theme. Most of the time his visual style, which consists of careful compositions rather than energetic camera movement - save for a lengthy mid section - works considerably well given his budget constraints, while at times there’s an odd air of pretension when he attempts to marry his sights and sounds. The occasional operatic rendering, complete with images of a performer is interesting; while its beauty juxtaposes the film’s grim inset, however, it doesn’t seem to serve much of a purpose at all other than simply being there, having no real frame of reference. Of course this is likely down to Nam Gee-woong’s theatrical background, in which he spent most of the nineties with the Il-san Opera Company, moving on to various projects as an A.D. and set designer. But despite the inclusion being such a labour of love it doesn’t quite gel, and as we see later on there are far more notable examples whereby the director’s almost sweet-natured score and K-Rock intermissions work to better effect. However, Teenage Hooker Became A Killing Machine is quite captivating in terms of visual tone. The screen is often awash in primary colours and Gee-woong captures a perfectly gritty and dirty atmosphere in reflecting the schoolgirl’s chosen profession, while illustrating the immediate dangers surrounding her. There is a considerable amount of blooming and blown highlights which tend to overstate things, but then stark realism isn’t the name of the game here.
Though Teenage Hooker’s run time clocks it at an hour it occasionally suffers from awkward pacing; its Achilles heel being that Gee-woong drags out more than a few scenes far beyond the normal requirements. The opening credits alone last for a staggering seven minutes (add to that a further four at the end), set to images of Lee So-yun accompanied by the film’s pleasant central theme, which of course strips the story down even further to its bare essentials. As is often the case Gee-woong indulges himself in all manners of ways, his only problem being that once his experimental journeys take flight they never really land. This proves to be a hit and miss endeavour, showcasing some extremely long-winded scene transitions, next to some momentary shots of brilliance. The dance-off sequence which last for two minutes and rarely deviates from Kim Dae-tong’s standing position is one of the strangest scenes I’ve witnessed in a long time, yet it’s also one of the most satisfying pieces of the film, being strangely hypnotic and instantly memorable all the same. It’s one of the rarer moments in which humour works to the advantage of a sombre predicament involving sex and bribery. Likewise Lee So-yun’s reflective and considerably lengthy monologue around the mid-way point grabs our attention due to it being one of the few instances in which we can get an insight into her mysterious character. When the film isn’t stuck between a rock and a hard place it does manage to up the momentum, getting from A to B with little hassle as the girl mercilessly slaughters her past tormentors in her school get-up, which then becomes an exercise in surreal perversion that has the film occasionally work better as a parody of Sci-Fi and action conventions - it’s just that we don’t know whether it’s intentional or not.
Minor plot spoilers in the following paragraph:
It’s hard to imagine a great deal, if any kind of social commentary can be extracted from Nam Gee-woong’s fleeting picture; it’s not until the final few minutes that he places a brief spin on things, but by that time it appears to be too little too late. The teacher mentions how it was he who dictated the girl’s actions and thoughts; how it was he who created her mental programming, thus turning her into an “inhuman bloodless machine” - to which the girl replies by shooting him in the balls with her metallic penis-gun, before shoving it down his throat and blowing his brains out. This steel phallic symbol, presumably acting as some kind of metaphor in an act of role reversal could perhaps be Gee-woong’s way of highlighting obvious sexual dominancy and ultimately stating that you reap what you sew, but his film is rather ambiguous from the get-go. Moreover is he trying to challenge the notion of a society whereby children are exploited by their peers? Perhaps, but then the opening fifteen minutes or so would suggest that it is in fact the young generation who are leading others into a world of perversion and decay; after all the girl knowingly prostitutes herself to dozens of men (so we’re led to believe) and uses her puppy-dog demeanour to manipulate her surrounds, bearing no remorse or guilt for her actions, and with a back story only hinting at an unstable family life there’s little for our brains to work with and little sympathy to be gained. As such the film has this unclear, almost contradictory nature whereby the director’s intentions seem blurred by his far more visual dependency.
Still, when it’s not so bogged down by ill-thought notions there’s plenty of fun to be had, thanks to the two leads who are effective enough in their roles. Kim Dae-tong is a perfectly archetypical and whacky cartoon villain, donned in equally cartoon-ish make-up, which sees him looking like a plastic baddie from Warren Beatty’s Dick Tracy, or Robbie Rotten from the more recent kiddie show Lazytown. He laughs insidiously throughout most of the picture (and no doubt director Gee-woong encouraged him no-end), whilst maintaining a creepy and darkly humorous persona. Meanwhile Lee So-yun is simply a sport as the almost silent assassin. While her character’s complexities never allude to much she nonetheless has to go through a manner of weird and wonderful routines, from wearing prosthetic robot breasts and penis, to caressing plasticine-faced baddies and bearing her real boobs and bum for good measure. She gets the odd moment to deliver some touching dialogue, but like the film’s title suggests she’s ultimately a female Terminator who don’t give a damn. Give her a pair of black shades and a sailor uniform and you got yourself an enjoyable heroine who lends herself nicely to the film’s somewhat parodying nature.
Teenage Hooker Became a Killing Machine is a flawed but interesting piece of work. It’s certainly not for everyone; some will find it a laborious slog and others will likely find enjoyment in some of its more bizarre moments, filled with blacker-than-black humour. Director Nam Gee-woong is a talented individual; that he managed to work on so many things at once and show a good understanding of how to technically present a picture should be praised. But he lacks restraint here, seeming to care little for the intricacies we might otherwise expect to find in characters such as these. Teenage Hooker is simply unfocused, not really knowing what it wants to be: a visual exercise that greatly clouds any themes it might set out to explore.
Reviewed by Kevin Gilvear
Sympathy for Lady Vengeance
Posted by koreancinemahouse in : Uncategorized, Action/Thriller, Drama / Romance, Black Comedy , add a commentStarring: Lee Young-ae, Choi Min-shik, Kim Si-hu, Kwon Yae-young, Nam Il-woo.
Directed by Park Chan-wook.
Year: 2005
After three hard-working years, director Park Chan-wook completes his revenge trilogy with Sympathy for Lady Vengeance. Following in the footsteps of Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance and Oldboy the film integrates similar themes and events, playing upon the actions of its protagonists. Redemption or the atonement of sins play major parts, though undeniably they’re all multiple layered features and each offer their differing approach to the subjects at hand.
The story revolves around a woman named Lee Geum-ja (Lee Young-ae) who has recently been released from prison after 13-years for the abduction and murder of a young boy. Whilst serving time she began her journey of self discovery, invoking within her an angel which earned her the adoration of her fellow inmates. But her other side also began to surface and soon it was apparent that she was quite a cunning figure. Once outside we learn that her 13-years away was merely a prelude to a detailed plan which has her gather old friends with the help of her own intimidating ways in order for her to take revenge on one man – Mr. Baek (Choi Min-shik), the real foe behind that tragic kidnapping. Geum-ja realises that she must atone for her sins and make peace with those around her, including her own daughter who has been out of her life for far too long.
Park Chan-wook’s ambitions have been extremely high from the word “go”; he’s set out to bring us a similarly thematic collection, the likes of which has rarely been seen. If he’s succeeded at one thing then he’s certainly taken the revenge motif and stripped away the more clichéd aspects of exploitation that once laced the classics of the 60’s and 70’s. Revenge flicks have usually worked best because of their simple execution; the 80’s continued a fine tradition with a slew of gunplay obsessed, one-liner cheese-fests, while presently everything needs to be gritty. Indeed Park’s revenge trilogy then is a very dark collection of stories that thrive because of their attention to detail and in keeping the audience second guessing. Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance kicked this off with a relatively straightforward plot, which did indeed keep things simple but rammed up the brutality excessively. Oldboy then took things to another level, but clearly by this stage Park was ready to throw in a curve ball. With Sympathy for Lady Vengeance he meets something of a middle ground. The final instalment’s ace up its sleeve isn’t a shock twist and neither is it anywhere near the visceral level of the previous features. This is however played out as straight as you could expect.
Sympathy for Lady Vengeance is all about premeditation and cold calculating; each film in the series is instantly definable by its core exploration. The first went back and forth between parties, and finding sympathy for each character was an easily accomplished task. It also addressed us with the idea of taking revenge after the loss of a loved one and presented the kind of situations that would resonate with any parent should they be forced into such a horrifying predicament. Oldboy felt far more like a detective piece with a main character who had no idea as to why he was forced into such a bleak situation for so many years. But it was also a taboo piece of film making, which ended up turning quite a few heads. The lazily titled Sympathy for Lady Vengeance (at least to overseas audiences; it’s original title being “Kind Miss Geum-ja”) uses Park’s already familiar traits; i.e. cunning use of flashbacks, twists and sub-plots. He takes his time in setting up the film, just as he did with its predecessors and then lets loose for the middle act with all kinds of contriving elements. Unfortunately he still has a knack of not knowing when to quit later on, and as such he falls into the same trap as he did with Oldboy by prolonging the final act (when to some the twist was already apparent) far more than it needs to be and in turn creating multiple endings. It’s a shame as the film does start out strongly and Lee Geum-ja’s mysterious but supposedly magnificent plan is intriguing because of its ambiguity, although it’s no mystery as to who she’s gunning for. Park goes back to his first film in the series and takes things a little further by broadening aspects of society and ethical practices. In this sense he doesn’t really offer anything abundantly different when it comes to vigilante-ism and whether or not justice deserves to be taken into the hands of anyone other than the law, and this is where Sympathy for Lady Vengeance proves to be no more effective than Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance, having managed to end on a “seen this, done that” vibe, with Park’s philosophy seeming to be that more is more for its final act.
Going back to sub-plots it’s bound to be a bone of contention when looking at the handling of the relationship between Geum-ja and her daughter, Jenny. There’s a sense here that Park rushed a few bits in order to roll out others, and in this case the mother/daughter relationship amounts to very little in the end, past trying to understand the reasoning behind Jenny’s abandonment, which of course we all know about from early on. That said the well assigned roles are convincing enough, even with some of the lengthier moments of exposition dealing with the use of the English language. This is naturally something that Lee Young-ae has struggled with in the past, in JSA where her use of the language damaged the credibility of her character somewhat. Here it works much better, mainly due to her convincing predicament; here she’s a woman who needs to learn English in order to communicate with her daughter, who has been living in Australia all her life. And it’s this portion that feels slightly hurried along: Geum-ja tracks down and takes her daughter from her home all the way back to Seoul. Although Park cannot afford to spend needless amounts of time in chronicling their journey together there are still a few moments that briskly pass by and never really allow us to become wrapped up in any kind of bond between the two.
Certainly though Sympathy for Lady Vengeance is far more narrative driven than it is in presenting the kind of violence we winced at in the past. It’s been considerably toned down in terms of graphic depictions and it leaves most of the violence up to the viewer’s imagination. Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance did the unexpected by highlighting such fragility amongst its victims and gave the viewer a real sense of self awareness, but this time such horrors are concealed and are mostly hinted at by flashes of red; only one or two scenes recall classic Park moments and present the kind of realism which makes them so acceptable. Yet despite the lack of ultra-violence which many viewers are bound to expect it carries itself rather well and proves that at least some of Park’s decisions are far from detrimental. A large part of the tale focuses entirely on Geum-ja’s stint in prison and the people she befriended in order to manipulate and it’s a largely fascinating look at a character that seems to switch personalities in an instant. Although Geum-ja is not a sufferer of multiple personality disorder there is a part of her which is so split down the middle that it’s hard to know where she begins and ends. Of course this is a deliberate ploy which works well in layering the character, and as we soon witness once she dons that blood-red eyeliner she truly deserves her “Witch” mantel. It’s also interesting that Park puts use to several religious motifs, some of which are a little too arty-farty as Geum-ja invokes the angel that earns her the adoration of her fellow inmates, yet if anything the progression of her character shows her to be an angel of death, rather than one of good intent. But then it could be argued that this is just one subtlety that Park is tipping his hat toward.
Getting back to some of his stylistic choices, some are more inspired than others. Indeed his early angel halos are just too heavy handed, but it rolls on and we’re left with the kind of images that Park has established himself well with. There’s some clever use of CG during seemingly impossible panning shots, which Park seems to advocate greatly. Sympathy for Lady Vengeance is as accomplished looking as any of his films to date, also bringing with it the occasional moment of surrealism which befitted Oldboy. Remember the ant on the subway train? That’s nothing compared to seeing Choi Min-shik’s head on a dog’s body. The film isn’t without its quirkiness then and it manages to get away with a few dark, comedic moments, which come as a result of Park’s intuitive direction and knowing in this instance how far he can push it. In many ways Sympathy for Lady Vengeance is his most amusing, with several oddly funny moments, one of which sees Geum-ja point a gun at Baek’s head before changing her mind on how to do the deed in a more appropriate way.
Ultimately does the film accomplish what it sets out to achieve? I suppose it depends on the individual. Should we sympathise with Geum-ja? That’s debatable. I often find that Park’s film can get emotionally unstable at times, meaning that they don’t always illicit the kind of response that they hope to. In the case of Sympathy for Lady Vengeance it’s a little too numbing, leaving the viewer indifferent upon the closing credits. Part of this is no doubt due to its aforementioned heavy handedness in several scenes. It’s very hard to become wrapped up in the central characters when so much else is going on underneath; our attention is diverted by other pressing concerns and particular actions. The characters within are most definitely played with expertise (Lee Young-ae joining Park for the first time since JSA rides on her character’s emotions well and slightly improves her English in the process) and Park steers away from melodrama - much to his credit - but it’s not enough to make the film an emotionally rewarding one. You’ll also find that Park brings back several familiar faces from his past entries: Song Kang-ho, Shin Ha-kyun in cameo appearances, with Choi Min-shik taking a dominant role. While it’s nice to see them there is a gimmicky feel about the whole idea. I still maintain that Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance is the greatest of the trilogy and did indeed achieve much more, even though it was equally as bleak. But the one thing that Sympathy for Lady Vengeance does have is a poetic quality and a denouement which is far from the depressing one I might have expected from Park. Perhaps now he can go and make a happy film.
Reviewed by Kevin Gilvear
Solace
Posted by koreancinemahouse in : Uncategorized, Comedy, Drama / Romance , add a commentStarring: Han Suk-kyu, Lee Han-wi, Kim Ji-su, Choi Ban-ya, Choi Cheol-ho, Jeong Hye-seon.
Directed by Byeon Seung-wook
Year: 2006
In-ku (Han Suk-kyu) runs his own pharmacy and lives at home with his mother, also taking care of his mentally-ill brother In-seob (Lee Han-wi). While he loves his family he sometimes finds it difficult not to think about living his own life and getting married, but he feels that he’s too restricted by responsibility to ever settle down.
Hye-ran (Kim Ji-su) runs a clothes store, but also specialises in making imitations of popular brands. She and her sister Mi-ran are heavily in debt, thanks to their late father, and they’re finding it tough to move on in life. Mi-ran wishes to marry and escape her troubles, but Hye-ran doesn’t want to be left with all the crap. A chance encounter sees Hye-ran run into In-kyu, and soon they form a friendship. They begin to confide in one another and find that their lives aren’t so different, and thus they become romantically involved. As they become even closer their burdens begin to grow and they find themselves questioning family values as they seek to find the answers to their troubles.
Solace is the directorial debut from Byeon Seung-wook, who also worked from his own screenplay which was five years in the making. A former assistant director of Lee Chang-dong for the 2000 hit Peppermint Candy - which explains his homage to the director during a movie drive-in scene - Seung-wook fuels his picture with simple human insight and real emotions. Solace is a well grounded feature that doesn’t take too many liberties with its material; it even refrains as much as possible from drowning itself in heavy melodrama, rather presenting us with these people and their troubles and letting us decide if they’re worth caring about or not. Unsurprisingly the director can’t quite escape the odd musical cue here and there, but overall this isn’t a picture that relies on advantageous scoring and manipulative twists, and it doesn’t need to. The lives surrounding the film’s primary characters are indicative of a real world that Seung-wook is trying to portray: family hardships, acceptance, settling down and social woes, which everyone must try to overcome, if not simply cope with. He gives us people from all walks of life and never is anyone portrayed as being significantly more important than anyone else ( “I’m a human being too.” proclaims a prostitute at one point). Taking precedence are financial burdens, coupled with family ties. Here we have characters who dream of escaping from their lives, knowing that in reality they can’t, but they seek to drown out their sorrow with the likes of alcohol, before realising that the company of another is as powerful as any drug.
And this is how Seung-wook builds up his tale, though despite what you might think it’s all played quite light-heartedly. There’s a lot of fun behind his script, which above all else shows clear love and affection between family members, regardless of frustrations that might often set in. Much of this may seem rather formulaic to a certain extent, and if not for such a likeable cast it might not have worked half as well as it does. We need to be able to follow these characters with our undivided attention, particularly when considering that the picture clocks in at almost two hours, which granted is a good twenty minutes overcooked. There are scenes that unfold over lengthy durations, but with things resting firmly on the shoulders of the ever capable Han Suk-kyu it’s difficult not to find comfort within. His bond with his brother, as played by Lee Han-wi is often delicately handled, allowing a strong dynamic to manifest into something truly great by the end, while Kim Ji-su, still relatively fresh from her impressive debut in This Charming Girl, provides an equally subtle performance, which sees the viewer believe in such a blossoming relationship. All of this is encapsulated by Byeon Seung-wook’s rather low-key approach. Solace isn’t anything more than quietly attractive to look at; it’s spread across few locations and feels quite restrained, but it’s a well-lit production that manages to admirably balance its change in mood from time to time. A good first effort from a director who will surely stick around for a while longer.
Solace wasn’t exactly a big hitter at the Seoul box-office. It was relatively hush, being made on just under 3 million dollars and hitting theatres in November 2006, but it’s a fine little indie film with a great cast that approaches its subjects respectfully to help get it through a somewhat lengthy trial.
Reviewed by Kevin Gilvear
Say Yes
Posted by koreancinemahouse in : Uncategorized, Horror, Action/Thriller , add a commentStarring: Park Joong-hoon, Kim Ju-hyuk, Chu Sang-mi.
Directed by Kim Sung-hong
Year: 2001
After years spent as a struggling writer, Kim Jeong-hyun (Kim Ju-hyuk) finally brings the good news home to his wife Yoon-hee (Chu Sang-mi) that he’s just found a publisher for his first novel. To celebrate he’s purchased a new car and has planned to take Yoon-hee out of Seoul to visit the beaches of Sokcho. When they stop off for a bite to eat along the way Yoon-hee notices a strange man (Park Joong-hoon) starring at her. Moments later, after telling her husband, they leave, but Jeong-hyun accidentally hits the man with his car. He gets up and doesn’t appear to be injured, but he asks of the couple to take him to Sokcho.
Begrudgingly they do so, and while in the car the man tells them that he will kill them, to which he follows up by saying that it was simply a joke. However, not long after Yoon-hee and Jeong-hyun arrive at their hotel they become victim to a series of harassments, and they suspect that the same man continues to trail them. The man presents himself and begins to psychologically torture his victims, until it reaches the point that Jeong-hyun physically attacks him. Now faced with charges of bodily assault, the couple must agree to the man’s request: he’ll drop all charges if they allow him to join them on their trip for three days. Stupidly they let him go along for the ride, but his intent is soon made clear when he threatens to torment them for as long as it takes, until Jeong-hyun plucks up the courage to kill him.
Situated in the north-eastern part of Gangwon-do, Sokcho has long been a popular vacation spot for its wonderful beaches, temples, granite peaks and spas, amongst other things like trees and mineral water. It sits on the coast line of the Eastern Sea and is divided into inner and outer Sorak by its highest peak Taech’ongbong. Outer Sorak, where the village of Sorak-dong is located, is a popular destination, being that it’s the gateway to Mount Sorak-san, boasting plenty of leisurely activities and accommodation, while the village of Oseak, situated in the south is home to Naksana temple which houses the largest sculpture of Buddha in Asia and holds a massive beach. Sokcho also hosted the Gangwon International Tourism Expo in 1999.
Now you may be wondering why I’ve suddenly gone all “Wish You Were Here” on you. I don’t have any ties to Sokcho, but if they’d like to offer me some nice packages anyway I’ll gladly accept. But fear not, I’ve not lost my mind. No, the reason is that there’s very little else to say in regards to Kim Sung-hong’s 2001 thriller Say Yes, which happily boasts Sokcho as being its great attraction, complimenting a genre type that’s different from the rest. But the reality is that Say Yes is one of South Korea’s early new wave attempts to fully emulate the popular American stalker/slasher/killer thriller, which has dominated the international market. And it does so unashamedly; this is no less than a Korean remake of Robert Harmon’s cult classic from 1986, which is impossible for me to avoid drawing comparisons toward, because frankly The Hitcher is the quintessential film about a complete loon stalking innocent victims type road movie ever made. It also blatantly borrows other plot devices, notably from Seven, with some scenes even echoing The Terminator. All of this is so clearly evident in how it’s staged and in how cold and calm Park’s antagonist actually is, in addition to the familiar check list of things to do. As such Say Yes offers very little to make it stand on its own. It’s devoid of any individuality whatsoever and as a pastiche maybe it could have been better if it had gone the comedy route.
That’s because it’s difficult to describe Say Yes as being a truly terrifying experience. No matter what the director wants you to believe, this is a film whereby it’s impossible not to continually question the actions of its protagonists, who you can’t help but think are incredibly stupid, and despite the film having an immense lovey-dovey build up between Yoon-hee and Jeong-hyun, there’s just so very little emotional investment from the viewer. Although the film arguably runs fifteen to twenty minutes too long it certainly makes up for any lag with its brutal climactic discharge of raw emotion and bloody spattering. Technically it’s brilliant, as with many violent South Korean productions of late, with a surge of realism which makes viewing quite uncomfortable and gives it an enormous boost of energy. But it’s also miserable and the denouement, while supposedly trying to be clever, ends up as being more of an eye-roller as we’re fed a kind of violence breeds violence mantra.
Of course, we shouldn’t be expected to think hard at all when it comes to these types of films. Usually as long as it’s thrilling enough and the actors are suitably pitched then they can hold our attention. However, Say Yes rarely even delivers on this front. Park Joong-hoon, who I like a great deal, doesn’t quite cut the mustard here as a sadistic loner. He’s made to act throughout the entire film as a tired, emotionless and all round desensitized villain, which is undoutedly the point, but in the end he’s only as intense as his (seemingly) blue contact lenses allow him to be, while he’s also seen as some kind of super-human, who can withstand the edge of a spade to the head and a pitch fork to the gut thanks to his tolerance of pain. Still, his character is kept a mystery and his motives are unclear which makes him a good, violent participant; it’s a rule you don’t often dare to break and in that respect he’s successful to a degree. But his relationship with the two protagonists, the mind games and the journey they partake in is ultimately lacking in spirit and passion, leaving the rewards very few in between.
Say Yes is never more than the sum of its parts; an average production in which Kim Sung-hong’s attempts to make it into something different are ultimately futile. Still, it’s no worse than half the other U.S. and Korean efforts that have been doing the rounds in recent years.
Reviewed by Kevin Gilvear
No Blood, No Tears
Posted by koreancinemahouse in : Uncategorized, Comedy, Action/Thriller , add a commentStarring: Jeon Do-yeon, Lee Hye-young, Jung Jae-young, Goo Shin, Jung Doo-hong.
Directed by Ryoo Seung-wan.
Year: 2002
With indie flick Die Bad performing remarkably well at the Seoul box office in 2000, having been made through pure sweat and blood and a miniscule budget, director Ryoo Seung-wan was given the go-ahead to direct his first major commercial feature: No Blood, No Tears at the age of 29. The dubbed “wonderkid” proved to be a pioneering force at the turn of the new millennium as far as Korean movie making was concerned. He showed that small budgets don’t mean small pictures and in comparison to Hollywood features, in which actors are paid ridiculous amounts of money and special effects are all the rage, No Blood, No Tears stands as a model piece of work, under which production moguls might want to take note.
The story concerns Gyung-seon (Lee Hye-young), a former safe-cracker who now struggles to make end meet as a taxi driver, thanks to her husband running off and leaving her a massive debt. Try as she might to get by, she’s relentlessly hounded by loan sharks who continually threaten her unless she pays back her husband’s debt with accumulated interest. One evening Gyung-seon’s car his hit by a sports car being driven by a young women named Soo-jin (Jeon Do-yeon), an aspiring pop singer who wishes to flee her life and her abusive boyfriend Dok-bul (Jung Jae-young). After a rocky start Soo-jin befriends Gyung-seon and they gradually learn a little about each other. Eventually Soo-jin offers her new friend a way out of her poor predicament, if she agrees to help her pull off a dangerous scam. Dok-bul, a former boxer, now runs an underground dog-fighting ring and Soo-jin arranges a seemingly perfect trap, from which she’ll escape with a bag of money. But soon she and Gyung-seon will find themselves on the run, and with few places to go.
Despite its heavy mainstream financing, No Blood, No Tears has all the hallmarks of a pure Ryoo Seung-wan film; its sentiments come straight from the heart in that the young director had struggled himself up to his mid twenties, having lost his parents and sticking to menial, difficult work to finance his ambitions of being a film director. His 2002 effort, then, is perhaps the ultimate reflection on getting through life’s hardships, but while it certainly is critical it isn’t entirely specific toward Korean social aspects. Its characters represent people across the globe, and its situations are also highly reflective with changing world aspects as old school divisions are inevitably filtered out in favour of a young generation. These subtle nods thus allow it to appeal to a far wider audience.
A larger budget doesn’t stop Ryoo Seung-wan from sticking to what he knows best, bringing back friends and family members, this time alongside A-listers. In that respect No Blood, No Tears means a whole lot more, telling a tale of people’s struggles, as performed by few who themselves had journeyed along the difficult path. Significantly this brings into play the casting of Lee Hye-young who had been away from screens for seven years and would now take on a major lead part; this was also a moment in which dominant female roles were starting to become a normal occurance in South Korean cinema, next to their male counterparts. While a large majority of Korean films, notably comedies, satirize how females are the downtrodden members of society, directors such as Ryoo Seung-wan, Cho Jing-gyu (My Wife is a Gangster) and Hyun Nam-seob (who also broke out in 2002 with the overlooked Bae Doo-na vehicle Saving My Hubby) choose to show the complete turn around with effortless retaliation. Seung-wan isn’t leading a defiant rally against taboo issues; it’s perhaps neither here nor there that his lead protagonists are women fighting back against their oppressors, though they certainly warrant discussion in light of the fact that he didn’t always intend for female leads in the first place. It simply brings back to light a sense of equality, which was sadly lacking for a long time.
It’s quite amusing, then, that Ryoo Seung-wan would earn criticism for approaching No Blood, No Tears similarly to Tarantino and Guy Ritchie’s efforts, and while the director acknowledges this comparison and his love for neo-noir in general, going so far as to create his own genre term “Pulp-Noir”, he instils his production with his own unique stamp. Upon each release its more and more apparent that his films carry their own sense of style and depth, rather than being simple pastiches, homage’s or piss-takes of well established genre types. It’s quite difficult to actually acknowledge No Blood, No Tears under this sole moniker of the rather gimmicky Pulp-Noir phrase; a mesh of western and Hong Kong genres, old and new, it takes influence from a number of productions in terms of setting and story; using the popular westernised approach in rearranging narrative flow and echoing traditional martial arts aesthetics, also thanks to the director’s love for Jackie Chan and John Woo’s heroic bloodshed movies. And this is a style that Seung-wan has developed over the years, finding a comfortable solution through which to tell his tales and get across his intentions. His action aids the story telling, and this is evident in every one of his features that primarily depict the inner struggle of poor citizens.
Violence has long been a staple tradition in Ryoo Seung-wan’s films, but its purpose is in exactly highlighting the fight for survival, rather than using it as means to excite the viewer who is simply after a quick fix, although 2004’s Arahan could certainly be seen as the exception to this rule. In No Blood, No Tears his action focuses on the repercussion of violence, from the drastic use of misogynistic beatings that the lead characters of Gyung-seon and Soo-jin endure, to the sheer desperate acts of its hopeless debt-collector’s, greedy gangsters and tearaway youths. Nevertheless, Seung-wan doesn’t shy away from entertaining. As with Die Bad he presents a gritty nature to his action, though he does up the ante with far greater martial arts leanings. The washed-up boxer Dok-bul almost feels like a blueprint for the later role that Choi Min-shik took on in Crying Fist, who takes a different path toward trying to better his life, while Jung Doo-hong, the go-to-man when it comes to action choreography in South Korea, plays the mute henchman “Snake”, who quite easily becomes an ideal stock presence that can indeed be traced back to Jackie Chan’s old-school revenge flicks featuring ambiguous and slowly built up villains. Again there’s little elegance to the action, though it’s notably choreographed far more stylistically than in his more realistic Die Bad debut. The direction is fairly loose and quick cutting, showing us plenty of impact but foregoing the desire to present the overall efforts as being truly beautiful. It’s hard hitting and quite numbing, but also an interesting experiment from the man who would subsequently go completely for broke with Crying Fist’s stunningly staged matches.
Moreover, No Blood, No Tears is an amusing picture. It’s filled with its fair share of bumbling characters and dark comedy, which at the very least shows Ryoo Seung-wan as still being able to have fun with his underlying social themes. Much of the feature balances this well, with some fun political puns as displayed through the “United Handicapped Democrats”, though arguably toward the final act there are instances in which he becomes carried away with the exploits of his brother Ryoo Seong-bum (who he always casts in his films) and thus threatens to slow down and even hamper proceedings. But any such quibbles are minor and for the most part No Blood, No Tears proves to be riveting feature from a remarkably self assured director. Ryoo Seung-wan knows exactly what he wants and as is often the case he usually achieves it as well, which is why he remains one of the most interesting action directors working in South Korea today.
Reviewed by Kevin Gilvear
Guns & Talks
Posted by koreancinemahouse in : Uncategorized, Comedy, Action/Thriller, Drama / Romance , add a commentStarring: Shin Hyun-jun, Won Bin, Jung Jae-young, Shin Ha-kyun, Yun Ju-sang, Jung Jin-yeong, Son Hyeon-ju, Ko Eun-mi.
Directed by Jang Jin
Year: 2001
2001 was a great year for South Korea, with the industry churning out some fairly original and brave genre-bending flicks such as Volcano High, My Sassy Girl, Bungee Jumping of Their Own and Sorum, which were dominating the Seoul box office and leaving most U.S. competitors with very little of a look in; quite the opposite when compared to recent years in which the Korean film industry has had to push itself harder than ever. Guns & Talks performed remarkably well when released at the end of the year, with no small thanks going to its then-hot-cast and the visual style of a unique director. On the outset Jang Jin’s first box office success appears to be your typical genre movie, but the set up is little more unusual than expected.
Sang Yun (Shin Hyun-jun) leads a band of elite assassins in the city of Seoul, who also happen to be best friends and live under the same roof. His younger brother Ha-yun (Won Bin) is a communications and hacking expert; Jae Young (Jung Jae-young) is a quiet marksman, while Jung-woo (Shin Ha-kyun) is a quick-tempered and extremely fast runner. Their job is simple: they kill in the manner that their clients ask of them and they do so with the help of Uncle Joo (Yun Ju-sang), who designs weapons and gadgets for them. They believe in the good of their job and take enormous pride in seeing to it that they never fail a mission.
When an informant is killed whilst in police custody Detective Cho (Jung Jin-yeong) suspects that hit-men are behind it, as the M.O. doesn’t match that of the current suspect. His hunch leads him to investigate Sang Yun and company, who he believes are working in line with a man he’s been trying to catch for the past three years – Mun-bae (Son Hyeon-ju). The group’s problems escalate when they each find themselves facing moral dilemmas, with Ha-yun taking a fancy toward a schoolgirl who approaches them to kill a man for her, as well as Jung-woo falling in love with a pregnant woman he’s supposed to bump off. All the while Sang Yun is keeping the identity of his latest client a secret, which sure enough is bound to send his friends into fits.
Guns & Talks is a fresh offering from South Korea in that it doesn’t seem to care about how it resolves itself as long it retains the happy air that it started with. It’s not so much an action flick (as you may be fooled into thinking) but a comedy suspense feature involving a series of neat set pieces which are broken up by lengthy scenes of dialogue and exposition, the latter of which is spouted through Ha-yun’s internal monologues. But above all it’s a highly sardonic piece of work that checks off familiar genre clichés and simply has fun with them. It’s preposterous while being equally exciting; a testament to Jang Jin’s sharp script, wonderful direction and energetic performances from its male leads, which ensures that it quite easily overcomes any suspicious contrivances. The director lets us in on his game early on with more than a few sly winks, but come the mid way point he all out pushes his intent into our faces with some brilliantly staged comic exchanges: Ha-yun’s clichéd narration is often turned into a brilliantly funny gag for example, while the others are given certain plot devices to play with, from Jae Young and his gun worshipping and church visits, to Jung-woo having a conflict of ethics and Sang-yun dealing with a contract from someone he greatly admires; men with hearts and souls, which is otherwise forbidden in their line of work. These are characters who ordinarily seem to be simple archetypes from any number of gangster and heroic bloodshed movies, yet each is given an identifiable personality and the real key in ensuring that we like them and cross our fingers for their safety is that Jang Jin has gathered an ace ensemble through which the group’s chemistry shines.
At the time that Guns & Talks hit theatres in South Korea it already had good fortune on its side. Won Bin was just rising as a new star, having won a best TV actor award for his role in Autumn Story and Shin Ha-kyun was a popular face, having left a mark with JSA. These fellows, along with the quieter Jung Jae-young (who shortly afterward enjoyed a great role in Ryu Seung-wan’s No Blood, No Tears) flesh out their characters nicely. Won Bin’s sentimental narration, perfectly suits his young pansy demeanour, while Ha-kyun gets to enjoy over-exaggerating a lot and question the morality of his job. But the most surprising cast member is Shin Hyun-jun, who plays the leader of the group. This is a guy who often left me conflicted prior to seeing Guns & Talks a few years ago. He’s usually difficult to watch in drama productions and if you note him in films such as The Soul Guardians, The Ginko Bed and Bichunmoo you’ll find that largely he only has one way of doing soppy male leads. That’s why it was such a breath of fresh air to see him branch out a little and take on a role that’s different. The move was a great one and proves that as comedic actor he’s very gifted. He can play his role straight, but his facial expressions and physical presence automatically places him in high regards. A shame then that he never continued down this path, although his output in recent years has been slight anyway. With Jung Jin-yeong on board as a disgruntled detective, Guns & Talks relishes in such a diverse cast.
Jang Jin’s style is certainly distinct and he does indeed appear to be having immense fun in mounting various camera tricks in order to peacefully aid the narrative along. He uses splice editing to enhance comedic foretelling and investigative aspects, in addition to putting CG to good use in some obviously inspired but effective moments. His most curious trait is in drowning the city of Seoul and his four leads in scorched, highly saturated hues, which practically bathe over every scene and lend toward the kind of other worldly atmosphere that his film seems to clearly employ. Steel blue tints creep in whenever the narrative explores its back-story and the palette radiates unlike any kind of gangster/hitman film we’ve likely experienced before. But not only does Jang Jin have a good handle on his thematic colours, so too does he superbly stage his action. Guns & Talks isn’t named as such for no reason; there is indeed a lot of talking, but there’s also some fancy moments in which our “heroes” must put their skills to use. Arguably the stand out scene takes place at an opera house, in which the gang must carry out a hit with police officers standing close by and hundreds of witnesses, with little room for error if they’re to make a successful escape. Jang Jin builds up to this point very well and places a lot of faith onto the viewer; we don’t so much wonder if they’ll make it out, but how they’ll make it out, after which the director then creates a neat little twist which turns the whole idea of a corrupted society on its head, making for a suitably apt finale of moral ambiguity, but ultimately chirpy sentiments.
Guns & Talks is a great little film. Well, not that little at two hours I should say, but not two that are likely to drag it down by any means. It just works on many levels, whether that be for its basic comedy, the occasional raised tension or the highly satirical stance it takes toward conventional films of its type. A wholly likeable cast and a solid chase scenario ensures that Jang Jin’s first box-office success is one of the better genre tales to emerge out of South Korea’s new wave boom.
Reviewed by Kevin Gilvear
Green Fish
Posted by koreancinemahouse in : Uncategorized, Drama / Romance , add a commentStarring: Han Suk-kyu, Shim Hye-jin, Moon Sung-keun, Jung Jin-yeong, Han Sun-kyu, Song-Kang-ho.
Directed by Lee Chang-dong
Year: 1997
Green Fish tells the story of Mak-dong (Han Suk-kyu), a young man who has just finished his service in the army, only to return home and find that things aren’t the way he left them. His journey home begins with an incident on a train in which he saves a woman from being beaten by a gang of thugs; in turn they beat him up instead and he is left battered and bruised with only a scarf as a memento from the mystery woman. Upon arriving home he sees that in the space of two years his once fondly loved neighbourhood has turned into a monstrosity of concrete, with rising apartment blocks that overshadow the once beautiful landscape, thanks to an ever rising economy. Mak-dong stays with his mother and brothers, who he dreams of running a small restaurant with, but first he must find himself work, which will be difficult having no real skills to speak of.
Whilst out one night Mak-dong coincidentally bumps into the woman he aided back on the train. Her name is Mi-ae (Shim Hye-jin) and she takes an immediate liking to him. However, it turns out that she’s the woman of Bae Tae-gon (Moon Sung-keun), a gang boss who runs a successful nightclub in Seoul. Thanks to Mi-ae, Mak-dong is offered a job by Tae-gon. Having fallen for Mi-ae, Mak-dong finds himself torn between loyalties and soon he becomes mixed up in a world that lives by a strict code, one that can easily cost any man his life.
Green Fish has more than its share of clichés, and director Lee Chang-dong would no doubt admit to such a thing. The characters of his debut feature and the order of events that play out have but one purpose for the director, and that’s to carry a specific critique on the modernization of Korea, to which he commendably achieves without pushing our buttons too hard. His debut film is a rather cold and cynical look at the apparent “strengthening” of a nation. Lee Chang-dong has spoken several times in the past about how his films each represent a form of political despair, which envelops the growth of his characters. In Green Fish he examines the imposing state of a new city, Il-san, in what was a radical sweep that took over a far quainter style of living and has now become pretty much a forerunner to modern industrialisation throughout South Korea. Running in tandem with this is a darker underside involving rival gangs trying their utmost to make a living under increasing social pressure. Lee Chang-dong doesn’t paint a happy picture; it’s evident early on that the society he wishes to depict is a hardened and often cruel one, with people from all walks of life trying to earn ends meet, some of whom have little alternative but to lower themselves down the social ladder. And despite there being a large portion focusing on gang life, Lee Chang-dong bleeds it dry of any glory; there simply is none when it concerns such dubious activities. This isn’t a stylised action flick with rousing fight sequences either. It depicts a down and depressing world that gets by on a strict code of honour, showing that no matter how hard you might fight against the odds you’ll always have your back against the wall.
Still, although Lee Chang-dong’s intentions are in the right place, Green Fish nonetheless can be a little too unforgiving. It’s not a melodrama in the strictest sense, in that it doesn’t set out to manipulate its audience with prompt sentimental cues. There’s an overall sense of personal detachment throughout the picture, which results in an almost complete lack of sympathy for any of its characters. Their social standings are made clear, even if their relationships lack the kind of impact that Chang-dong would later masterfully deliver in his third film Oasis. Green Fish shows the auteur embarking on a humble beginning, one that forgoes complete convention, despite having a few familiar plot leanings, but its effect on the individual is of course entirely subjective. The character of Mak-dong (a nickname given to him due to being the youngest in his family) is naïve, showing no understanding of the world he’s gotten mixed up in; the deeper he’s drawn in the more his decisions in life worsen. Violence overcomes rational thinking, until ultimately he seals his own fate. Mak-dong is certainly a frustrating character, perhaps the most difficult to get along with of all of Chang-dong’s creations. He starts off quite likeable, but degenerates into a kind of sad loser as the world is pulled from beneath his feet. His attitude and hastiness, sometimes complete lack of regard and high-end stupidity, makes him a central figure that might not resonate so well with everyone, although it’s clear that come the final act he does begin to see the error of his ways, by which point it’s already too late for him.
As for Tae-gon and Mi-ae they’re also representative of people with real problems, suffering entrapment and despair, with few other avenues to take, as are all of the characters in fact. There’s a large emphasis placed on the family unit, which even itself falls victim to a huge communication breakdown. Typical of Lee Chang-dong’s belief though, Green Fish doesn’t present much of a happy ending for all of its participants, which at least shows some defiance in the face of having used a few other well established plot points. But the loss of some characters pave the way for the positive growth of others: a cyclical offering depicting nature at its most natural.
Regardless of any misgivings, the performances truly are terrific across the board. Han Suk-kyu would find himself being catapulted to stardom practically overnight and has since enjoyed a healthy string of features. He’s one of the most likeable actors currently working in South Korea and Green Fish most definitely shows off a great range, with the actor effortlessly juggling his emotions: the famous improvised phone booth scene being a remarkable achievement in his career and remaining one of the few instances in which Mak-dong deservedly earns our pity. Likewise, despite having less to work with, Shim Hye-jin and Moon Sung-keun provide suitably understated performances, while the welcoming presence of Song-Kang-ho - one year prior to his now legendary turn in No.3 - as a petty gangster and Jung Jin-yeong as Mak-dong’s elder brother help to round off a considerably pleasing and diverse cast. Oh and look out for Han Suk-kyu’s real-life brother Han Sun-kyu playing second eldest.
However routine much of Green Fish feels, there’s no denying its power; it helped immeasurably in boosting a new wave of films in a time when South Korean cinema was in a depressed state. Since that time Lee Chang-dong has made just three other features, and yet he’s widely regarded as one of the best directors currently working today, his strength being that he continually improves with each film, adding his own unique take on the things which we all too easily overlook or simply take for granted.
Reviewed by Kevin Gilvear
Nowhere to Hide
Posted by koreancinemahouse in : Uncategorized, Comedy, Action/Thriller , add a commentStarring: Park Joong-hoon, Ahn Sung-ki, Jang Dong-dun, Choi Ji-woo, Park Sang-myun.
Directed by Lee Myung-se.
Year: 1999
When a business man is brutally murdered and his briefcase is stolen at Seoul’s 40 steps the case is handed over to Detective Woo (Park Joong-hoon), a tough, street wise cop and his partner Kim (Jang Dong-gun). Soon the detectives arrest a drug dealer and find out the identity of the killer; their prime suspect is Chang Sung-min (Ahn Sung-ki), a drug lord and master of disguise. Over the course of several months, Detectives Woo and Kim, along with their fellow band of rogue officers hunt down Sung-min using any means they can, which will entail going through his men and harassing his girlfriend. The rule book has been thrown out of the window as these officers ignore protocol and use any necessary force. However, every time they get near to Chang Sun-min he manages to escape. Now it is personal and Woo and Kim will not stop until Chang Sung-min is either behind bars or dead.
Nowhere to Hide - now there’s a guy’s film. Wall to wall action, comedy and violence and not a single ounce of melodrama or distracting love interests to tie it down. The plot is ridiculously simple, but it plays second fiddle to Lee Myung-se’s break-neck direction and the performances of its lead cast. This is a man who can draw out a chase sequence with a single tracking shot lasting for one minute and make it as tense and exciting as anything else we’ve seen from mainstream Hollywood cinema. Nowhere to Hide’s action does in fact lend itself as being integral to the unfolding plot. This is a film where pictures tell more of a story than conventional narrative would, whether they’re fast and action oriented, silhouetted comedy numbers or slow motion montages, which all add up for a tremendous looking feature. In addition we get a rock-fuelled soundtrack featuring the likes of Cherry Filter, with Youjeen’s enigmatic and powerful vocals, along with more poignant and subtle inclusions such as The Bee Gees’ “Holiday”. Nowhere to Hide is a pure visual and aural experience that has no other intention but to break rules and show us things that we’ve never seen before. It’s also clear that since its release, which includes overseas promotion, the film has undoubtedly influenced Hollywood, in particular the Wachowski’s Matrix: Revolutions, which managed to lift its final fight directly from Myung-se’s masterpiece.
Nowhere to Hide is also notable for its no-holds-barred approach to action. Famously Myung-se had his actors actually punch each other in the face in order to generate the kind of realism that he hoped to achieve. Indeed it works, though as Ahn Sung-ki and Park Joong-hoon have said in the past it wasn’t pleasant at all, and it was almost enough for them never to want to make another film with the director again. Sung-ki did go on to work with Myung-se six years later with Duelist and found out that nothing had changed. In terms of filming action then Myung-se does take a leaf out of Hong Kong cinema’s book where full contact and gritty realism is designed purely to appease the paying public who don’t wish to be cheated for a moment. But on its own Nowhere to Hide is uniquely Korean and it conveys a sense of style that all too few directors aspire to these days, making it a classic amongst the genre.
Reviewed by Kevin Gilvear
Oasis
Posted by koreancinemahouse in : Uncategorized, Drama / Romance , add a commentStarring: Kyung-gu, Moon So-ri.
Directed by Lee Chang-dong.
Year: 2002
Having looked to the modernization of his country for his debut feature Green Fish and then expanding further with governmental issues set across a twenty year period of economic and political change with Peppermint Candy, director Lee Chang-dong continued to explore relevant social themes with his third and most assured outing Oasis in 2002.
Recently released from prison having served a sentence for vehicular manslaughter, Hong Jong-du (Sol Kyung-gu) returns home only to find that he has been disowned by his family. Finding it difficult to adjust back into society, he sets out to find a job, but his volatile behaviour and short attention span continues to hold him back.
When curiosity gets the better of him, Jong-du goes to visit the family of the man he killed a few years ago in the accident. The family ask him to leave but later he returns only to find the man’s daughter, Gong-ju (Moon So-ri) who suffers from cerebral palsy and lives alone with her dreams and fantasies; her family paying her neighbour to come over and take care of her at regular daily intervals. Jong-du quickly develops an attraction toward Gong-ju, becoming fascinated by her until he can no longer control his urges, leading him to carry out an attempted rape. During the assault she faints, causing him to panic and hastily flee the apartment. However, now guilt raddled he goes back to see her and despite her initial worried reaction, Gong-ju slowly warms to her former assailant. Thus begins an unlikely, forbidden love affair that will take these people to the places that they have only dreamt about.
Whether by accident or through sheer learning Oasis has a quality that neither of Lee’s previous films had: a perfect narrative, one which strips everything down to the essentials, whilst retaining the director’s greatest strength as a film maker by eschewing the melodramatic and dealing with issues and emotions in a realistic non-pandering manner. Here, through his unmistakable cynicism - albeit slightly more toned down - he creates a thought-provoking tale that asks if we, as a whole, can let go of our prejudices and make change for the better. Oasis truly shows Lee as a growing director, whom with each subsequent outing has successfully managed to topple expectations - his literary expertise this time around in pitting an antagonistic society against an all too real underdog sees him speak his voice with so much more clarity and heartfelt valour than ever before.
It’s a sad fact of life, irrespective of any outside organizations, that we as a society have learned to attach a stigma over anyone who looks and speaks differently than what is considered “normal”, and the director does absolutely nothing to shy away from exposing such apathy. Lee’s third film is a well constructed tale which methodically sets up its agenda, starting off by indeed contrasting the lives of its twin protagonists as individually perceived by those around them: the onlookers’ ignorance and lack of understanding failing to afford them with the kind of knowledge that there’s always a little something special hidden behind the veil. Taking us into lives of the mentally retarded female and her ex-convict boyfriend-to-be, the director then turns the tables to skilfully weave a story as seen through their own eyes. The symbolism which became integral to his previous features also aids Oasis to tremendous effect, this time in the form of a painting which Gong-ju proudly displays on her wall; a picture that provides her with an escape from the bleak reality of an urban scrawl that both she and Jong-du inhabit, allowing her to create beautiful flights of fancy from the confines of her run down apartment. And it’s through these that, like everyone else, she has dreams and desires: to be happy; to fall in love; to find her own perfect little oasis.
With said oasis found in Jong-du, the film brings into play some interesting debate - that here we have a man guilty of attempting to rape a woman who can barely fend for herself, who is now longing for her to provide him with the compassion he so desperately needs. Indeed morals and ethics are not without question, and the depiction of Gong-ju’s jaded family is certainly something of consideration, but Lee implores us to form an understanding of where these individuals are coming from. In the past the director has portrayed his protagonists rather ambiguously, preferring to make his point known through them being ciphers, which naturally makes it difficult for one to become attached, but with Oasis it’s as if we’re finally seeing well rounded individuals, who despite their differences in appearances and mannerisms actually reflect some of the best qualities in all of us. Lee juxtaposes the mundane and sad existence of those ill-fitted to judge with that of a poignant partnership of star-crossed lovers, who have chosen to take a leap of faith in seeking solace through a form of communication that only they presently understand. More importantly he does so with respect to his subject and the viewer, avoiding commonplace mistakes which might otherwise border on pretension. presenting some wonderfully creative and abstract scenes, realized with sharp accuracy he masterfully blurs fantasy and reality to provide a surreal and often charming journey shared between two misunderstood people.
And yet despite such taboo subject matter and social decay, Oasis is about as far from depressing as you could imagine. Though it tells it like it is and teaches us to breed hope and not be so quick to point fingers, it injects itself with a reasonable dose of humour, which often helps to break down some of the more difficult situations that the two romantics face. They enjoy and laugh at each other; their wayward outlook on life brings them even closer, and the film stands on how well they react to their environment. Moreover it’s the career defining performances of Moon So-ri and Sol Kyung-gu (both returning from 1999’s Peppermint Candy) that sells the entire piece. Sol is perfectly nuanced, squeezing sympathy out of an individual who ordinarily shouldn’t be all that likeable, but whose plight is strong; a man who finds that even through the worst of times, through one’s own self-destructive attitude, that there’s still hope to cling onto in facing up to one’s responsibilities. By contrast Moon So-ri is no less astounding, completely losing herself in the role of Gong-ju. She’s clearly a woman respectful of her craft, who understands her subject and carries it out with the kind of sympathetic conviction that few actors ever do. The way she drifts in and out of reality in detailing Gong-ju’s mindset is spellbinding; this isn’t a silly-voiced cartoon-ish caricature done in the hope of an Oscar nomination - it’s as real as day. Moon found herself emotionally drained for all her efforts, but the reward is sweet. Without a shadow of a doubt one of the most amazing and unsurpassed performances ever captured on film.
Lee Chang-dong, with what I suspect will remain the greatest film of his career, has created a thoughtful outlook on life and public perceptions; painting the kind of reality that needs to be more closely examined by a demanding society. Oasis is a beautifully realized and powerful film that will forever stand as a testament to the amazing achievements set by the Korean film industry.
Reviewed by Kevin Gilvear