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EDITORS: Archie Lockyer and Francesca Sylph
23 June 2021 | 26
Foreign Cinema Spotlight: South Korea S
Alaïa Lafleur discusses the complex and varied cinematic landscape of South Korea
OUTH Korea today produces some of the most dynamic and critically acclaimed films of Asia. This success is hardly new, partly owed to a strong national film culture. International honours accorded to more recent films such as Bong Joonho’s Parasite and Lee Chang-dong’s Burning, along with the popularity of blockbusters like Train to Busan have helped increase South Korea’s visibility in the global entertainment industry. The films I highlight draw from cultural memory, from Japanese annexation to the strain of complete democratization in the ‘90s after almost 30 years of national military rule. Long before Parasite, Joonho was already known for his thrillers that blend the unsettling with absurd comedy, making you laugh, perhaps too loudly, when just a second ago you were keyed up by high-risk tension. The crime mystery Memories of Murder, his second film, based on South Korea’s first confirmed serial killings and featuring idiotic detectives, is a masterpiece of dark humour and cinematic beauty. His comedy is highly visual, playing
with character choreography. Simultaneously, it highlights serious issues like police brutality and the egotism and incompetence of authority figures, framed within a national memory of tragedy. Yet, even in the middle of human failure and cruelty—even in the middle of a murder—the scenes are draped in the beauty of the rural countryside: paddy fields and long dirt roads. Another outstanding film is Park Chan-wook’s LGBTQ thriller, The Handmaiden based on Sarah Water’s Fingersmith. Set in 1930s Japanese-occupied Korea, it features glamourous cinematography. Two crooks decide to steal a fortune off a rich man and his isolated niece, a Japanese heiress, but the plot unravels into unexpected directions. The grand house and the heiress’ dresses and jewels highlight the film’s concern with colonial subjugation and class. It is striking for its exceptionally graphic depiction of lesbian sex, while achieving a box office success in a country in which
same-sex marriage is not yet legal (though there is a rising acceptance of homosexuality standing at 44 per cent according to a 2019 Pew Research Center survey). Unsurprisingly, it has received some backlash from critics for reproducing girl-on-girl porn for the joy of the male gaze, however the pornographic spectacle remains faithful to the book. In The Guardian, the author counters: “Though ironically the film is a story told by a man, it’s still very faithful to the idea that the women are appropriating a very male pornographic tradition to find their own way of exploring their desires”. And in The Handmaiden, there is a clear difference when these women perform sexual acts for one another and when they do so for men. Like Memories of Murder, it possesses a very visual, wicked sense of humour which pops up in unexpected places, be they woeful situations or in the midst of an orgasm. Like most countries, South Korea suffers from unequal opportunity for women directors. But in the past decade there has been a steady rise in female filmmakers, though they are not initially given the same level of
Image: Memories of a Murder, CJ Entertainment, IMDb
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creative autonomy and funding as their male peers, as stated by BFI. Yet classics like Take Care of my Cat, and memorable, directorial debuts, including Yoon Ga-eun’s The World of Us and Kim Bora’s House of Hummingbird, defy these obstacles. House of Hummingbird, set in 1994, is a quiet, delicately shot and painfully lifelike coming-of-age film about a 14-year-old girl from a dysfunctional family who searches, unconsciously at times, for ways to lessen her loneliness and gain love. It reveals a keen understanding of the hardiness of an ordinary girl and the everyday challenges, at home and at school, many teens are expected to simply brush off. There is a surprisingly hopeful feeling to the protagonist and her wide-eyed, blooming consciousness of the world. As the New York Times asserts, in a film which features betrayals, income gaps, familial neglect and a national disaster, it manages to keep an impressively non-melodramatic tone, choosing to focus on the quiet aftermaths of tragedies. What happens after all the bursts of drama, death, disappointments? We just move on. Image: The Handmaiden, CJ Entertainment, IMDb
Caitlin Barr reviews Lee Issac Chung’s tale of immigration in the American heartland
EE Isaac Chung’s Minari, a semi-autobiographical drama based in rural 1980s Arkansas, follows the Yi family as they navigate the trials of achieving the American dream as South Korean immigrants. Returning to the cinema to see a film about connection was a beautiful experience after over a year of isolation. What first struck me about Minari was its quietness and tender feel. A muted colour palette, sparingly used score and intimate plot all contributed to this mood, but it was predominantly the relationships between the characters which gave the film its softness. Despite multiple conflicts in the Yi family during the course of the plot, their love for each other felt tangible. In particular, the relationship between seven-year-old David and his grandmother was touching while also being complex and realistic. Youn Yuh-jung’s award-winning performance as Soonja is mischievous and crushing all at once, with a distinct warmth. Alan Kim’s grasp of the precocious,
charming David seemed so honest and natural that I forgot he was playing a part at times. In fact, every part in Minari is played brilliantly by its talented cast. Steven Yeung’s portrayal of Yi patriarch Jacob is perhaps the standout, as his character grapples with trying to build a farm, keep a family, and assimilate into Arkansas culture all at once. The only criticism I have in terms of the performances in Minari is that I feel like Noel Kate Cho as David’s older sister Anne was criminally underused – I would have loved to see more of her characterisation and funny, assured performance. Most of Minari takes place from the perspective of David, giving the whole film an air of naivety. In particular, arguments between Jacob and Monica are imbued with a deeper sense of gloom given that we are experiencing them through the eyes of their young son. However, this choice also makes the film deeply relatable despite its very specific setting – while watching the film I could remember what it felt like to be young and thrust into new situations, even if my childhood was far less dramatic than David’s. Chung gives us elements of each character to identify with – Jacob’s relentless drive to achieve, Monica’s anxiety, Da-
vid’s curiosity – making the experience of watching Minari far more immersive. Throughout Minari, there are countless things that could go wrong, including David’s heart murmur. This imbues the film with a sense of urgency despite its relatively slow pace, making it a tense viewing experience even when things seem to be going well. The climax of the film somehow still manages to come as a shock despite the quiet building of suspense throughout, illustrating Chung’s masterful skill for pace. Sentimental without being saccharine, Chung’s script combines wit and mischief with deeply emotional, profound scenes, bolstered by Emile Mosseri’s wonderfully restrained score. I found myself waiting for the inevitable in a film about the immigrant experience – a racist remark or a cold shoulder from a local – but this never came. Chung chooses to focus on connection and common experiences rather than division
and exclusion. The character of Paul particularly illustrates this – a man with a learning disability is given purpose by the Yi family as a helper on their farm, and he welcomes them into his life in return. The members of the local church similarly extend warmth and kindness to the family, despite the social context of the film (the naissance of Reagan-era America). It was refreshing to see, even if at times it seemed like wishful thinking. Chung tackles difficult and taboo topics with a real strength and honesty, supported by his cast’s wonderful and emotive performances. The film is a true tour-de-force of emotion, connection and what it means to have a dream in America.
All images: Minari, A24, IMDb