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60 Years of South Korean Cinema in NYC - Week 3 Recommendations

The final week (well, actually nine days) of the festival has a few treats in store, including two showings of Hong Sang-soo's Turning Gate -- which is not only Filmbrain's favorite Korean film, but one of his all-time favorites, period. It's nothing short of criminal that the film has never had a proper distribution in the States, and you really shouldn't miss this opportunity to see it. Turning Gate is a perfect film that shows with tremendous honesty how, for some men, sexual/romantic conquest becomes a surrogate for having to admit to failure in other areas of life. It also reveals how pathetically simple we are, and how women are completely aware of that fact. There are individual scenes in this film that are better than dozens of other whole films combined. This is a film worth driving five hours to see (Cinetrix, Cynthia), and Filmbrain is even offering a money-back-guarantee if not fully satisfied. It's that good. (Aaron, Karen, George, Scott -- you're all local -- you've got no excuse.) Not as much time this week for a full update -- here are some quick picks for the final days of the festival: Why Has Bodhi Dharma Left for the East? (1989) Dir: Bae Yong-kyan. Or, everything you wanted to know about Zen monks but were afraid to ask. This was the first Korean film Filmbrain ever saw, and it is a remarkable feat. Director Bae spent seven years on this film, and it was an almost solo filmmaking effort. This Zen tale of mountain dwelling monks may lack in conventional narrative, but is far more compelling (and genuinely Buddhist) than the oft-compared Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter... and Spring. Tuesday 30 November @ 2:50, Saturday 4 December @ 4:30 The Road to Sampo (1975) Dir: Lee Man-hui. One of only two films in the festival from the 70s, The Road to Sampo is meant to be an excellent example of the Korean road movie. Two men and a woman trek across Korea during a bitterly cold winter on their way to the village of Sampo, and their journey reveals the transitory state of the nation at that time. Tuesday 30 November @ 5:30 & 9:10 Declaration of Fools (1983) Dir: Lee Chang-ho. On the surface, a black comedy about a kidnapping gone wrong. Beneath that, a truly subversive film that uses experimental and avant-garde techniques (including almost no dialog) as a means of protest against both Korean society and the harsh censorship that filmmakers had to deal with at that time. Filmbrain has been advised not to miss this rare example of experimentation within a mainstream film. Wednesday 1 December @ 1:00 & 8:00 Turning Gate (2002) Dir: Hong Sang-soo. See rave, above. Seriously, don't miss this one. Friday, 3 December @ 4:00 & 8:45 Slimido (2003) Dir: Kang Woo-suk. Not a great film, nor the type of film Filmbrain usually goes for, but it is a chance to see one of the recent Korean blockbusters -- the type of film that is making it harder and harder for films like Turning Gate to get made. It was only a matter of time before Seoul picked up on the Hollywood formula: High Concept + Action = Big Box-Office. This one is about elite commandos in the 70s who were sent to assassinate North Korean leader Kim Il-sung. Saturday 4 December @ 2:00, Tuesday 7 December @ 1:00 The Man With Three Coffins (1987) Dir: Lee Chang-ho. Another example of the Korean road movie, this one is a rather sad tale of a widower who heads to his deceased wife's hometown in order to spread her ashes, and the people he meets along the way. Shamanism, reincarnation, memory, and desire are just a few of the items the film addresses. From the same director as Declaration of Fools. Sunday 5 December @ 3:00 & 9:20 Complete schedule and ticketing information can be found HERE.

Upstairs, Downstairs (Part II)

If the family in Kim Ki-young's The Housemaid represents one end of the economic scale in 1960's Seoul, the family in Yu Hyonmok's Aimless Bullet is at the far other end. Unlike the nuclear makeup of Tong-sik's household, the tiny lodging in the shanty town where much of Aimless Bullet takes place (named, ironically enough, Liberty Village) houses seven family members (with one more on the way). The father, Chul-ho, a junior accountant, lives with his pregnant wife, their two young children, his brother Yong-ho, his sister, and his senile mother, whose near-continual cry of "let's get out of here" sets a tone of despair that will carry through the entire film. Yong-ho is a former soldier who has been unable to find work since the war ended. His sister, rejected by one of Yong-ho's war buddies, begins to prostitute herself to American soldiers in order to bring some money into the household. Needless to say, the film doesn't offer much in the way of hope. A post-war landscape amidst an utterly corrupt government -- it's no wonder the outlook is so bleak. Chul-ho's toothache that tortures him throughout the film is clearly a metaphor for the larger suffering of his family, and seemingly everybody else around him. Trudging home in pain and exhaustion every day from work (he can't even afford bus fare), he finds little in the way of relief -- only a reminder of how helpless he is in providing a better life for his family. While the despondency of many of the characters is such that they've all but given up, Yong-ho is determined to make a better life for himself and the family. He's a good, honest man that is pushed to his limits by the extreme inhumanity. When he learns that his sister has been selling her body, he wonders, "Why do we have to live in a cage of conscience?", and regrets not having cheated somehow to avoid this from happening. His character is continually being put to the test -- a woman he has a brief relationship with is killed by a jealous neighbor -- a poet who then goes on to kill himself as well. Yong-ho is not without his pride, however. When offered a role in a film to appear as a wounded soldier (he has the right scars on his body) he refuses, telling the director "they're not for sale". The differences between brothers Chul-ho and his Yong-ho is striking. While Chul-ho quietly accepts his life of desperation, Yong-ho reaches a point that drives him to commit a foolish act -- robbing a bank in order to provide for his family, and to win the heart of his actress girlfriend. The pace in which the tragic events occur in the film continually increases. By the final third of the film, tragedy begins to appear out of nowhere, leaving little time for the characters (or the audience) to react. Still, we've witnessed them, and the lack of explanation makes them even that more disturbing. While running through a construction site after the bank robbery, Yong-ho passes the body of a woman who has hung herself, her crying baby still attached to her back. He pauses for maybe a split second, but then must continue running from the police. Lacking any context, the image is haunting beyond description. Needless to say, this isn't a film with a happy ending. Though Chul-ho finally does get relief for his aching tooth, his losses in the course of a single day are enough to drive the stablest person to madness. Unlike the family in The Housemaid, who are the architects of their own downfall, the characters in Aimless Bullet are never given even the slightest opportunity to change their situation. Early in the film, Yong-ho visits the home of the young woman who will shortly be murdered by the poet. Her top floor apartment can only be reached via a large exterior staircase. As they race up the stairs, she says to Yong-ho -- "Isn't it great to be up high and look down on everyone?" Though the characters in Aimless Bullet will only ever know the literal meaning of the sentence, the figurative sentiment is close to the thoughts of Tong-sik and his wife at the start of The Housemaid. Though their approaches are entirely different, both The Housemaid and Aimless Bullet can be seen as harsh social and political critiques. (In fact, Aimless Bullet was banned for several years in South Korea.) Yu's direction, along with the tremendous depth of each of the characters, prevents the existentialist nightmare of despair that is Aimless Bullet from slipping into a simple exercise of manipulative pity. Filmbrain understands why it was voted greatest Korean film of all time. Aimless Bullet is available on DVD (region-free) from various Asian DVD E-tailers. (DVDAsian, HKFlix)

Filmbrain's Screen Capture Quiz: Round 2 TIEBREAKER

Though neither Aaron H nor Paul M was able to identify last week's quiz, there were thirteen of you that could. As Filmbrain mentioned, it was incredibly difficult, and he's seriously impressed with those that were able to identify Alexander's magic lantern from Ingmar Bergman's Fanny and Alexander. Filmbrain raises his glass to all thirteen of you. This is a tiebreaker round to determine the winner of Round 2. Aaron, Paul -- good luck to you both. Naturally, everybody else is welcome to participate. Check back next Wednesday for the beginning of Round 3, where there will be multiple prizes given away. (Full details next week.) This week -- well, no comment. Good luck! Send your guesses to this address. See you all for Round 3!

Upstairs, Downstairs (Part I)

Of the many films made during South Korea's "Golden Age" of cinema, two that are referenced repeatedly are Yu Hyonmok's Aimless Bullet and Kim Ki-young's The Housemaid. Both films, recently rediscovered, have been traveling the festival and repertory circuit. Aimless Bullet was also voted greatest Korean film of all time in 1999 by Korean film critics. Made within one year of each other, they both address issues of family life and survival in the years following the end of the Korean War, yet their approaches couldn't be more different. Seeing the two films within a few days of each other is quite an experience -- while one family suffers terribly as a result of wanting to live the high life, the other is stuck in a pit of despair that borders on the inhuman. Life in Seoul circa 1960 was, for many, a constant fight for survival. The families in both films find themselves in desperate situations, albeit for very different reasons, and their equally tragic conclusions are powerful criticisms of the times. Both Aimless Bullet and The Housemaid begin as domestic melodramas -- one of the most popular (and formulaic) genres of the time -- but soon become something much darker. As The Housemaid opens, music teacher Tong-sik, his wife, and their two children are seated in the living room of their large two-story western style house. The first thing we notice is that while the husband is relaxing and reading the paper, the wife is hard at work at her sewing machine -- not making clothes for the family, but earning additional money so the family can indulge in material items --a bigger house, a television, a piano, a housemaid. The family is presented as strictly upstanding and moral -- they will play by the rules in order to maintain the lifestyle they've aspired to, and, as we will see, are willing to endure psychological torture to avoid slipping back down the ladder. When a student innocently hands Ton-sik a love letter, he immediately reports it to the factory boss instead of simply ignoring it. This paranoid action (he worries about his own job) results in her suspension and ultimately leads to her suicide. When housemaid Myong-ja enters the home, resplendent in her off-the-shoulder tight sweater and girlish pigtails, her first action is to chase and kill a rat in the kitchen -- a clear indicator of the nightmare to come. The two children are suspicious of her from the get go, and they believe they will suffer the same fate as the rat. Jealous of what she perceives to be a perfect family, Myong-ja quickly sets out to seduce Tong-sik. Returning home from the student's funeral racked with guilt (and with his wife and children away) he is powerless against Myong-ja's sexual advances. (He rejected similar advances made by a student just days earlier.) From this point forward, the film takes a radical turn from melodrama to disturbing psychological thriller. Myong-ja, pregnant by Tong-sik, suddenly finds herself in a position of power over the entire family (even insisting that Tong-sik sleeps in her bed). Losing the job, the house, and the things they've worked hard for is too great a risk for Tong-sik and his wife, and the unimaginable horrors they are forced to endure can be viewed as punishment for their desire of material pleasures. Ironically, those very same material items that become instruments of torment. The family piano that once filled the house with music becomes, thanks to Myong-ja's incessant key pounding, an ominous atonal reminder of her presence. Even the house itself plays a part in their downfall -- a staircase in involved in the death of more than one individual. In fact, the final third of the film takes place solely in the house - a spacious luxury now turned into a claustrophobic trap. The world Kim Ki-young creates in the film is almost eerily devoid of men. The factory where Ton-sik teaches has only female workers (or so it seems), and other than a brief scene at a bar, he has virtually no interaction with men. Of the two children, it is the son who becomes Myong-ja's victim, not the daughter, who, interestingly enough is at a physical disadvantage -- she is handicapped, and from early on in the film the staircase is shown as a tremendous obstacle for her. (Which made Filmbrain wonder why the family would consciously move into a house that is barely navigable for their daughter?) One could easily delve into a lengthy Freudian reading of the film (fear of a woman's sexual power, for example), but Filmbrain is not about to attempt that at this time. The Housemaid was released in 1960, the same year as Alfred Hitchcock's Psycho. Both films are without a doubt groundbreaking in their testing and pushing the limits of the psychological horror film, though The Housemaid contains scenes that would have been impossible for Hitchcock (or any other director) to include in an American film made at that time. Though The Housemaid can ultimately be viewed as a precautionary moral tale, there's no denying the subtext of social and sexual politics running through the film. Still shocking by today's standards (and no less powerful), the film deserves a wider distribution. Sadly, the film is unavailable on DVD. To be continued. Next time: The existentialist despair of Aimless Bullet. [Errata: A Korean Cinema expert (and friend) alerted Filmbrain that he was incorrect in referring to the housemaid as Myong-ja. Myong-ja was actually the name of the student who kills herself. According to him, the housemaid is never given a name and "some critics interpret this anonymity as a symbol of middle class hatred towards the lower class." Very interesting. Filmbrain apologizes for the error.]

60 Years of South Korean Cinema in NYC - Week 2 Recommendations

The first week of this wonderful festival is nearly over, and Filmbrain is still reeling over The Housemaid and Aimless Bullet -- phenomenal films that are without a doubt two of the most important in the history of Korean cinema. (Look for Filmbrain's write-up of both in the next few days.) Week 2 promises even more delights, and here are Filmbrain's choice picks. If you can only see one film from the list below, let it be Hong Sang-soo's The Power of Kangwon Province. Cinema on the Road: A Personal Essay on Cinema in Korea (1995) Dir: Jang Sun-woo. This is, as the title indicates, a personal journey through the history of Korean cinema, with particular attention paid to the relationship between film and contemporary Korean history. From the program notes: "[The film ends with an] exorcism to rid Korean cinema of its demons -- the Japanese occupation, military dictatorships, and Hollywood." (Now, if only that last bit can hold true!) Sunday 21 November @ 1:30, Tuesday 23 November @ 6:00 Special Event: Panel Discussion on Contemporary Korean Cinema Kyung Hyun Kim, author of The Remasculinization of Korean Cinema will be speaking, along with Richard Pena, Hyangjin Lee, and Jessica Ko. Kim's book is the best thing Filmbrain has read all year, and it went a long way in aiding his understanding of Korean films. Tickets are free, and it is being held at the Walter Reade Theater. Don't miss it. Sunday 21 November @ 2:30 Flowers in Hell (1958) & The Houseguest and My Mother (1961) Dir: Shin Sang-ok. Director Shin and his wife Choe Eun-hi (who stars in both films) were kidnapped in 1978 on orders of Kim Jong-il. Kim wanted a national director, and nobody in North Korea could fit the bill. Locked up for four years and fed grass, he then went on to direct several films in North Korea, including the bizarre Pulgasari, a sort of socialist Godzilla. The two films being shown at this festival date back to his early South Korea days. Flowers in Hell has been described as a film-noir set in the rough times of post-war Seoul, while The Houseguest and My Mother is considered to be a masterpiece of melodrama. Filmbrain is looking forward to this double helping of Shin. Both films are showing on Tuesday 23 November. Flowers @ 2:00 and 7:15, Houseguest @ 3:45 and 9:00 A Petal (1996) Dir: Jang Sun-woo. This film has been on Filmbrain's dying-to-see list for several years. This is the first Korean film to directly address the Kwangju massacre, in which 200 pro-democracy demonstrators were killed government soldiers. The film tells the story through the eyes of Jang (current Korean pop sensation Lee Jung-hyun, pictured above), a young girl who lost her family in the massacre. As she heads towards Seoul in search of her brother, she meets up with an unemployed laborer. Director Jang is best known in this country for his controversial 1999 film, Lies. Wednesday 24 November 3:10 & 9:30 Green Fish (1997) Dir: Lee Chang-dong. Made three years before Peppermint Candy, director Lee's first film tells the simple but tragic story of Mak-dong, a young man who returns from the army unfit to deal with the rapid changes taking place in Seoul. He falls in with a gangster while at the same time falling for the gangster's moll. Predictably, disastrous results follow. Green Fish is a complex study of characters who are each trapped in their own desperate situations. Friday 26 November @ 1:00 & 7:20 Birdcage Inn (1998) Dir: Kim Ki-duk. In this, his third film, Kim Ki-duk created a story containing themes that he would revisit in later films -- prostitution, human liberation, and the sea (The Isle, Bad Guy, Samaria). Jin-a (Lee Ji-eun) is a prostitute from soul who moves to and continues her trade in the small seaside town of Pohang. Conflict arises when the truth of her livelihood is revealed. Friday 26 November @ 3:10 & 9:30 The Power of Kangwon Province (1998) Dir: Hong Sang-soo. This is Hong Sang-soo's second film. If that's not a convincing enough reason to see it, check out what Filmbrain had to say about it back in June. As mentioned above, this is the must-not-miss film of the week. Saturday 27 November @ 1:00 & 7:20 Complete schedule and ticketing information can be found HERE.

Filmbrain's Screen Capture Quiz: Round 2, Week 10

Well -- this is it. The final screen capture for this round of Filmbrain's weekly quiz. The number of entries has been steadily rising, and last week's quiz saw a few hundred more submissions than the previous week. Keep in mind that Round 3 will begin next Wednesday (or perhaps the Wednesday after that), giving all of you a chance to get in from the very beginning. At the moment, there is a two way tie for first place. If both Aaron H and Paul M correctly guess this week's quiz (or neither does), there will be a tiebreaker next week. The prize for this round is a DVD of Hong Sang-soo's latest film Woman is the Future of Man (Korean release, Region 1 compatible). Conscious efforts at trying to stump you have once again proven to be a failure. A shockingly high percentage of you correctly identified the photo of the wall on the wall as coming from David Lynch's Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me. (The second most popular guess was Barton Fink.) Once again, Filmbrain is speechless. For this, the last week of round 2, a shot that Filmbrain believes will truly cause some head scratching. This is a tough one. . . Send your guesses to this address. Good luck! See you all for Round 3!

Once Upon a Time in Myungdong

When you've made ninety-nine films in just over forty years, is it possible to continually remain original, come up with new ideas, and direct a film without simply going through the motions? Perhaps, but that unfortunately is not the case with Im Kwon-taek's centesimal-minus-one, Low Life. The film, which kicked off the 60 Years of South Korean Cinema retrospective at the Walter Reade Theater, traces the many rises and falls of Tae-ung (Cho Seung-woo) through the tumultuous 60s in the Myungdong district of Seoul. At the reception following the film, Filmbrain was chatting with a Korean film critic who likened the film to reading the table of contents in lieu of an entire book -- a very astute assessment. Low Life is similar, in structure at least, to films like Goodfellas and Once Upon a Time in America -- the life of a gangster over several years, and how societal and political changes affect the way they earn a living. But whereas Scorsese and Leone had those changes take a backseat to tremendous stories of greed and betrayal, Im's characters get lost amongst the ever-changing face of South Korea. This is actually quite frustrating, as there is tremendous potential presented in the first reel that is sadly never actualized. Tae-ung is a young man who has only one method of dealing with a crisis -- violence. Adopted as a teenager into a family that takes pity on him, he grows close with his new brother Seung-moon (Yu Ha-jun), a political activist, and sister Hae-oak (Kim Min-seon), whom he later will marry. While Seung-moon and Hae-oak head off to university, Tae-ung becomes a gangster, working directly for the gang leader Sang-pil. In this period, we see the fall of Syngman Rhee's corrupt government and the rise of General Park's military dictatorship. Finding life as a gangster too difficult under this new regime, Tae-ung turns his sights towards movies, and becomes a producer. This proves to be an even greater challenge -- what with having to share an actress who is concurrently acting in nine films, and dealing with pressure from the censors who claim his films are too sexually explicit, too anti-American, and too anti-government. Finding this an impossible career choice, he returns to gangsterdom, where he works securing construction contracts. This opens his eyes to government corruption, and by the film's end Tae-ung is a full-fledged businessman, albeit with questionable practices. To recreate the 60s, director Im had the production team build an elaborate set of over 64,000 square feet, and the end result is impressive, right down to the tiniest of details. Unfortunately, the look of the film (as well as the fine performances by all) aren't enough to make the film compelling. Too much detail is paid to the external forces -- we learn of the 1965 student riots, North Korean spies in Seoul in 1968, and the abolition of all democratic institutions by General Park in 1972. A very interesting history lesson, but the drama falls by the wayside. We keep waiting for Tae-ung's character to develop, but he never does. Given the radically diverging paths of the two brothers, one would have expected this to be a source of conflict, but that too never arrives. As his wife, Hae-oak (now a schoolteacher) goes from quietly tolerating Tae-ung's "career" (which often has him arriving home bloody and beaten) to finding it hard to stand by his choices, especially when his neglect becomes such that he meets her only to drop off his dirty laundry. What is interesting is how Tae-ung is seemingly indifferent to the changes taking place in his country -- as long as he can find a new angle, a way of making money off of whomever is in power, he's satisfied. If only this idea, in contrast to his brother who sacrifices everything in order to keep fighting the regime, had been better explored, the film would have been far more interesting. Instead, we find a fragmented story that just stops -- as if nobody involved could be bothered to go on. As mentioned above, watching Low Life is ultimately a frustrating experience. A film that looks wonderful, contains top-notch performances, is highly entertaining, but lacks the punch of many of the director's classic films from decades past.

The scene ends, the music kicks in, the credits roll -- PERFECTION

The other day, Filmbrain and a friend were discussing film endings that are punctuated with a piece of music, and the powerful effect that it has when done well. Not just simply great endings (of which there are many) but ones that use music to knock the wind out of us, so to speak, with its unexpected entrance. The timing has to be just right, as does the selection of music -- but the end result can send shivers down the spine and raise goose bumps. Filmbrain initially thought of Lost in Translation, but then realized that the Jesus and Mary Chain's Just Like Honey was playing for several minutes before the end. There's no special punctuation when the credits roll, and therefore doesn't count. The following is a list of films that Filmbrain (and friend) came up with.

Goodfellas -- Henry is standing in front of his suburban nightmare home, staring desperately into the camera, while the voiceover declares, "I'm an average nobody. I get to live the rest of my life as a schnook." The first strains of Sid Vicious' rendition of My Way can be heard. Cut to Tommy firing straight into the camera, then back to Henry as he turns and walks into the house. ("Regrets, I've 'ad a few. . .") Cue credits. Cue goose bumps. All About Lily Chou Chou -- The tormented student playing a Debussy piece on the piano. Cut to black. The word RELOAD appears on the screen as the haunting final song Gliding begins. Trainspotting -- Renton, growing more and more out of focus as he walks towards the camera, while we hear the voiceover of his final "choose life" speech ("...the car, the compact disc and electrical tin opener, good health, low cholesterol, dental insurance. . .) The scene fades to black, and that beautiful keyboard riff from Underworld's Born Slippy rises from out of the background as the speech continues and the word Trainspotting falls into view. Betty Blue -- Zorg is sitting at the kitchen table, writing. The piano theme that he and Betty played earlier is heard. Freeze frame, the screen turns blue, and the pianos are replaced by an electric guitar. Absolutely perfect. Boogie Nights -- Dirk standing in front of a mirror, his "talent" exposed. "I'm a big bright shining star." As he zippers up, performs a karate kick, and leaves the dressing room, the opening violin of ELO's Living Thing begins. Cut to black just as the guitars strike their first chords. Spine-tingling stuff -- one of the best examples of this. Eyes Wide Shut -- Alice and Bill in a very crowded FAO Schwarz. Alice is delivering her final lines to Bill -- "And you know, there is something very important we need to do as soon as possible. Fuck." Cut to black, cue Shostakovich waltz. Filmbrain would love to hear about some others. Which films cause the hair on the back of your neck to stand on end? Please feel free to share your favorites in the comments section, below.

Kim Ki-duk goes domestic

Korean director Kim Ki-duk is best known for his disturbing, often controversial films. The Isle, Address Unknown, Bad Guy, and Samaria all deal with rather dark topics, and are often the subject of critical debate in Korea. The Buddhist parable of Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter... and Spring appealed quite a bit to Western audiences, and the film was a breakthrough hit in America and Europe. Kim's latest film is 3 Iron (Bin Jip), winner of the Best Director award at the Venice International Film Festival. For the first time, Kim has created a domestic drama -- a genre that Korean directors are very good at (i.e., Happy End, A Good Lawyer's Wife) -- and Filmbrain is quite excited about this one. A love triangle of sorts, the story tells of a woman stuck in an abusive marriage who begins an affair with a man who illegally lives in other people's houses -- and all this happens right under the nose of the husband. This is right up Filmbrain's alley -- hopefully the film will get distribution in the US. Have a look at the trailer -- it can be found here or here. (Nice use of a Jobim song as well.) The official website, which has a lovely interface, can be found here.

Filmbrain's Screen Capture Quiz: Round 2, Week 9

Maybe it was an extreme case of post-election malaise, but only about fifty of you were able to correctly identify the shapely form of actress Beatrice Dalle from 1986's Betty Blue (37°2 le matin). In all fairness, the screen shot comes from the newly released director's cut -- with over an hour of new footage, it's possible that the shot used was not in the original release. Congrats to J.D. LaF for being the first in with the correct answer. We are down to the final two weeks of this round of the competition -- a correct guess this week and next could put you in the running. (A tiebreaker might be necessary.) Filmbrain has tried to make it a bit harder this week, but that strategy has failed him every time. In what film will you find this eerie photo? As it is every week, send your guesses to this address. Good luck!