Like Anna Karina's Sweater

Film criticism or Op-Ed piece: Armond White and the smugness of torture victims

A question for all of you — where does film criticism end, and knee-jerk reactionary political diatribe begin?

NY Press film critic Armond White has suggested, on several occasions, that certain film critics should recuse themselves from reviewing a particular film for one reason or another, and it's not uncommon for him to direct his criticism at his peers, rather than the film itself. Yet if ever a critic should have walked away from an assignment, it would have to be Armond and his not-even-half-hearted attempt at "reviewing" Michael Winterbottom's The Road to Guantanamo.

Like Christopher Hitchens before him, Armond's politics went all funny after 9/11, and his blind, unyielding support of Bush, the administration, and the so-called war on terror has left many scratching their heads in wonder. That Armond loathed Winterbottom's film is hardly surprising, but never before has he sunk to such wretched lows as witnessed in this vicious attack piece. Not only are there factual blunders (does the NY Press no longer employ editors?), but Armond even betrays himself by denying the film's humanitarianism — the very thing he's criticized other films for lacking.

Beginning with the inaccurate claim that the Tipton Three were in Afghanistan on 9/11 (they were still in England at the time), Armond reduces the film to a "whacked-out piece of anti-American propaganda, pretending Human Rights rhetoric", and goes on to call it "a Weapon of Crass misInstruction." Pretty typical of White's snarl, and nothing like the reprehensible sentence that follows, one that even he should be ashamed of — "Using the Tipton Three’s smugness to discredit the Bush administration, the film condemns the U.S. military for treating al-Qaeda suspects worse than the Taliban brutalized the Mideast."

Where to begin? First off, that Armond sees fit to drop an S-bomb (one of the most favored weapons in his arsenal) when referring to victims of illegal imprisonment and torture is sickening, and to equate the members of the Tipton Three with young film critics and Noah Baumbach characters is simply asinine. But his contempt for the three young men that exposed some ugly truths about our country's policies is further revealed when he criticizes them for remaining "arrogantly defiant" throughout the whole ordeal. I guess Armond would rather they confessed. To something. Perhaps he forgot that they were released without any charge.

Allegations of smugness aside, White also appears to be justifying the use of torture on al-Qaeda suspects, for chaining somebody to a hook on the floor and bombarding them with strobe lights and death metal is not nearly as bad as the barbaric acts of the Taliban. Huh? Does one have anything to do with the other?

If The Road to Guantanamo is a work of propaganda, then its cause is humanitarianism. The film is less interested in the guilt/innocence of the Tipton Three than it is with humanitarian treatment and the rule of law. Love Bush or hate him, holding people for years at a time without charging them is in breach of international law and the Geneva conventions on the rights of POWs. Yet Armond, who has lashed out at films and filmmakers for their alleged anti-human stances, here rejects the human rights issue for it clashes with his own political agenda.

It doesn't take The Road to Guantanamo to discredit the Bush administration or to demonize US foreign policy — one only need read a newspaper to reach those conclusions. (Other than the NY Press, of course.) Even by Armond's often over-the-top standards, this "review" is appalling, and would be better suited for the Op-Ed page of The New York Sun than the Film section of any publication.

Even in his infamous review of Fahrenheit 911 (where he labeled Michael Moore a fascist), White spent equal time discussing it as film qua film as he did spewing forth political vitriol. This time, however, there's virtually none of the former. What are your thoughts? Do Armond's inaccuracies and false charges (which he never bothers to back up with examples) add up to a film review, or is it merely an angry political screed?

Filmbrain's Screen Capture Quiz: Round 8, Week 12

I was far too young when I first saw Taxi Driver. Of the many scenes that left a lasting impression, one of the strongest was this one, which was shot at the now-defunct Belmore Cafeteria. Between Peter Boyle's sleazy story, Travis' Alka-Seltzer fizzing, and the practically motionless pimps simply staring, it's an amazingly haunting sequence that was no doubt enhanced by my familiarity with the place. A somewhat irresponsible cabbie uncle of mine would occasionally take me to the Belmore (corner of 28th and Park Avenue South) for lunch, and his hack buddies were not unlike the gang depicted in Scorsese's film. Their conversations were entirely inappropriate for a ten year-old, but it was quite an education in salty slang. (I was the only kid at school who knew what felching was. Lovely.) I was somewhat surprised (and a bit relieved) to hear similar reactions from many of you. What is it exactly about that scene that makes it so unforgettable -- especially in a film full of such moments? Regardless, my hopes of stumping you failed -- a record number of people submitted correct guesses. This is the final quiz of this round, and though I haven't actually begun to look at the numbers yet, I suspect there will be tie for at least one place, if not more. So, for this final quiz, I've taken a difficult, insignificant shot from a well-known film with a less-than-obvious connection to Taxi Driver. As always, submit your answers to this address. Good luck to all of you!

Tears of a Clown

In the waning days of 2005, a film opened in Korea which, by all outward appearances, had little potential for box office draw — a Chosun dynasty drama featuring no bankable stars, and with a strong homoerotic subtext to boot (still held to be taboo in many parts of Korean society.) Yet somehow the film won the hearts and minds of Korean audiences, and it went on to become not only the highest grossing film of 2005, but the single most successful Korean film in history. The unexpected success of Lee Jun-ik's King and the Clown (or as it will be called in America, The Royal Jester) is the stuff of future thesis papers. Is it an indication of a softening on homosexuality, or is it perhaps rooted in a sense of national pride fueled by the film's embracing of traditional folk culture, much like Im Kwon-taek's Seopyeonje (another box office smash)? Maybe it has something to do with the political subtext — that of the lower classes standing up to tyranny — an impossibility in the many years where South Korea was under a military dictatorship. Of course, none of the above actually matters, for King and the Clown is first and foremost a brilliant piece of entertainment. Based (in part) on actual events, King and The Clown is set during the reign of King Yonsan, a brutal tyrant who was dethroned in 1506. Jang-sang and Gong-gil are a pair of clowns (minstrels is more accurate) who earn a living by performing bawdy street plays for the lower classes. Polar opposites in every respect, there's tremendous affection between the two, though the true nature of their relationship is only hinted at. Jang-sang's macho, aggressive, outspoken demeanor is countered by Gong-gil's passive, demure, and rather effeminate poise -- it calls to mind Farewell My Concubine, a film King and the Clown definitely owes a debt to.    Forced to flee to Seoul after an unfortunate incident, the duo soon join forces with a local troupe, and it's not long before Jang-sang has the idea to perform a play that mocks the King and his favorite concubine, Nok-su. Naturally, this lands them in prison, but they are given the opportunity to perform their play for the king -- a troubled, borderline insane despot with daddy issues who surprisingly finds great joy in the clowns, and something far greater in Gong-gil. Simply stated, King and the Clown is an outstanding film that far exceeded expectations. It's very conscious of what it is, and knows its limits. Unlike the more ambitious Farewell My Concubine, which was just as much about the history of China in the 20th century as it was its two leads, King and the Clown is strictly character-driven, with an almost Shakespearean dramatic structure. (There are numerous allusions to Hamlet.) Though unlike Shakespeare's jesters, who speak truths and satirize their lords, but are otherwise powerless, the clowns here play an active role in challenging the status quo. As mentioned above, Korean audiences might very well see this as allegorical to their own struggle against a dictatorship that ended only in 1992. Not since Im Kwon-taek has another Korean director devoted so much attention to folk art and customs, and this sense of nationalistic pride, combined with the overall anti-establishment and pro-freedom tone of the film, might explain why audiences were willing to accept the (implied) homosexual aspects of the film. Like Brokeback Mountain in the States, King and the Clown was often referred to as 'taboo breaking', though Lee Jun-ik's film is far more chaste than Ang Lee's cowboy romance. While it is news that a film with a gay romance became such a smash hit, it's not exactly revolutionary.    Though only his third feature, Lee Jun-ik's direction is assured but economical — never flash, and with tremendous attention paid to details. The performances are solid, particularly Kam Woo-seong (Spider Forest) as Jang-sang, who at times approaches Choi Min-shik levels of pathos. The third act unspools as classic tragedy, and includes a final scene that, while perhaps a bit manipulative, is unquestionably a frisson inducing moment.  Not quite a masterpiece, King and the Clown is still one of the most enthralling Korean films in recent years, and borderline perfect in many regards. And though it's deeply rooted in Korean history and culture, there is a remarkable sense of universal appeal. The international release contains some additional background information on the Chosun dynasty, and renowned Korean philosopher Kim Yong-ok volunteered to translate the film in order to bring out the "finer points of Korean culture." His resulting text beautifully blends the vulgar vernacular of the clowns with genuine Shakespearean English. If you've never seen a contemporary Korean film, King and the Clown is a perfect place to begin.

Filmbrain's Screen Capture Quiz: Round 8, Week 11

Back in '97, it was easy to laugh at Barry Levinson's Wag the Dog -- when the subject for satire was nothing more than a randy President looking to create a diversion. (I had forgotten that the film pre-dated the Lewinsky scandal.) Yet the actions of our government over the last six years have reached levels of absurdity and incredulity that far exceed David Mamet's brilliant screenplay, and suddenly it's not all that funny anymore. Congrats to the bazillions of you who got it -- obviously it was easier than I thought. Kirsten Dunst, clutching the Tostitos that will morph into a cat, is the obvious connection to Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. With only two weeks left in the round, I'm going to have to make things more difficult. However, it's well past 2:00 AM, and this is the best my tired mind could come up with. That gentleman's burger could do with some big pimpin' -- name the film and its connection to Wag the Dog, then go and treat yourself to an ice cold Schlitz Schaffer. Submit your answers to this address. Good luck!

New York Asian Film Festival: Filmbrain's Picks

Summer's here (well, close enough), and that means the Subway Cinema gang are back with their annual New York Asian Film Festival, which runs from 16 June - 1 July. For this, their fifth year, they've actually trimmed the number of titles (23 features versus last year's 31), but it works to the festival's advantage, for the lineup isn't quite so fanboy-heavy as it has been in past years. In other words, there are plenty of sublime treats for those not interested in wrestling coleopteras or zombie mermaids. The most pleasant surprise this year is the inclusion of Peacock, winner of the 2005 Silver Bear at the Berlinale. (Filmbrain's Berlinale review HERE.) Don't let the "festival movie"-sounding plot summary scare you away -- cinematographer Gu Changwei's debut feature is a simple, subtle, family drama that creates moments of beauty out of the simplest of images. (Screens on 22 June at The Anthology)

It's Gozu for kids! Well, not exactly, but Takashii Miike, the director least likely to contribute to the kid-flick genre has done just that with The Great Yokai War. Easily one of the most imaginative, entertaining and just plain screwy films I've seen this year, it's a fantasy tale that is part Miyazaki, and part Peter Jackson, but infused with that trademark Miike madness. A young boy (Ryunosuke Kamiki, in a remarkable performance) must join forces with the Yokai (Japanese folk-spirits) to prevent nothing less than total apocalypse. Rather than creating a CGI-fest, much of the film is lo-tech, with nearly all of the Yokai portrayed by actors in rubber suits. Like Spirited Away, The Great Yokai War contains richly developed characters, and a plotline that isn't afraid to challenge kids, though it should be noted that there are some disturbing images that might be too intense for the young 'uns. But in what other kids' film will you find a whip-wielding Chiaki Kuriyama (Kill Bill, Vol. 1) in a mini-skirt, or an almost fetishistic obsession with the ever-moist thighs of Mai Takahashi? Forget all the Hollywood blockbusters -- The Great Yokai War is the most fun you'll have in the dark this summer. (Screens on 17 June and 25 June at The Anthology)

It wasn't too long ago that a film like Linda Linda Linda would have been unimaginable. An uneasy history (to say the least), combined with government bans resulted in very little shared pop-culture between Korea and Japan. But the recent Kanryu (Korean pop culture) boom in Japan, driven mostly by a younger generation who aren't troubled by past events, can be viewed as the beginning of a reconciliation between the neighboring nations. With its paper-thin plot, Linda Linda Linda manages, somehow, to become the best youth-culture film out of Japan since All About Lily Chou Chou. After losing their lead guitar player to a jammed thumb, a high school all-girl rock group winds up selecting a Korean exchange student (Bae Doo-na, Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance) to take over as lead vocalist. The rest of the film follows the girls as they rehearse the three songs (by pop-punk band The Blue Hearts) that they've chosen to cover. The petty rivalries and inflated drama of being a teenager is captured in great detail, and it's one of the more honest teen films to appear in some time. Bae Doo-na is unquestionably the star here, and though much of the humor revolves around her limited Japanese, her physical performance, with awkward, self-conscious moves and unmatched ability to stare is a wonder to behold. It's a surprisingly calm film, and director Nobuhiro Yamashita keeps his camera movements to a bare minimum. With infectious tunes and solid performances throughout, Linda Linda Linda is a non-sensationalized, understated high school film with a payoff that makes it more than worth your time. (Screens on 24 June and 1 July at The ImaginAsian)

A few months back, I sang the praises of Song Il-gon's Spider Forest (which has since been released on DVD in the US). The good news is that this year's NYAFF is screening not one, but two of his other features. The first, Feather in the Wind (Git), is a subdued, quiet little romance that avoids the histrionic melodrama often found in the genre. There's no great tragedy, and nobody is dying of a rare disease. Git tells of a filmmaker who travels to a remote island to meet with a former girlfriend who left him ten years earlier. There he meets Lee So-yeon, a young woman who dances the tango and runs a motel with her mute uncle. Granted, by description alone it does sound a bit twee, but there's something very poetic about the film, and it feels almost autobiographical at times. Director Song does a wonderful job in capturing the rough landscape and ever-changing climate of Udo Island, and it's a perfect example of just how gorgeous a lo-fi digital feature can look. (Screens on 26 June and 30 June at The ImaginAsian) I've not yet seen Song's latest feature, Magicians, which, like Russian Ark, is a continuous ninety-minute take, but Cinephiliac assures me it's quite an achievement. (Screens on 22 June at The Anthology, and 26 June at The ImaginAsian)

It's with a certain hesitancy that I recommend Park Kwang-hyun's Welcome to Dongmakgol. It's not a great film, but there are some unforgettable moments in this anti-war parable, which became a surprise box-office hit in Korea. The premise is interesting enough: during the Korean War, six soldiers who have been separated from their platoons -- two South Koreans, two North Koreans, and an American -- all manage to wind up in a remote mountain village that knows (or cares) little about the outside world, and where violence or aggression is unknown. (I think you can see where this is going.) After a prolonged and amusing standoff, the soldiers learn that they aren't so different after all, and agree to help the village re-stock their food supply, which was destroyed by a stray grenade. Along the way they will learn to play American football, fight a giant boar (in slow motion), and dance amidst a sea of CGI insects with the village simpleton-cum-pixie Yeo-il (Oldboy's Kang Hye-Jung). The third act, which has the soldiers making the ultimate sacrifice in order to save the village is a bit overwrought, but the film does have it heart in the right place. Films with this much charm usually send me running, but there's more than enough about Welcome to Dongmakgol (including a lush score by Joe Hisaishi) to justify the ticket purchase. (Screens on 23 June and 1 July at The ImaginAsian) As for unseen films, two that I won't miss are Funky Forest: The First Contact, which is Katsuhito Ishii's even-more-surreal follow-up to the bizarre but brilliant Taste of Tea, and Ryuichi Hiroki's It's Only Talk, which is about the life of a manic-depressive blogger in Tokyo. (How can I but not see that one?) Tickets for all screenings can be purchased HERE. Hope to see you there.

Filmbrain's Screen Capture Quiz: Round 8, Week 10

"How happy is the blameless vestal's lot! / The world forgetting, by the world forgot. / Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind! / Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd." - Alexander Pope, Eloisa to Abelard Yes, it was Michel Gondry's heartbreakingly beautiful twist on love and loss that was the source of last week's quiz. The music of Jon Brion was the link to Huckabees I had in mind, though one contestant convincingly argued that traces of Nietzschean thought could be found in both. Works for me. Linking out of Eternal Sunshine... proved a harder task than I'd imagined. After many dead-ends, I came up with the image below -- the link is obvious, but is the film? Submit your answers to this address. Good luck!

Christ at 24fps (Or: Everything I Know About the Gospels I Learned From Andrew Lloyd Webber)

In a recent game of cinephilic confessions, I admitted to an odd obsession with Jesus movies. I say odd because I'm not a Christian, nor do I buy into the whole son of what's-his-name thing. I realized, after a time, that the obsession began after seeing my first two JC films in 1973 — two musicals that took great liberties with the source material. I grew up in an unrelentingly secular household — with a Jewish mother and a Protestant father who figured it would be best to avoid the subject of religion altogether. Neither baptized nor bar mitzvahed, it was only for weddings and funerals that I entered a house of worship, and my knowledge of Christian morals was limited to what I learned on Davey and Goliath (which, as a child, seemed nothing more than a show about a boy and his talking dog). Needless to say, my soul is no doubt doomed to remain trapped wherever it is godless heathens wind up — assuming of course that the Judeo-Christian endgame goes as planned. It was repeated viewings of The Incredible Shrinking Man (on a 16mm print we had at home) that got me started on the big-ticket existential questions, and there's no doubt that Jack Arnold's film had an influence on my decision to become a card-carrying Buddhist in my late teens. But that another story. Arriving in 1973 at the tail end of the hippie and flower power movement, both Norman Jewison's Jesus Christ Superstar and David Greene's Godspell seem determined to reclaim Christ as the OG of the counterculture set, and both take a rather unconventional approach to the story of his final days. Set entirely to Andrew Lloyd Webber and Tim Rice's rock opera (which does indeed rock), Jesus Christ Superstar is premised on artificiality — as the film opens, a group of hippies are stepping off a bus somewhere in the middle of an Israeli desert. Anachronistic costumes and props are unloaded as this group of (perhaps) actors steps into their designated roles. Roman guards wear lilac wife-beaters and carry machine guns, rabbis wear tall black hats and bejeweled chest plates fastened with leather straps, while Pilate and Herod dress like glam rockers. (Only Jesus wears the traditional white robe.) The group soon disperses, and in gorgeous Todd-AO (the last film shot in this format), heads off to perform their rockin' passion play. Yet after the crucifixion (oops...spoilers!), all of the actors re-board the bus, with the exception of Jesus (Ted Neely) who remains hanging on the cross. Was it a case of thespian megalomania, or did life just simply imitate art? Either way, the film had quite an impact on the eight year-old Filmbrain, who had no idea Mary Magdalene wasn't in fact a Hawaiian beauty, or that King Herod didn't throw bagels at Jesus. (The casting of Carl Anderson as Judas was enough to outrage both Jewish and Black organizations, albeit for very different reasons.) But regardless of any inaccuracies or creative casting choices, Jesus Christ Superstar seemed incredibly cool, and the 2-LP soundtrack was at the top of my playlist for months. My impression of the film hasn't changed all that much over the years, and I've come to appreciate it's take on Christ as populist rebel who worries the powers that be. He's a media superstar at the "top of the poll" that has "no army, no fighting, no slogans", and who would have been even bigger if it wasn't for the fact that "Israel in 4 B.C. had no mass communication." There are moments of self-reflexivity throughout, but none better than the crowd member who tells Jesus that he'll "escape in the final reel." Ted Neely (who has a great set of pipes) makes for the perfect rebel-Christ, and though he's pissed off throughout most of the film (as if realizing the futility of his struggle), he's still incredibly cool. At the opposite end of cool lies Godspell, Stephen Schwartz's sunshine-pop take on the gospel of St. Matthew. In David Greene's filmed version of the Off-Broadway musical, a goofier, less intense group of hippies convene at Central Park's Bethesda Fountain and begin following a guy in a mock-Superman T-shirt (Victor Garber, looking like a proto-Mork). His disciples come across as a group of third-year clown and mime school dropouts, and the entire film finds them performing little skits, while singing and dancing all over a seemingly vacant New York City (including the roof of the then-unfinished World Trade Center.) Yet even though Godspell obfuscates the gospel and focuses more on the peace, love, and harmony aspects of Jesus' teachings, it still has a vague "Up With People!" feel to it. Still, the songs are infectious (try getting Day By Day out of your head) and Greene succeeds in filming New York City without once ever seeing another living soul (an impressive task).

These images of Christ as temperamental rock star, or foppish song and dance man lasted for years, but were eventually shattered when I came across the larger-than-life epics that set out to truly bring the gospels to the big screen. Films like DeMille's The King of Kings, and George Stevens' The Greatest Story Ever Told. Suddenly the issues got more complex, and the story a bit nastier, but my fascination never waned. Both DeMille and Stevens are guilty of grandiosity, but both films can be tremendously entertaining if you don't get caught up in their zeal. The endless roster of cameo performances in The Greatest Story Ever Told makes it all worthwhile — from Charlton Heston's John the Baptist, to Shelley Winters as a blind woman healed, to John Wayne as the Roman centurion who, with just a single line, gives one of the worst deliveries in all of cinema's history — "Truly, this man was the son of ghaaad." As the years went by, the number of new and interesting Jesus movies declined tremendously. Of course there was the near-masterpiece that is The Last Temptation of Christ, but recent films do little more than play into the hands of a fundamentalist Christian right that is hell-bent on controlling not only this country, but a good chunk of the rest of the planet as well. Mel Gibson's atrocious Jesus-Snuff-Porno was the final straw for me. Fortunately there is DVD and the Internet, where one can track down such long forgotten gems as The Gospel Road (Johnny and June Carter Cash sing us the gospels), and I Saw Jesus Die, a Danish film that is perhaps the only entry in the Jesus-porno genre. Don't ask. Rather than compile a list of the best and worst, I'd love to hear from all of you — what are some of your favorite Jeezy Creezy movies?

Filmbrain's Screen Capture Quiz: Round 8, Week 9

"What is it, a crime? Is it a crime to look at Lange?" -- One of the many questions Albert Markovski asks the existential detectives in the better-than-wonderful I Heart Huckabees. This one stumped quite a few of you, and there were many guesses of Taps, no doubt inspired by the alt-text clue (Each UK beer has it). The clue in fact had nothing to do with bitter or lager, but is simply an anagram of the film's title (natch). It is, of course, the lovely Ms. Watts who connects this film to The Assassination of Richard Nixon. Congrats to those that got it. I have to admit I regret the decision to link each successive quiz -- it's far too limiting. However, I will stay the course, which explains this week's less than compelling capture. Name the film and (yawn) its link to Huckabees. Submit your answers to this address. Good luck!

Road to Nowhere

When looking at Korean cinema from 2000 to the present, 2002 stands out as a stellar year. Turning Gate, Chihwaseon, Camel(s), Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance, and Oasis were all released that year, as were the successful comedies Public Enemy and Jail Breakers, and the animated gem My Beautiful Girl, Mari (which deserves greater recognition). Yet there is another, often-overlooked film that is equally as impressive, and which holds an important place in Korean film history, for it is one of the few with an openly gay lead character — Kim In-shik's remarkable debut feature, Road Movie. Since the end of the Korean War, the road movie has served to address issues of national identity (owing to the country's tumultuous history and physical division), and of characters seeking to reclaim themselves after suffering a traumatic event. Road Movie is no different, and it makes for a welcome addition to a genre that includes such classics as Seopyeonje, Whale Hunting, and Out to the World. Utilizing the two-men-and-a-prostitute dynamic that is practically a staple of the genre, Road Movie takes an unflinching look at the consequences of the 1999 economic crash in a way that few other films have. Dae-shik (Hwang Jeong-min) is a former mountaineer who now spends most of his time with the homeless in a Seoul train station, where he functions as a leader of sorts. A homosexual man with a gruff macho exterior that intentionally masks a caring, damaged soul, his life seems purposeless until he meets Suk-won (Jung Chan), a stock broker who has lost both his job and wife following the market crash, and is now living on the streets as a suicidal drunk. After saving Suk-won's life (more than once), the two form an uneasy friendship, and soon hit the road in search of work. Along the way they meet Il-joo (Seo Rin), a frustrated prostitute trapped in a small seaside town who falls in love with the uninterested Dae-shik (who is of course in love with Suk-won). Life amongst the ill-fated trio is anything but harmonious — they fight, get drunk, get beaten, get arrested, and try to kill themselves. Repeatedly. Unlike other road movies, there's no obvious destination for our characters, and their quest is simply to determine if life is worth living. It's a fair question, given the Korea they live in, which is depicted as harsh, cruel, and unforgiving — where mere survival requires constant struggle. The Seoul of Road Movie isn't one of sunny streets with quaint restaurants and cafes. Shown entirely from the perspective of the have-nots, it's a city where a screaming, bleeding pregnant woman is ignored by those around her, and where motorcycle gangs lob Molotovs on a man being pushed to a hospital in a shopping cart. No other contemporary Korean film (save for the aptly titled Timeless Bottomless Bad Movie) has shown the capital city in this light, and Kim films the entire section in documentary-like fashion. Though the monochromatic grain of Seoul gives way to the sharp, vivid hues of the Korean landscape, there is no noticeable effect on our infernal trio. The road offers neither answers nor solutions, and only serves to magnify their pain. It's as if they are trapped in a limbo state, where no amount of beatings or attempts at self-destruction yields any results, nor lessens their torment — they're not even granted the privilege of dying. Some critics have classified the film as being part of the New Queer Cinema, but I disagree with that assessment. Road Movie isn't making any grand statements about homosexuality in Korea, nor does it set out to bring awareness or instigate change. It is first and foremost a film about human suffering, and the complex relationships that are formed between three disparate individuals. Dae-shik's relationship with Suk-won transcends any and all obvious notions about love and sex, and Kim seems more interested in challenging traditional masculine roles and identity, especially as depicted in the road movie genre. Road Movie is a four sternum-kicker film that is not only one of the most accomplished and impressive debut features, but easily one of the best Korean films of the last six years.