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.