Author: Fred Hamilton

Hommage (오마주) 2021

‘Hommage‘ (오마주) is a 2021 film directed by the talented Shin Su-won, featuring the compelling performance of Lee Jung-eun as Kim Ji-wan. Ji-wan is a struggling female movie director sinking into disappointment after her latest project, ‘Ghost Man’, fails to attract an audience. Hommage however fared much better, the film received significant acclaim on the festival circuit, debuting at the prestigious 34th Tokyo International Film Festival and capturing attention at festivals in Sydney, Glasgow, Jeonju, and Tribeca. Its artistic merit ultimately earns it the Jury Prize, the highest accolade at the 20th Florence Korean Film Festival. Shin Su-won and Lee Jung-eun received awards, both domestically and internationally in recognition of their work.

Kim Ji-wan, a middle-aged director under increasing pressure, grapples with the anxiety brought on by her film’s failure. Faced with mounting demands from her family and the looming threat of her production company’s closure, she teeters on the edge of abandoning her cherished dream in favour of a more secure, conventional lifestyle. However, a turning point arrives: a phone call inviting her to revive ‘A Woman Judge’, a pioneering film released in 1962 by Hong Eun-won, one of the only female directors in Korean cinema at the time – about the first female judge in Korea. The narrative explores Hong’s project and its significant personal and cultural impact, as sixty years later it inspires Ji-wan to keep swimming along.

The film intricately weaves Ji-wan’s journey as she confronts her relationships with her husband and son, who constantly push her to fulfil traditional roles as a devoted mother and wife, trying to relegate her dreams to the background. In stark contrast, her connection with one-time colleagues of Hong Eun-won transforms the restoration project into an invaluable source of motivation and purpose, guiding her toward self-discovery and creative revitalisation.

Visually, the film frequently depicts Ji-wan staring thoughtfully into mirrors, her expressions reflecting a sombre introspection as she grapples with her identity and aspirations. A recurring motif of swimming serves as a metaphor for her struggles – while other women glide effortlessly through the water, Ji-wan flounders, fighting against the currents, desperately thrashing to stay afloat and keep moving forward always comparing herself to others. Shadows dance across her path, symbolizing the enduring presence of Hong Eun-won in Ji-wan’s mind, creating a haunting echo of conversations that bridge past struggles with Ji-wan’s present realities.

As the narrative unfolds, Ji-wan’s experience as a middle-aged woman confronting the challenges of menopause and various health issues while trying to continue her work as a director comes to the forefront. Compounded by familial pressures to meet the traditional expectations of a housewife. The film also sheds light on the experiences of Hong Eun-won in the film industry during the 1960s. A striking moment occurs when Ji-wan, in disbelief, learns that a scene from ‘A Woman Judge‘ was cut due to a woman smoking, highlighting the absurdity of evolving societal norms.

The film delves into the efforts of the Korean Film Archive, whose mission is to safeguard and preserve significant cinematic works like ‘A Woman Judge‘ (check out their YouTube channel here). The intertwined narratives of Hong Eun-won and Kim Ji-wan present a vivid picture of the struggles faced by modern middle-aged women in their pursuit of cinematic dreams, echoing the societal judgments and constraints encountered by their predecessors decades ago. Through Ji-wan’s reflections, the film powerfully suggests that while progress has occurred since 1962, the fight against entrenched challenges continues.

The Hill of Secrets  (비밀의 언덕) 2022

‘The Hill of Secrets’ is a coming-of-age drama released in 2022, directed with tender insight by Lee Ji-Eun. Her debut feature resonates with the thematic richness found in the works of acclaimed directors such as Yoon Ga-Eun, known for ‘The House of Us’ and ‘The World of Us’, along with Kim Bora’s evocative ‘House of the Hummingbird’. At its core, the narrative focuses on the experiences of a young girl as she navigates the complexities of school life, the nuances of pre-teen friendship, and the delicate dynamics within her family.

Set in the nostalgic milieu of 1996, the film introduces us to the ’emotionally sensitive’ and introspective Myeong-Eun, portrayed masterfully by Moon Seung-ah. As a 12-year-old grappling with the uncertainties of adolescence, Myeong-Eun is kind and considerate of others, but also critical and misguided of her own family. The story begins with her meticulously selecting a thoughtful gift for her teacher Ms. Kim, accompanied by a heartfelt letter asking for a private meeting. However, when Ms. Kim’s habitual tardiness rears its head again, she arrives late to school and fails to read the letter before starting parental background meetings with her students. It is now clear what Myeong-Eun was desperate to talk privately about.

Myeong-Eun’s home life becomes a source of profound embarrassment for her, as she views her family’s modest existence—running a fish stall at the local market—as a reflection of social inferiority. Overwhelmed by this perception, she feigns illness in a desperate attempt to avoid divulging her parents’ occupations when called upon by Ms Kim. Her struggle to reconcile her feelings emerges starkly as she views her father as a slacker and her mother as unrefined. When her initial escape plan unravels, Myeong-Eun fabricates a comforting narrative, claiming her father possesses a respectable job at a paper company whilst her mother embodies the archetype of a typical housewife. This elaborate facade grants her temporary relief, particularly in her efforts to bond with her classmates and ascend to the position of class president. Yet, a lingering uncertainty looms: can Myeong-Eun maintain this web of lies without the truth surfacing?

As the film progresses, it poignantly tackles the mental and emotional trials of growing up. Myeong-Eun’s struggle with her family’s socioeconomic status is emblematic of a universal challenge, highlighting her internal tussle between pride and shame. What sets ‘The Hill of Secrets’ apart from similar narratives is its avoidance of overt bullying; instead exploring Myeong-Eun’s inward battles, illuminating the complexity of her emotional journey.

Visually, the film is suffused with a nostalgic essence, as seen through its carefully curated wardrobe choices and evocative settings that transport viewers to a bygone era. One particularly stirring scene features an intimate exchange of notes between Myeong-Eun and Ms. Kim, underscoring the young girl’s struggle to articulate her feelings verbally while effectively communicating her turmoil through the written word. This nuanced moment encapsulates the theme of silent suffering and underscores the importance of emotional connection.

At its heart, The Hill of Secrets preaches self-acceptance and embracing one’s background. Myeong-Eun’s construction of an idealized version of her family starkly contrasts her reality, reflecting her innate desire to shield herself from judgment and disappointment. The film eloquently advocates for the expressive power of emotions and the courage needed to confront one’s honest truth.

This work embodies a growing trend among modern female Korean directors, who adeptly explore the emotional intricacies of childhood and the journey toward maturity. Much like her predecessors, Lee Ji-Eun’s ‘The Hill of Secrets’ captivates audiences with its thoughtful storytelling and the exceptional performance from Moon Seung-ah, whose portrayal serves as a poignant reminder of the delicate childhood mental state.

A Monstrous Corpse (괴시) 1981

‘A Monstrous Corpse’ (괴시) is a landmark horror film from 1981, notable for being the first Korean zombie movie. Directed by Kang Beom-gu and drawing inspiration from the Italian horror movie ‘Let Sleeping Corpses Lie’ (1974).

The film unfolds with Kang Myung, played by Taiwanese actor Chiang Ming, journeying to an environmental convention. He fortuitously hitches a ride with Yu Su-ji, portrayed by Yu Gwang-ok, who has recently returned to her homeland after a five-year stint in the United States. As they traverse the winding roads of rural Korea, Su-ji is on a quest to find the elusive Su-ri village, where her sister resides following her marriage three years ago. Their adventure takes an unsettling turn when they become lost. In pursuit of help, Kang Myung ventures off, leaving Su-ji momentarily alone. He stumbles upon a radio tower occupied by scientists, including a former University classmate, employing eerie ultrasonic waves to eradicate insects. Meanwhile, Su-ji’s sense of safety abruptly shatters when a gaunt man with a ghostly pale face emerges from the underbrush, prompting her to flee in terror.

Upon arriving at Su-ri village, they make a grim discovery: Su-ji’s brother-in-law has been murdered. With the police ignoring both Su-ji and her sister, Kang and Su-ji start their own investigation.

The narrative weaves a tapestry of familiar horror tropes, heavily echoing the influences of earlier European horror cinema. Yet, the film’s suspense falters early, as the identity of the sinister zombie is revealed, shifting the film’s tone from horror in the woods to a slower-paced investigative drama with little action.

The cinematography bathes the film in a reddish hue, infusing each scene with a warm yet profoundly unsettling atmosphere. Notably, the house that serves as the home of Su-ji’s sister is the same as in ‘Suddenly in the Dark’, a psychological thriller released later in 1981, further tying it into the realm of horror.

While the film’s narrative is relatively straightforward, it hints at an environmental theme. Kang is an environmental conservationist, and Su-ji’s brother-in-law is a nature photographer, expressing the human connection to the natural world. The scientists at the ominous radio tower, led by a U.S. researcher, engage in a misguided attempt to eradicate insects, ultimately betraying the delicate balance of nature.

Despite its pioneering status as the first Korean zombie film, ‘A Monstrous Corpse’ ironically falls short in delivering the expected gore and frights. The zombies, defined more by their sluggish movements than any terrifying vigour, only bear a faint distinction from human beings, marked by a dull greyish hue to their skin. Intrigue is lacking, as the film offers few surprises, and the motivations behind the zombie uprising become hauntingly clear, diluting the sense of mystery that horror fans often crave.

It is challenging to recommend this film mainly because it lacks suspense, gore, and excitement. Although it is a landmark film as the first Korean zombie movie, released a full 35 years before the fantastic ‘Train to Busan,’ a better option for a suspenseful experience would be ‘Suddenly in the Dark’.

The Shadowless Pagoda (무영탑) 1957

‘The Shadowless Pagoda (무영탑)’ is an evocative melodrama that graced the silver screen in 1957, helmed by the illustrious director Shin Sang-ok. Showcasing his wife and constant collaborator Choi Eun-hee, who captivated audiences with her portrayal of the spirited Lady Guseul. Opposite her, Kwak Geon portrays Asadal, a masterful stonemason renowned for his exquisite craftsmanship. The narrative draws inspiration from the stirring novel “Muyeontap,” penned by Hyun Jin-geon and first published in 1937. This tale, steeped in rich legend, was inspired by a story Hyun encountered during a visit to the historic city of Gyeongju, but weaving in the character of Lady Guseul to create more intrigue and drama.

Set against the breathtaking backdrop of the Bulguksa temple, the saga unfolds as King Gyeongdeok and a fleet of high-ranking officials gather to marvel at the completed Dabotap pagoda. Here, Asadal commands admiration for his unparalleled stone-carving skills—a precious gift from his esteemed father-in-law. Amid the reverberations of admiration, Lady Guseul, accompanied by her regal father, Minister Yujong, encounters Asadal and is immediately ensnared by a profound and overwhelming affection. Eager to see him again, she returns to the temple, accompanied only by her loyal maid. Upon her arrival, however, she stumbles upon Asadal, collapsed from fatigue, his desperate attempts to finish the second pagoda quickly to return home to his wife, Asanyeo (Han Eun-jin), who is attending to her ailing father.

As Lady Guseul tends to the weary stonemason, nurturing him back to health, her love for him blooms, even as she grapples with societal expectations and the relentless advances of competing suitors. The film intricately weaves a rich tapestry of historical melodrama infused with themes of treachery, deceit, and the hushed whispers of gossip, echoing timeless tragedies reminiscent of Shakespeare’s most poignant works. A gallery of scheming characters emerges, including the vindictive Geum-seong and his corrupt father, Chief Geum, who starkly contrast with the more honourable spirit embodied by Gyeong-shin.

Visually, ‘The Shadowless Pagoda’ would have mesmerised audiences with its opulent costumes, alongside stunning set designs that reflect the grandeur of the bygone Joseon dynasty. The weather, too, plays a significant role, acting as an emotional harbinger that mirrors the drama unfolding before our eyes.

While ‘The Shadowless Pagoda’ critiques the notion of free love through Lady Guseul’s unwavering affection for Asadal, it simultaneously portrays the unholy and lascivious behaviour exhibited by various characters, including a morally bankrupt monk. The narrative is imbued with rich Buddhist imagery, particularly as the story reaches its heart-wrenching conclusion.

In summary, ‘The Shadowless Pagoda’ is a compelling testament to the fusion of literary artistry and gripping melodrama. Its rich historical backdrop generates profound intrigue; however, there are moments when the pacing lags, rendering parts of the tale somewhat drawn out. Shin’s subsequent film, ‘The Flower in Hell’, similarly embodies high stakes and emotional turbulence but achieves a tighter narrative flow that propels the drama forward with a greater sense of urgency.

Seopyeonje (서편제) 1993

‘Seopyeonje’ (서편제) is a poignant 1993 film crafted by the illustrious and long-serving director Im Kwon-taek, a towering figure in Korean cinema. This cinematic gem draws inspiration from the eponymous novel by Yi Cheong-jun, a writer equally prolific as Im. Both creators endured fascination with art’s profound role in the fabric of life, a theme that resonates deeply in ‘Seopyeonje’, which intricately weaves the art of ‘Pansori’—traditional Korean folk singing—into its narrative landscape.

Starring the remarkable Oh Jung-hae as Song-hwa, the experienced theatre actor Kim Myung-gon as Yu-bong (who also received shared screenwriting credits), and the talented Kim Kyu-chul portraying Dong-ho, the film’s performances are as captivating as its story. Upon its release, ‘Seopyeonje’ achieved monumental success in Korea, becoming the first domestic film to captivate an audience exceeding one million. Its accolades extended beyond national borders, earning the prestigious ‘Honorary Golden Bear’ at the Berlin International Film Festival. Furthermore, the talented trio at the film’s heart received numerous awards for their poignant portrayals. The crew also received many nominations and emerged victorious in several categories at the Grand Bell Awards and the Korean Film Critics Awards.

Set against the backdrop of 1960s Korea, the film opens with a reflective Dong-ho encountering a woman at the “Inn of Music,” where her captivating ‘Pansori’ singing draws him in. Intrigued, he inquires about her musical education. This encounter triggers youthful memories, transporting audiences to Dong-ho’s childhood, where his widowed mother eloped with Yu-bong, a wandering singer. As fate would have it, tragedy strikes when his mother dies, leaving Yu-bong to impart the intricate art of ‘Pansori’ to his two adopted children—Dong-ho on the drum (the role of ‘pansori gosu’) and Song-hwa singing.

Im Kwon-taek infuses the film with a deep concern for the dwindling vitality of traditional Korean culture. In this light, ‘Seopyeonje’ stands as a heartfelt tribute to ‘Pansori’, celebrating its essence and the Korean identity intertwined with it. The pervasive theme of ‘han’—a complex Korean concept embodying sorrow and suffering—casts a poignant shade across the film, transforming it into a subtle yet powerful example of nationalist cinema.

The narrative artfully weaves through various stages of the characters’ lives, employing flashbacks to enrich the storytelling while avoiding a rigidly linear progression. Long takes create a naturalistic shooting style instilling a sense of authenticity, grounding the film in the roots of Korean tradition.

Im thoughtfully critique the rapid modernisation sweeping across Korea. The film nostalgically harkens back to the 1960s, a time of drastic Westernization in the aftermath of the Korean War. Through his lens, modernisation emerges as a formidable threat, showcasing the struggles of traditional Korean artists as they vie for survival against the exhilarating allure of foreign entertainment.

Moreover, Im delves into the theme of ‘han’ through Yu-bong’s chilling methods, deliberately inflicting trauma upon both Dong-ho and especially Song-hwa, all in pursuit of crafting a more authentic and sorrowful ‘Pansori’ experience. This struggle can be viewed as a poignant allegory for the nation’s loss of identity, as Yu-bong desperately clings to the pride of ‘Pansori’ as the world around him relentlessly progresses. His unrelenting pride perpetuates pain for his adopted children, exacerbated further by his reckless spending on alcohol leading to impoverishment.

Ultimately, ‘Seopyeonje’ holds a significant place in the annals of Korean cinema history, not only for its artistic achievements but also for its nationalistic undercurrents. Im Kwon-taek deftly celebrates traditional Korean art, not through an exuberant, propagandistic lens, but rather in a sombre, emotionally resonant manner, characteristic of the broader themes often found in Korean cinema and culture.