Address Unknown (수취인불명) 2001

Address Unknown (수취인불명) is a haunting feature film directed by the controversial Kim Ki-duk, released in 2001. The film draws inspiration from the director’s life experiences and those of his associates, plunging viewers into a bleak, often disturbing exploration of human nature. As with many of Kim’s films Address Unknown garnered more acclaim internationally than within Korea and was notably selected as the opening film for the Venice Film Festival in 2001. Set against the backdrop of a rural 1970s Korean village, the narrative intricately examines the profound impacts of the American military presence on its inhabitants.

Within this desolate village, Kim Ki-duk weaves together the lives of various characters, each reflecting the complicated dynamics spurred by the American military base nearby. The three main focuses are Eun-ok, a girl blind in one eye, who carries the burden of her brother’s reckless childhood game that left her scarred. Ji-hum is a victim of relentless bullying from two fellow villagers who ridicule his lack of English knowledge; even his father dismisses him, viewing his sensitivity as a sign of weakness and Chang-guk, a boy of mixed heritage who toils alongside a dog butcher. The butcher’s callous treatment of him only adds to Chang-guk’s sense of exclusion. Chang-guk holds his mother responsible for their predicament. She clings to the hope of reconnecting with Chang-guk’s absent father, an African-American soldier who returned to the States without them.

Instead of a singular narrative, Kim Ki-duk presents a tapestry of interconnected stories, each character’s fate intertwining through violent and brutal experiences. While the older generation clings to their pride from the Korean War, the youth are left adrift, their futures filled with uncertainty, with no money or prospects and aimless wandering often resorting to acts of depravity to fill their time.

From the beginning, the film immerses the audience in a relentlessly grim atmosphere. Its colour palette is strikingly muted—shades of grey and brown envelop the scenery, creating a cold, muddy landscape that lacks any semblance of beauty. Throughout the film, the ominous presence of aircraft flying overhead serves as a constant reminder of the war’s impact. Dialogue is sparse, particularly in the opening scenes, creating a sense of isolation and despair.

Kim Ki-duk skillfully examines the futility of violence, demonstrating how aggression often leads to self-destruction. One poignant scene features three characters walking side by side, all blind in one eye—a powerful metaphor highlighting how personal vendettas can blind individuals to their humanity. The village remains polarized over the American presence; some Koreans idolize their foreign counterparts, equating the ability to speak English with intelligence and success. Yet, this notion is sharply critiqued as the bullies who harass Ji-hum derive their English skills from adult magazines, showcasing a hollow understanding of the culture they idolize. James, an American soldier, is portrayed as a volatile drug addict, exuding aggression without provocation and descending into madness. Those who gain something of value from their interactions with the Americans do so at an appalling cost, with dire consequences.

The film does not shy away from graphic depictions, especially in its early scenes, highlighting animal cruelty and abuse in a stark and unsettling manner. Therefore, I would advise against viewing if you are sensitive to such content—this film will not provide a comfortable viewing experience. Having explored a significant portion of Kim’s oeuvre, Address Unknown is impactful in exploring the darker side of humanity as expected. However, the characters are not as deeply explored as in some of his other films with a smaller main cast, making it a notable but not extraordinary entry in his filmography.

Montage (몽타주) 2013

‘Montage’ (몽타주) is a gripping crime thriller released in 2013 that marks the directorial debut of Chung Keun-sup. This film features the acclaimed Uhm Jung-hwa, the ‘Korean Madonna.’ Uhm, a multifaceted talent, a singer, actress, and dancer, is one of the biggest stars in the Korean entertainment industry. In ‘Montage’, she delivers a strong performance as Ha-kyung, a mother whose life has been left frozen by the tragic abduction and murder of her daughter 15 years prior. Her portrayal earned her several prestigious Best Actress awards, underscoring the emotional depth she brings to the role.

As the statute of limitations approaches its expiration, Ha-kyung has an ally in Detective Chung-ho, played by Kim Sang-kyung, who previously showcased his detective skills in the critically acclaimed ‘Memories of Murder’ (2003) by Bong Joon-ho. His inability to solve the case has haunted him until the present day. Together, they embark on a shared quest for justice, thrust into a web of anxiety and urgency as they race against time to uncover vital clues. Tension mounts when Chung-ho discovers a solitary flower at the murder scene – the location known only to the police, Ha-kyung, and the perpetrator, elevating the stakes significantly. The plot thickens dramatically when another child goes missing under strikingly similar circumstances, propelling Ha-kyung and Chung-ho deeper into their desperate investigation.

The film masterfully builds tension and suspense without becoming sluggish or rushed at any moment. The pacing fluctuates beautifully, maintaining a captivating tempo. In a genre where resolution often holds significant weight, ‘Montage’ concludes with a thought-provoking twist that leaves audiences grappling with unanswered questions and lingering uncertainties.

Visually, the film employs slow-motion sequences to allow focus on the emotional aspect of heightened incidents. The utilisation of fade-outs and jump cuts effectively highlights the fragmented and often painful nature of memory. Interspersed throughout are montages vividly portraying the relentless pursuit of justice by the detective and the heartbroken mother as they journey through turmoil.

Like many crime thrillers, especially those featuring a parent searching for a missing child, ‘Montage’ delves into profound themes of grief and anguish. The film avoids the trope of good people versus bad people, opting instead for characters driven by realistic motivations. Each figure in this intricate narrative, from the two leads to the kidnapper and the individual police officers, is imbued with depth and purpose, making their actions resonate on a human level.

Overall, ‘Montage’ stands out as a remarkably competent thriller for a debut director. The performances are consistently strong, and the storyline remains compelling from start to finish. While the conclusion is satisfying from a philosophical standpoint, it leaves many unanswered questions that may require viewers to suspend their disbelief to fully embrace the resolution. Therefore, it doesn’t quite reach the height of other standout Korean thrillers.

To The Starry Island (그 섬에 가고싶다) 1993

‘ To The Starry Island’ (그 섬에 가고싶다) made its debut on December 25, 1993, and is a significant film in the landscape of New Korean cinema. Directed by the acclaimed Park Kwang-su, who also directed the similarly thought-provoking ‘A Single Spark’ (1995), he is celebrated as a leader of the ‘New Korean Cinema’ movement that emerged in the late 1980s and early 1990s.

The film features performances by Ahn Sung-ki, who portrays Mr Kim/Kim-cheol and Moon Sung-keun, who plays Moon Jae-gu and Moon Deok-bae. The screenplay was co-written by Lee Chang-dong, who also served as the assistant director. Drawing inspiration from Im Chul-woo’s evocative novel ‘I Want to Go to the Island’, a writer noted for his subversive storytelling that highlights pressing national issues.

At the heart of the film is Kim-cheol’s journey back to Guiseong Island, a fictional locale whose name serves as a homophone for “returning to one’s hometown.” His friend Moon Jae-gu seeks to honour his deceased father by burying him in their homeland, a task complicated by the islanders’ staunch resistance. Together, they strive to persuade the locals to grant Moon Deok-bae a final resting place among them.

The film primarily takes place in the early 1950s, delving into Kim-cheol’s childhood on the island and allowing audiences to appreciate its natural beauty. Through these memories, the adult Kim-cheol finally understands the deep-seated grudge driving the islanders’ refusal to accept Moon Deok-bae’s burial.

Visually, the film offers an intimate portrayal of the islanders, presenting a close-up view of their lives and emotions before gradually expanding the lens to reveal the broader implications of the Korean War on this secluded community. Much of the runtime is spent meticulously exploring the characters, their relationships, and the intricate social norms that dictate their interactions. The community operates on a delicate balance of gossip and protection, exemplifying their collective spirit and law-making. Interesting characters emerge, primarily women, shown in various facets—from a widowed diver originally from Jeju to Ok-nim, who suffers from a mental disability and exhibits childlike qualities.

The film leans heavily into realism while incorporating subtle supernatural elements tied to shamanism without resorting to overt dramatization. Remarkably, it avoids a conventional score, featuring music only in the opening credits and the final scene. Traditional folk songs sung by characters emphasize their heritage.

At its core, ‘To The Starry Island’ presents a profound exploration of how the islanders navigate the complexities of their daily lives, managing personal triumphs and tragedies. It is not until the harrowing shadow of the Korean War descends on them, eventually reaching their shores, that their reality is altered in ways previously unimaginable. The narrative poignantly raises the question: when will this cycle of despair and conflict find resolution?

The film’s powerful conclusion is all the more impactful due to the careful development of its characters throughout the story. The thoughtful writing, enhanced by the collaboration of Park Kwang-su, Lee Chang-dong, and Im Chun-woo, creates a humanistic portrayal that resonates deeply with Korean viewers, particularly as reunification was discussed at the time.

By casting Ahn Sung-ki in dual roles as father and son, the film underscores the continuity of trauma, suggesting that the past is never truly behind us and continues to shape the present. However, ambiguity concerning the timeline may arise. Ahn Sung-ki’s portrayal of both Kims can create confusion, especially given their identical wardrobes. The relaxation of previously stringent censorship laws allowed Park to deliver a strong critical social film with a delicate humanistic approach.

Yeong-ja’s Heydays  (영자의 전성시대) 1975

Directed by Kim Ho-sun Yeong-ja’s Heydays (영자의 전성시대), 1975,  achieved massive box office success, drawing an audience of 360,000 to theatres in Korea. Song Jae-ho gained significant recognition through his portrayal of likeable Chang-su. At the same time, Yeom Bok-sun stars as the title character Yeong-ja. The film’s ironic title downplays the suffering Yeong-ja experiences throughout the story. Its categorisation alongside other ‘Hostess films’ popular during the 1970s, a time marked by state censorship under the Park Chung Hee regime, may have contributed to its initial success.

The narrative begins with Chang-su meeting Yeong-ja at a prison station and flashes back to when they first met; Yeong-ja was working as a housemaid in his boss’s house. When Chang-su is enlisted in the military, he asks Yeong-ja, whom he has fallen in love with, to wait for him. Unfortunately, Yeong-ja loses her job due to the actions of the boss’s son. She is forced to leave the household and begins working as a bus conductor, tragically losing her arm due to an accident. Eventually, when she feels she’s exhausted all of her other options, she becomes a prostitute. Now caught up in Yeong-ja’s journey to the present, Chang-su does his best to help Yeong-ja escape her dire situation. However, she feels compelled to provide for herself, wanting to contribute positively to his life aware of the social criticism he is receiving for wanting to be with her.

The film depicts Yeong-ja’s downfall in a society that offers her little opportunity for success. She is reminded by a friend that money is necessary to achieve dreams and that learning a skill is often seen negatively for women. Her work at a sewing factory earns her very little income. While both main characters are ‘good people,’ Yeong-ja’s body has been ‘diseased’ by her role in society, and despite Chang-su’s efforts to aid her recovery, she is limited by her circumstances. 

Kim Ho-sun employs point-of-view shots, overlays, and muted sounds to create moments of surrealism. The film features popular trot music alongside an excessive style and a vibrant color palette, with Yeong-ja wearing bright yellow and red during significant scenes, perhaps expressing her more naive true self and the new her Seoul has created —common elements of 1970s cinema.

Themes in the film include the exploitation of female labour, the sacrifice of women, and how the rise of female workers coincides with their simultaneous mistreatment in precarious positions. The sanctioning of prostitution for U.S. soldiers in military camp towns, contrasted with its prohibition elsewhere, highlights the nature of society at the time of the film. The women can sacrifice their bodies for the ‘good of the country’. The narrative explores the commodification of women’s bodies, exemplified by Yeong-ja losing her arm, which is almost treated as a business transaction, traded for compensation. Then her body is sold for sex, while Chang-su cleans men’s bodies at a sauna for money. The film critiques the view of women as mere tools for capitalism, essential for the country’s development, but objectified for men’s gain.

For a ‘hostess’ film and given its popularity, “Yeong-ja’s Heydays” presents an exceptionally somber perspective. The film does not shy away from providing political commentary on the struggles faced by women in 1970s Seoul. In what is considered a dark period of Korean cinema, in large part due to heavy content restriction Kim Ho-sun does a wonderful job of bypassing the censorship and creating an apt critic. Therefore, Yeong-ja’s Heydays is a must-watch regarding films from the 1970s.

The Bell Tower (종각) 1958

The ‘Bell Tower,’ subtitled ‘Missing Another Dawn,’ was released in 1958. Directed by Jang Ju-Nam, who notably had a more extensive career as an editor than director, this film represents a rare outing, with only five directing credits to his name. Adapted from the poignant story “Bell Maker” penned by Gang Ro-hyang, the film showcases two of the era’s most revered stars, Moon Jung-suk and Heo Jang-kang, who masterfully portray a range of characters, revealing their versatility and depth throughout the narrative.

Set in a tranquil and contemplative backdrop of a temple, the story unfolds in a linear yet nostalgic manner, primarily delivered through evocative flashbacks. At the heart of the narrative is the elder Seok-seung, compellingly portrayed by Heo Jang-kang. He shares his profound and bittersweet life experiences to the inquisitive young Yeong-shil, brought to life by Moon Jung-suk. Drawn to the temple in refuge, the ringing of the bell becomes their lifeline—a sentimental connection that urges Seok-seung to reflect on the tribulations of his past.

The film’s structure is meticulously crafted, oscillating between Seok-seung’s poignant memories and his present-day dialogues with Yeong-shil, who guides the narrative’s progression through her probing questions. This storytelling technique mirrors traditional folk narratives, bestowing the film with a lyrical quality, almost as if they are gathering around a fire to listen to age-old tales of wisdom and woe.

One of the film’s most enchanting features is its bold decision to have the leading actors embody multiple roles. This artistic choice not only enriches the storytelling but also enhances the fabric of the folk tale, as the characters’ identities intertwine across the web of their shared memories. Each toll of the bell sends ripples through the air, summoning a powerful range of emotions—from a sense of foreboding to an uplifting hope—while the hauntingly beautiful score envelops the audience in a shroud of melancholy.

While the narrative unfolds linearly, it subtly threads traditional Korean mysticism and spirituality, centering around the bell itself. Seok-seung lays bare his profound connection to the bell, revealing that he has, in essence, sacrificed part of his very soul in its creation. In contrast, Yeong-shil gazes toward the horizon, hinting that her fate is intricately linked to the bell’s destiny.

The film is set against the historical backdrop of Korea, a nation grappling with the challenges of Japanese occupation and the devastation wrought by war. This context seeps into the narrative, serving as a stark backdrop highlighting the painful sacrifices of spirituality and cultural identity often made in the struggle for survival amid chaos. The bell, a symbol of hope and protection, is now just of value for its metal content, reflecting the harsh realities of the characters’ existence. Their lives are steeped in hardship, marked by bleakness and sorrow, with Yeong-shil offering a flicker of optimism in the face of despair.

Despite the gripping performances from Moon Jung-suk and Heo Jang-kang, ‘The Bell Tower’ remains a moderate cinematic endeavour. While it beautifully captures the essence of its themes, in comparison to other films released just a few years later it feels overly simplistic and predictable. It is a well-crafted story, which feels like a precursor to more exemplary films released during the golden age, however, it doesn’t hold enough weight in its runtime to be a must-not-miss film.