Busan 2020 Review: VESTIGE Ponders the Ineffable with Grace and Mystery

Part of MKC's coverage of the 25th Busan International Film Festival.

By Pierce Conran

Two Korean masters of arthouse cinema join forces for one of Busan's most intriguing offerings this year. Commissioned by the Muju Film Festival, Vestige features two mid-length films from Kim Jong-kwan (Worst Woman, 2016) and Jang Kun-jae (A Midsummer's Fantasia, 2014), which both deal with death and the afterlife in lyrical and understated ways. Though this light brush with horror is new territory for them, both directors retain elements of their trademark styles, while also hinting at new stylistic directions in their work.

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Fribourg 2013: Meaningful Stillness in Jang Kun-jae's Sleepless Night (2012)

Playing at the 27th Fribourg International Film Festival (March 16-23, 2013)

Of late, Korean Cinema has made for rather bleak viewing. Hushed up sexual violence has been very prevalent but politics, torture and much else besides have also found their way into these recent narratives. For this reason, among many others, I am particularly grateful for Jang Kun-jae's magnificent sophomore feature Sleepless Night. His new film, though not without its portrayal of injustice and hardship, is a film about happiness, or at least one loving couple's pursuit of it in modern day Seoul.

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Meaningful Stillness: The Quiet Pursuit of Happiness in Jang Kun-jae's Sleepless Night - Part II

Part V of a special MKC feature on Jang Kun-jae.

For Sleepless Night, Jang and his tiny cast and crew lived in close quarters for the duration of the film’s short production. Eating meals and sleeping together in the director’s apartment, which served as the main location of the film, they also shared their thoughts and worries. Their marriages, as well as the minutiae of their daily lives, became a part of the filmmaking process. I can only imagine, but it must have made for a very special experience for those involved, especially given the result on screen.

The film is exceedingly relatable and highly personal. The character’s thoughts are almost never a mystery, despite frequently sparse dialogue. Much of this is down to the splendid performances of the two leads but it is also part of the fabric of the film. For me, these silences that dot the narrative are examples of ‘meaningful stillness.’ They feel important, as though a statement is being made: however nothing is forced upon us. Perhaps they merely exist, like fleeting moments that just happened to be caught on camera: but they feature no action. It could be that these lulls derive their meaning purely from the context afforded by prior scenes: yet they are not in the least bit contrived.

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Sleepless Night Production Stills

Part IV of a special MKC feature on Jang Kun-jae.

Director Jang Kun-jae very kindly provided MKC with the following production stills taken during the shoot of his latest film Sleepless Night. A few were used for our interview with him but they are all so good that I felt I should share them all with you. You can get a real sense for how intimate the filming was, a feeling that really seeps into the finished product.

Hope you enjoy these as much as I did!

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Meaningful Stillness: The Quiet Pursuit of Happiness in Jang Kun-jae's Sleepless Night - Part I

Part III of a special MKC feature on Jang Kun-jae.

Each person’s individual journey in life is an ever-changing narrative, subject to the faintest tinkering. Our goals are equally malleable targets: a few change from year to year, others switch throughout the course of a day. Some of our dreams are dearly cherished: we hold onto them throughout our lives, yet these too are subject to change. The details within our ambitions vary over time as we accumulate new experiences: they shift to fit our evolving personalities. Though we, along with our thoughts and desires, are in perpetual flux, there could be one thing we collectively and unswervingly aspire to. We all want to be happy.

Though an outwardly simple notion, happiness is a truly complex idea that is utterly different for each and every person. Purely subjective, one person’s joy can equate to another’s misery. Yet there are things that we aspire to as a society in order to achieve some greater collective contentment. South Korea offers a very interesting example of this as it has leapt forward with its booming economy. At the risk of sounding a bit absolute, generally speaking happiness was hard to come by for many decades in Korean society as it struggled with the separation of its peninsula, a disruptive war and successive authoritarian regimes.

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A Love Story Abruptly Ended: Eighteen (회오리 바람, Hwiori Baram) 2009

Part I of a special MKC feature on Jang Kun-jae.

By Rex Baylon

The beauty and innocence of young love might be the greatest hoax perpetuated by the mainstream media. A couple walking hand in hand together while surrounded on all sides by a bucolic setting, two lovers sitting in a warm cozy diner with a straw in each of their mouths while they share a milkshake, or the hustle and bustle of a crowded noisy street muted by two lovestruck individuals stealing a kiss or embrace. The young and not so young are fed these cliché images to the point that artists can’t help but regurgitate them back to their respective audiences. The romanticism that was first born from the mind of Goethe has mutated into the “Hallmark moment”, sappy, sentimental, and dangerous. At it’s most idealistic, young love offers a safe haven for youths who’ve experienced the joy and elation of caring and feeling protective over someone other than themselves, but at its worst it can be an easy excuse for self-absorbed and destructive behavior.

In Jang Kun-jae’s debut, Eighteen (Hwioribaram, 2009), these two distinctive poles are examined through a very familiar story of young love that ought not to be. Yet, unlike many Korean romantic melodramas this is not a linear narrative charting a relationship from meet-cute to break-up. In fact, it begins months after the break-up. It is a post-mortem love story told mainly through flashback, blending cinema-verite with splashes of magic realism. The young couple in the film are normal run-of-the mill Korean teenagers: they’re attached to their smartphones, they’ve got school and parents badgering them about college, and their idea of the future doesn’t stretch any further than a few months. There is nothing distinctive about their lives or personality.

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