Kim Ki-duk is one of the filmmakers who initially drew me to
Korean cinema. The first film of
his I saw was
The Isle (2000), which was, in a French edition, packaged
together with Lee Chang-dong’s
Peppermint Candy (1999). While the films may have been very
different they were also a fantastic double bill that complemented each other
in many ways. I wasn’t as shocked by
the violence as I may have been because I had already seen Park Chan-wook’s
Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance (2002) and before dipping into Korean cinema, had
more or less exhausted Takashi Miike’s catalogue up until that point (around
2003).
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| Imagery in Poongsan |
Park’s film, while harrowing, was a pure piece of cinema
brimming with adrenaline and the pure pleasure of filmmaking. Lee’s poignant drama was elegant,
realistic, literary, and propelled by social issues and recent Korean
history. Kim’s effort was slow and
laconic, it was violent while at the same time elegiac. The Isle had an artist’s touch and was
unlike anything I’d seen before, just as the previous two films were. Indeed I was very lucky to have
selected the three Korean films that I did as my introduction to the nation’s
cinema, the hooks were in deep from the start.
There were a few traits I noticed in The Isle that come up
again and again in Kim’s filmography, which I quickly sought out (though I have
yet to see Address Unknown, 2001, and Birdcage Inn, 1998). The first was his preference for mute (or
almost mute) protagonists. Being
that Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance was my first Korean film and that The Isle was
my third, it certainly seemed to me as though I had stumbled on a typically
Korean trait. Besides a large
quantity of Kim’s films, there are numerous mutes in Korean cinema, including
but my no means limited to: The Way Home (2002), Sad Movie (2005), and No Mercy
for the Rude (2006). The
phenomenon is so prevalent that it is deserving of its own piece, which I
intend to write in the light of the staggering success of Silenced (aka The
Crucible/Dogani).
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| Messages of separated families |
The second trait, which sadly is unavoidable, is his
prevalent misogyny. The horrific
violence perpetrated against his female victims is shocking. Some say that he demonstrates certain
actions to make a point and show a patriarchal society for what it is but it is
not just the actions inflicted on women
in Kim’s films that concern me.
What bothers me more is the way they are portrayed: they are frequently
submissive, which is understandable in certain situations, but are also
frequently shown as ignorant, petty, and self-serving. This applies to many of his female characters
and it goes beyond artistic choice and deliberate representation. It appears to be innate and as much as
I admire and respect Kim Ki-duk as a filmmaker, I can’t help but see him as a
sexist and this can cause problems for me when I view his work. Then again Hitchcock was a notorious
misogynist and I unabashedly love his films.
So after this rather long preamble I would like to discuss
the first film to be released in Korea with his name attached to it after his
three-year hiatus. Poongsan was written by Kim but it was directed by Juhn
Jai-hong. Although unlike his
previous protégé’s films, like Jang Hoon’s Rough Cut (2008) and Jang Chul-soo’s
Bedevilled (2010), which were firmly stamped with those emerging cineastes’
talents, this is definitely a Kim Ki-duk film.
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| Poongsan cigarette |
Poongsan is the name of a brand of cigarettes and it is also
used to identify a mysterious individual (Yoon Kye-sang) who transports items across the DMZ
with extraordinary athleticism in the face of great danger. He brings messages and items to and fro
between separated families (they are pinned on a wall for him to see), but he nevers utters a word and it is hard to
understand his motivations. The
National Intelligence Service (NIS, the Korean FBI) gets wind of his operation
and enlists his services to bring back the wife (Kim Gyoo-ri) of a prominent defector (Kim Jong-soo) who is
cooperating with them. He
indicates that he’ll bring her back in three hours. He finds her but she is initially reluctant to trust him and
causes problems on the way back across the border. After she is reunited with her husband, Poongsan is
apprehended. What ensues is both a
strange story of attraction, and a thrilling cat and mouse game between
Poongsan, the NIS, and the North Korean spies who get involved later.
Early on the film succeeds in hooking us by leaving us with
many unanswered questions but its elliptical nature and reliance on imagery and metaphor add
complications. It’s difficult to
say exactly what kind of a film this is.
It’s an arthouse flick but it also features action scenes and espionage,
it’s comes down to the viewer’s taste as to whether this succeeds. I was able to let it go, just about,
but it did make the film uneven.
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| Crossing borders |
One of the metaphors that I’ve already mentioned is the main
character’s silence. He doesn’t
seem to be a mute, he’s just decided not to talk. The question is why?
People on both sides of the border ask him what side he’s on, and since
he travels back and forth a lot, perhaps he feels that instead of pandering to
one ideology or the other, it is less complicated to forgo communication
altogether. At least this way he
can be trusted, as everyone in the film seems to do without any hesitation. He is also a wandering male without a
home, a man so thoroughly displaced by the separation of Korea that he cannot
help but incessantly travel back and forth across its fortified border. He does so easily and brazenly, he does
not recognize it, perhaps for him, it isn’t even there.
As far as its portrayal of ideology goes, the film takes a
hard line and paints everything in stark black and white. The NIS is shown as being paranoid and
tyrannical, the same way that other South Korean films portray North Korean
agents. In effect Kim seems to
have created the Poongsan character as a surrogate for himself, he does not
ascribe to one idea or the other and all he sees is each side’s hypocrisy and
dishonesty. The defector’s
ideology is also brought into question, like Poongsan he has crossed lines. He
has done so by switching his allegiance from the North to the South, but unlike
him he is caricatured as a tyrant, he is shallow, petty, jealous, violent, and
authoritative. Ultimately his
ideology comes in second place to his greed and ego, which quickly transcend
it.
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| The defector and his wife |
Chaos abounds out of a desire for rigid structure from both
sides. The perpetual cat and mouse game played by the North and the South is
disturbed and brought to a quicker, and thus uncharted, conclusion when an
unknown element doesn’t fit into their equally dogmatic codes. Poongsan does not seem to have a side
but perhaps the unquantifiable aspect is not his political non-affiliation but
the love that blossoms between him and the defector’s wife, which all the other
characters seem fascinated by and try to use to their own advantage, with
disastrous consequences.
The third act goes to great lengths to ridicule the NIS and
the North Korean agents by exposing their hypocrisy and pitting them against
one another. Unfortunately, this only happens at the expense of the main thrust
of the narrative. A risky move but
it delivers a solid finish due to some well thought-out and unexpected
narrative machinations. Kim Ki-duk
is a man of few words but he takes many liberties with logic and the
dissemination of information which is the film’s greatest drawback. Poongsan is a flawed film, but it is also
clever and fascinating, it invites you to draw your own conclusions. A very strong comeback, though I still can’t
get excited about Arirang or Amen, though I’m sure I'll see them when I get
the chance.
