Who is a victim when everyone is criminal?

By David A. Tizzard

Korea is a country of revenge. A land of scars. Resentment. Hate. Love. Resistance. Triumph and tragedy alike. This idea has never been more clear to me than today: March 1st. A hundred and six years ago, the people in this country expressed their wish to be free from the oppressive rule of a foreign colonial force. They raised their flags. Screamed in harmony. And demanded what their goods rightly. It was the voice of the oppressed. This story still lives and breathes in politics, the media, art and the soy -soaked conversations from dip bars from Cheongnyangni to Changwon. It is a voice that should use many around the world, from Gaza to Donetsk.

Perhaps one of the best ways to understand Korea's attitude towards revenge is through the stories that it has told itself. How it was best to communicate these most destructive human emotions. The West had Hamlet and everything that corresponded to the Shakespeare prince in its search for retaliation. It had the Bible and the command that revenge was the Lord of the Lord and not the right to the people of the earth. Later, Hollywood would Create a Series of RevenGeamacs: “The Searchers” Starring John Wayne, Charles Bronson's “Death Wish,” “Taxi Driver,” “” “” Hardcore “and Basically Much of Tarantino's Recent Output, From Jews Killing Hitler in” Inglorious Basterds “To Slaves Killing Their Masters in” Django Unchained. ” In Korea there is the early Chan-Wook work park.

Here Venmanance runs through the life of the oppressed, mixed with Confucian duties, retaliation and family honor. “Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance” (2002), the first film in Park's revenge trilogy, is a tragedy in the purest sense -one that unfolds like a Shakespeare blood bath, but is deprived of somoquia and is told by cinematography, cathartic violence and an immeasurable meaning of moral ambigity.

The silence of the unknown

Ryu, the deaf protagonist, is the silent cassandra of the film, which is doomed from the start. The moral conscience that suggests to come and warn that the punishment follows and grief. His disability is not just an action device – it is a metaphor. The Korean society, especially in the 80s and 90s, often ignored it on the side: the deaf, the disabled, the poor, the radicals, those who do not fit the stubborn form of success. Park returns to this trope in his films, as does Bong Joon-Ho (“Memories of Murder”, “Mother”). It is the unvoiced people who suffer the most, who fall back on desperate measures and ultimately remain unheard of their own destruction. Ryus green hair is also a wonderful note. You can't ignore him even if you want. Bong repeated this trope by giving the Kang-Ho character of Gang du blonde hair in “The Host”. “Squid Game” tried lee young-Jaes bright red hair, but that felt much trickier in comparison and was quickly given up in embarrassment.

A point that it is worth is that directors such as Park and Bong have long spoken of these people, their life and their tragedies in a powerful way. They warned us of the dangers of socio -political inequality. They made terribly beautiful visions of what lurks underneath. And yet we ignored them. We continue to worship idols. We see “Parasit”, admire his message and then retire to our Instagram roles and $ 8 coffee. And the more time you spend in park and bongs of earlier work, the more you can see how your latest films may have been weakened in contrast to Tarantinos. Sanitated and cleaned. The oppressed have received a bath. Made likeable. Nice, almost. The physical and mental disabilities have largely disappeared. In their early films, however, they stumble and rush on the screen with an open mouth, and their eyes shoot off in different directions. You are what you see, whether you want or not.

Anarchist's tragedy

The story of “Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance” unfolds at a time that is overshadowed by the failed dreams of Koreas on the left and the longing of the minjung movement for a better nation-one freely from capitalism, which is rooted in the traditional values ​​of pre-modern Korea. A time when the sun rose via harvested rice fields, songs filled the air, women were married, and when the night fell, stories of dragons and tigers were passed on. But instead of realizing these dreams, they are hit with a world of exploitation – even harder by the fact that wealth and success are now painfully visible and are no longer hidden behind palace walls.

Ryu's girlfriend Cha Yeong-Mi is part of an underground radical group. Their ideology is simple: dismantling the American influence, abolishing chabols, creating an egalitarian society. In Park's world, however, ideology is powerless in the face of human despair. Money – or the lack of it – drives every decision. Medicides, Factory Leafings, the gap between rich and poor. Capitalism not only breeds injustice; It kills. The policeman needs money for his dying child. The company's president is divorced and transferred to a spiral of murder and bankruptcy. And in the end? Those who survive? In this film it is the cigarette smokers. Only those who have seen it will understand. And then the discussion can be held about what Parks was in message.

However, what is undeniable is how effortlessly magnetic Bae Doona is. Raw. Revolutionary. Without bra. Smoking chain, manifestation and constantly pouting. Your performance here is pure cinema, pure sex. The Korean film has rarely seen that something is so hot. Kim Hye-Soos Madam Jung in Choi Dong Hoon 2006 “Tazza” is one of the few that come close.

Poetry and humor in silence

Park's cinematography has an art that distinguishes him. Each shot is composed with such a trust that the dialogue becomes secondary. Sometimes it even becomes like a silent film with the appearance of chaplin-like titles instead of words. Park refers and forces the audience to look after what is happening. The frame is strong. It doesn't move unnecessarily. It speaks like a Rorschach test and reveals something else to every viewer. Language becomes irrelevant; Unnecessary subtitle. The violence, grief, humor – everything is seen, not said.

And no weapons. That makes it terrifying. The knives, scalpelle, the calm brutality of the physical confrontation. Violence is never removed in “Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance”. It is always intimate, always personal. If the last scene under water, invisible and then revealed – it is almost unbearable. The mere proposal, what happens is enough to turn the stomach. This is the genius of Park: the ability to force his audience into a visceral reaction without ever using a spectacle. This is revenge on its roughest and revenge revenge as a sensory experience. A mile of the explosions and rocket launchers from Hollywood blockbusters away, but much more effective.

But don't ignore the comedy. The film is funny. Real, unexpected humor through the grotesque. Park later appears in “I'm a cyborg, but that's okay”, but here too there are moments in the middle of the desolation before you laugh back in despair. It is the dissonance, the stitch between laughter and horror that makes the film all the more disturbing. A memory that tragedy and comedy are often inseparable.

The masterpiece of the pre -Korean wave

This film is before the Hallyu explosion before K-pop idols were international icons before K-Dramas fights mental health to fight mass complaints. “Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance” existed at a time when the Korean cinema was still in large parts of the world underground when the park was not yet a global author. And yet it feels prophetic today. The moon villages, the hidden corners of the city, the economic inequality, the anarchist ideology – so much of what was shown in 2002 remains relevant today, if not more. There are no heroes, no lessons, no moral snack stalls. Only the persistent question: Who is the victim when everyone is a criminal?

Park Chan-Wook is simply not around.

David A. Tizzard received his doctorate in Korean studies and lectures at Seoul Women's University and Hanyang University. He is a social cultural commentator and musician who has been living in Korea for almost two decades. He is also the host of the “Korea deconstructed” podcast, which can be found online. It can be reached at datizard@swu.ac.kr.