THE SOUTH KOREAN FILM RENAISANCE

The South Korean Film Renaissance

Wesleyan Film

A series fromWesleyan University PressEdited by Jeanine Basinger

The Wesleyan Film series takes a back-to-

basics approach to the art of cinema. Books in

the series deal with the formal, the historical,

and the cultural—putting a premium on visual

analysis, close readings, and an understanding

of the history of Hollywood and international

cinema, both artistically and industrially. The

volumes are rigorous, critical, and accessible

both to academics and to lay readers with a

serious interest in film.

Series editor Jeanine Basinger, Corwin-

Fuller Professor of Film Studies at Wesleyan

University and Founder/Curator of the

Wesleyan Cinema Archives, is the author of

such landmark books as The World War II

Combat Film: Anatomy of a Genre, AWoman’s

View: How Hollywood Spoke to Women, 1930–

1960, Silent Stars, and The Star Machine.

Anthony Mann

New and Expanded Edition

by Jeanine Basinger

It’s the Pictures That Got Small

Hollywood Film Stars on 1950s

Television

Christine Becker


Local Hitmakers, Global

Provocateurs

by Jinhee Choi

The Films of Samuel Fuller

If You Die, I’ll Kill You!

by Lisa Dombrowski

Physical Evidence

Selected Film Criticism

by Kent Jones

Action Speaks Louder

Violence, Spectacle, and the

American Action Movie

Revised and Expanded Edition

by Eric Lichtenfeld

Hollywood Ambitions

Celebrity in the Movie Age

by Marsha Orgeron

A Splurch in the Kisser

The Movies of Blake Edwards

by Sam Wasson


Local Hitmakers

Global Provocateurs

JINHEE CHOI

Wesleyan University Press

Middletown, Connecticut

Published by

Wesleyan University Press,

Middletown, CT 06459

www.wesleyan.edu/wespress

∫ 2010 by Jinhee Choi

All rights reserved

Printed in the United States of America

5 4 3 2 1

The Korea Foundation has provided financial assistance

for the undertaking of this publication project.

Wesleyan University Press is a member of the Green

Press Initiative. The paper used in this book meets their

minimum requirement for recycled paper.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Choi, Jinhee.

The South Korean film renaissance: local hitmakers, global

provocateurs / Jinhee Choi.

p. cm. — (Wesleyan film)

Includes bibliographical references and index.

isbn 978-0-8195-6939-4 (cloth: alk. paper)

isbn 978-0-8195-6940-0 (p: alk. paper)

1. Motion pictures—Korea (South) 2. Motion picture

industry—Korea (South) I. Title.

pn1993.5.k6c4845 2010

791.43095195—dc22 2009035924

To my father,

who loved Westerns and

secretly admired Susan Hayward

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Contents

List of Figures ix

Acknowledgments xi

Introduction 1

1 Faces of Globalization 15

2 Blockbusters, Korean Style 31

3 No Blood? No Tears! Gangster Cinema 60

4 I’m Not a Girl, Yet Not a Woman: Romance Films 85

5 Once Upon a Time in High School: Teen Pics 116

6 Not Just Metteurs-en-Scène? ‘‘High-Quality’’ Films 144

7 Riding the New Wave 164

Afterword 193

Appendix 1. Box Office Top Ten (1986–2006) 199

Appendix 2. Korean Film Market Share 206

Appendix 3. Number of Films Produced/Released (1986–2006) 207

Appendix 4. Number of Theaters/Screens (1986–2006) 208

Appendix 5. International Film Festivals: Award-Winning Films

(1986–2006) 209

Notes 217

Bibliography 233

Index 241

Figures

Shiri, Kang Je-gyu, 1999

2.1 Yu aims his gun in Park’s direction 522.2 Park fires back at Yu with consistent eye-line match 532.3 A cutaway to the squad before the camera crosses the axis of

action 53

JSA, Park Chan-wook, 2000

2.4 Lee framed in a tight close-up 562.5 The camera pans right to show Choi in a similar shot scale 572.6 A delayed establishing shot that punctuates the scene with

great tension 57

The General’s Son, Im Kwon-taek, 1991

3.1 Kim Du-han challenges a Japanese judo master 62

Beat, Kim Sung-su, 1997

3.2 Tae-su thrown out of the room after stabbing a mobster 743.3 An impressionistic fight scene 743.4 Min punctuates the impressionistic fight 75

My Tutor Friend, Kim Kyeong-hyeong, 2003

4.1 Su-wan enjoys the attention from the enthusiastic crowd 100

Asako in Ruby Shoes, E J-Yong, 2000

4.2 U-in glancing at the wall of a subway train 1114.3 An advertisement features actress Kim Min-hee 1114.4 An imaginary encounter between U-in and Aya 1124.5 U-in turning around in pain 1124.6 Aya glancing back at U-in 113

x Figures

Memento Mori, Kim Tae-yong, Min Kyu-dong, 1999

5.1 The white piano evokes a usual horror mood 1325.2 A memorabilia-filled piano 132

Whispering Corridors, Park Ki-hyeong, 1998

5.3 Ms. Park hanging from the overpass 1345.4 Jeong-suk’s suicide visually parallels Ms. Park’s death 135

Wishing Stairs, Yun Jae-yeon, 2003

5.5 Jin-seong’s truncated feet 1365.6 Jin-seong sheds tears out of frustration 137

Memories of Murder, Bong Joon-ho, 2003

6.1 The cramped mise-en-scène of a local restaurant 1526.2 Gang-ho tumbles out of small attic 1536.3 A small room in which an entire family lives 1546.4 Jo finds a paper card the children play with 1556.5 A container in which porn magazines are stored 155

A Tale of Two Sisters, Kim Ji-woon, 2003

6.6 The stepmother paces back and forth 1626.7 An empty moment which awaits the entrance of a character 162

Oldboy, Park Chang-wook, 2003

7.1 Dae-su digs a hole 177

Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter and Spring, Kim Ki-duk, 2003

7.2 Doors open up to present the next act, ‘‘Summer’’ 181

xi

Acknowledgments

A PhD dissertation usually undergoes various stages before it reaches bookform, and this one is no exception. Without David Bordwell’s convictionthat South Korean cinema was in, I might have chosen to write on a topicthat seemed (at least to me) more ‘‘marketable.’’ I will always be grateful toDavid for showing me the way. A postdoctoral fellowship at Yale Universityprovided me with both the time and the financial support for this book to bereshaped to as it is now. I appreciate the warm reception of Dudley Andrewand Charles Musser in Film Studies and Anne Letterman from the Councilon East Asian Studies. An sshrc Institutional research grant at CarletonUniversity allowed me subsequent research trips to South Korea necessaryto complete the manuscript and the Korea Foundation provided a subsidyfor the publication of this book. I also wish to thank my former colleagues atCarleton University who generously granted me leave, as well as my currentcolleagues at the University of Kent, who saw me through the last phase ofthis project. This book has also benefited from the comments and sugges-tions of its two anonymous reviewers. I appreciate Chris Berry’s enthusiasmand encouragement for this project. Parker Smathers at Wesleyan Uni-versity Press patiently waited as the manuscript went through a series ofrevisions and Amanda Dupuis at University Press of New England providedassistance in polishing this manuscript.

There was a fortuneteller who once predicted that I would receive twoPhDs—not an MD/PhD, but two actual PhDs—in ‘‘rare fields.’’ Regardless ofwhether this story was true (or fabricated by my mother with specific inten-tions), I did end up earning two PhDs, one in philosophy and the other infilm studies, both at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. There I met twoof the most prolific scholars around, Noël Carroll and David Bordwell, fromwhom I learned what it is to be an academic writer. Lea Jacobs, VanceKepley, and Michael Curtin each helped me grow intellectually.

Without friends and family, I would not have been able to see this bookthrough. I thank Vince Bohlinger, who, despite our personality differences,

xii Acknowledgments

has been my best friend for over a decade, as well as Todd Borgerding, Pat-rick Keating, Katherine Spring, Rebecca Swender, who would congratulateme on the publication of this book if she were with us today, and FedericoWindhausen, who searched, though in vain, for the right colored pencil.Julian Stringer and Lisa Dombrowski helped me find the right publisher forthis book. My mother has always been my biggest fan, and my big brother,his family, and my second brother have always stood by my side. Lastly, Idedicate this book to my father, from whom I got my supposed brains. Hepassed away several years ago, and I never had the chance to say good-byeand tell him how much he meant to me.

A different version of Chapter 3 was originally published in Post Script:Essays in Film and the Humanities 27.3 (Summer 2008). Portions of Chap-ters 5 and 6 originally appeared in Horror to the Extreme: Changing Bounda-ries in Asian Cinema published by Hong Kong University Press (2009).

JCThe University of KentCanterbury, U.K.March 2009

1

Introduction

In the precredit sequence of Oldboy (Park Chan-wook, 2003), Dae-su, theprotagonist, stops a man from committing suicide, and he then tells the manthe story of his fifteen-year imprisonment. Later in the film, Mi-do, thefemale lead, reads the diary that Dae-su wrote while he was locked in a cell,and she sheds tears at Dae-su’s hardship and loneliness. Toward the end ofthe film Dae-su tells his story again, this time to a female hypno-therapist, ashe begs her to erase the memory of his incestuous relationship with hisdaughter Mi-do. This urge to tell one’s story is emblematic of the currentstatus of the South Korean film industry. South Korean cinema is telling itsown story, both personal and national, and it has been heard loud and clearboth inside and outside the country.

The South Korean Film Renaissance will examine the transformation ofthe South Korean film industry and the corresponding formal changes be-tween 1986 and 2006, years that mark significant turning points within thehistory of the Korean Motion Picture Law (mpl). In 1986 the mpl wasamended to grant direct distribution by major Hollywood studios; and twodecades later, the mpl was further modified to reduce the screen quota from146 to 73 days allotted for domestically produced films. During the past twodecades, however, South Korea saw its domestic film industry blossom, andits film culture matured significantly. In the late 1990s the ‘‘Korean block-buster’’ established itself as a feasible production/marketing strategy withinthe South Korean domestic market, with the commercial success of suchfilms as Shiri (Kang Je-gyu, 1999) and Joint Security Area (also known as JSA,Park Chan-wook, 2000). Since then, box office records have been constantlyexceeded by subsequent blockbusters, including Silmido (Kang Woo-suk,2004), Taegukgi (Kang Je-gyu, 2004), and The Host (2006, Bong Joon-ho)—which attracted more than 13 million viewers out of a population of 48million.∞ South Korean cinema has become one of the strongest commercialfilm industries in the region, outperforming Hollywood cinema at the localbox office. In the past ten years, annual paid cinema admissions in the re-

2 T H E S O U T H K O R E A N F I L M R E N A I S S A N C E

gion have more than tripled from 42 million in 1996 to 148 million in2005, during which time Hollywood’s market share was cut in half, droppingfrom 77 percent to 36–38 percent.≤ By 2005 South Korea had become thefifth largest theatrical market in the world, with $890 million in box-officereceipts.

The box-office success of domestically produced films has coincided withinternational recognition of South Korean filmmakers on the film-festivalcircuit. In 2002 Im Kwon-taek was named Best Director at Cannes for hisfilm Chihwason, and Lee Chang-dong received the Special Director award atthe Venice Film Festival for his film Oasis. In 2004 Kim Ki-duk won majorawards: the Silver Bear at the Berlin Film Festival for Samaritan Girl and theSilver Lion at the Venice Film Festival for 3-Iron. In the same year, ParkChan-wook—director of JSA and Sympathy forMr. Vengeance (2002)—tookhome Cannes Film Festival’s Grand Prix for Oldboy.

The widely circulated term Hallyu (literally, ‘‘Korean wave’’) underscoresthe emerging popularity of South Korean culture in the regional market.≥

Hallyu is typically associated with exported South Korean television seriesbut also encompasses the dissemination of South Korean cultural productsin general, including music and cinema. The rising stardom of South Ko-rean actors such as Bae Yong-joon, Choi Ji-woo, Lee Byung-hun, and JangDong-gun has further helped the Korean industry sell distribution rights toneighboring countries, as their fan base demands the simultaneous releaseof their films across the region.∂

The South Korean Film Renaissance situates the influence of South Ko-rean cinema in the world film scene within the context of globalization byfocusing on how the South Korean film industry adapted to regional andglobal demands by modernizing industry practices and elevating film pro-duction value. The South Korean film renaissance underscores the complexnexus of globalization; and like every other industry in Korea, the film indus-try has been and continues to be tightly controlled by the South Koreangovernment. At the end of the Korean War (1950–1953), the Korean filmindustry was negligible, producing fewer than thirty films a year. By thelate 1950s, however, the industry had begun to grow. By 1959 there wereseventy-one production companies, which produced over a hundred films.∑

The mpl was first legislated in 1962 with the aim of accelerating the indus-trialization of the Korean motion picture business. The government wishedto model the Korean film industry after the Hollywood studio system byeliminating small, unstable production companies. Such an attempt only

Introduction 3

resulted in further instability of the industry with many small- to mid-sizedcompanies going bankrupt. Despite these drawbacks, Korean cinema en-joyed its first renaissance in the 1960s with the emergence of new produc-tion companies and commercial success at the box office.

In the 1970s, under Park Chung-hee’s dictatorship, a new set of regula-tions was imposed on the film industry. In 1973 the mpl changed from aregistration system to a license system.∏ A production license was given onlyto film companies with studio facilities and capital. The number of studiosthat received licenses under the revised mpl amounted in total to fewerthan twenty.π This number remained the same until the fifth amendment ofthe mpl was introduced in 1984. A quota system for production and dis-tribution was also implemented, in order to encourage reinvestment infilm production using distribution revenue. Only studios that met the pro-duction quota could earn distribution rights. However, the production-distribution quota system did not serve its original purpose in securing thedomestic market. Instead, it was exploited, with studios making low-budgetquickies that would fill the production quota in order to focus on the impor-tation and distribution of more profitable foreign films.

With the country’s rapid economic growth in the 1970s and 1980s, theKorean government was under pressure to liberalize its import policies andfinancial markets for all industries, including film. As part of a bargainingsession at the Uruguay Round meeting, the United States pressed for theabolition of protective measures that had been guarding the South Koreanfilm industry. The industry had relied on the quota system to gain screentime for its product and to ensure a certain amount of revenue. Against theU.S. government’s continuing press to abolish quotas, in 1999 filmmakers,along with actors and actresses, protested and expressed concerns over theconsequences of eliminating the quota system. In 2006, when the SouthKorean government finally agreed to reduce the screen quota to seventy-three days for the Free Trade Agreement, there was a ‘‘protest relay,’’ whichwould always find a few actors or filmmakers demonstrating in downtownSeoul. The protest relay lasted for months.∫

South Korea also faced competition from Japan, occupier of the Koreanpeninsula beginning in 1910, whose media had been banned after Koreagained its independence in 1945. In 1998 the Ministry of Culture and Tour-ism announced its plan to lift the ban on Japanese pop culture.Ω The oldergeneration, who experienced colonial rule directly, continued to expressanxiety and resentment toward Japan. Three and a half decades of Japanese


colonial rule are still vivid in the collective memory of the nation. Koreanworkers were transported to work in coal mines in Siberia and elsewhere;Korean women were conscripted as jeongsindae (comfort women) for theJapanese Army during World War II. Koreans were also forced to adoptJapanese names and were taught in Japanese at school. The younger genera-tion, on the other hand, openly accepts and enjoys Japanese media satura-tion in the form of manga, anime, television series, film, and music. By 1999Japanese films that had been circulated at film festivals could earn distri-bution rights in South Korea, and Japanese artists’ performances in smallvenues (fewer than two thousand seats) were allowed. In 2004 Japanese filmsof all ratings were allowed, and Japanese tv drama series were shown oncable television. The last to be imported were Japanese tv variety shows,including comedy shows and anime feature films, both of which gainedpermission in 2004 and 2006, respectively.∞≠

The anxiety over ‘‘direct’’ competition with Hollywood and Japan withinthe domestic market, however, was slowly overcome with the generationalshift within the industry. The relaxation of restrictions on production, inconjunction with the inauguration of a civilian government, provided anopportunity for independent production companies and a new generationof directors—often identified as the ‘‘386 Generation’’—to propel an indus-trial boom unprecedented in the history of South Korean cinema. The term‘‘386,’’ referring to the speed of an Intel computer chip, has been appropri-ated by the South Korean media to designate a generation—in their thirtieswhen the term began to circulate—whose members were born in the 1960sand attended college in the 1980s. There is an overlap between the 386Generation and South Korean baby boomers, who were born between 1955and 1963. But the use of the term ‘‘386 Generation’’ underscores a sharedcultural and political proclivity, whereas ‘‘baby boomers’’ is a less culturallyspecific demographic term in the Korean context. For those in college dur-ing the 1980s, it was a time when the South Korean people experiencedpainful political turmoil and trauma.

In film history, we often find cases in which a national film industry hasbeen transformed with the arrival of a new generation of filmmakers. FrenchNew Wave directors, for example, most of whom were cinephiles, reshapedFrench film culture and industry in the 1960s. Hong Kong New Wave direc-tors, with their kindred sensibilities, launched the golden era of Hong Kongcinema in the 1980s. Likewise, 386 Generation directors of a similar politicalpredilection contribute to the current industry boom by quickly adapting

Introduction 5

themselves to industry demands. The concept of ‘‘generation’’ implies that ademographic group tends to manifest similar attitudes or stances toward itsnational and cultural history because of its shared experience. However, thecollective experience of 386 Generation directors is in and of itself insuffi-cient to characterize the specific characteristics of the South Korean filmrenaissance. According to Pierre Bourdieu, sociopolitical and cultural pro-clivities of artists are manifested in their work only through demands fromand positions available within ‘‘the field.’’∞∞ The opening up of the Koreanfilm market, brought about by the world film industry’s globalization pro-cess, creates demand for commercially viable films; and with conglomerates’and venture capitalists’ money pouring into the South Korean film industry,a majority of 386 Generation directors pursued cinema with entertainmentvalue, comparable—even superior—to that produced by Hollywood.

Along with the expansion of the commercial film industry, local govern-ments launched international film festivals. In 1996 the Pusan InternationalFilm Festival (piff), held in Busan (also known as Pusan), a southern portcity, was initiated with the aim of transferring the cultural foci from otherAsian cosmopolitan cities such as Hong Kong and Tokyo to the local citiesof Korea.∞≤ piff is now touted as Asia’s premier film festival. The BucheonInternational Fantastic Film Festival, launched in 1997, and the Jeonju Inter-national Film Festival, launched in 2000, have provided further venues toshowcase Korean cinema for a wider international audience. Small-scaleindependent and/or documentary film festivals such as the Human RightsFilm Festival, the Queer Film and Video Festival, and the Women’s FilmFestival have proliferated, challenging the hegemonic discourse on the na-tional identity and providing alternate public spheres in which people ad-dress the socioeconomic and cultural issues of class, gender, and sexualidentity.∞≥ South Korean cinema provides a model for what Chris Berry calls‘‘full service cinema,’’ which ranges from both commercial and art cinema toindependent filmmaking, documentary, and animation.∞∂

The bifurcated pursuit of both commercial and festival-oriented films canbe partly attributed to the South Korean government’s control—althoughweakened of late—and support of the ongoing renaissance. The tax incen-tives for those who invest in the film industry have attracted and introduceda new generation of financiers to the film industry during the Asian eco-nomic crises.∞∑ The South Korean government has also been preparing fora new era of Korean cinema by educating the new talent that the industryhas been so desperately looking for. Such directors as Lee Jeong-hyang,


Bong Joon-ho, Hur Jin-ho, and E J-Yong (a.k.a. Lee Je-yong), all of whomhave been both commercially and critically acclaimed, graduated from theKorean Academy of Film Art (kafa), which was established in 1984. TheKorean government’s indirect involvement with the new ongoing renais-sance challenges the divide often drawn between the global and the nationalor local.

Although Korean cinema earned recognition as commercial cinema out-side the country after the success of the blockbusters, the transformation ofthe industry had begun in the mid-1980s, with the 1986 revision of the mplin response to the U.S. government’s demand to abolish some of the protec-tive measures for domestically produced films. Yet current attempts to de-fine the starting point of the New Korean cinema are unsatisfactory. Au-thors such as Kim Kyung-hyun and Yi Hyo-in, who identify the beginning ofthe New Korean cinema more or less with the Korean New Wave, mark1988 as the starting point of the New Korean cinema.∞∏ The precise referentof the Korean New Wave shifts from author to author, but it is mostlyassociated with the directors born in the 1950s—slightly older than the 386Generation—and who debuted in the latter half of the 1980s: directorssuch as Jang Sun-woo (b. 1952), Park Kwang-su (b. 1955), and Lee Myung-se(b. 1957). For example, in 1988 two of the New Wavers, Park Kwang-su andLee Myung-se, debuted with Chil-su andMan-su and Gagman respectively.In contrast, though, for industry personnel such as Shim Jae-myung (mkPictures), Cha Seung-jae (Sidus), and Shin Cheol (Shin Cine), 1992’s TheMarriage Story (dir. Kim Ui-seok), which was born out of a marriage be-tween Chungmuro (the Korean film district) and corporate conglomerates,signaled an important turning point.∞π Shin Chi-Yun and Julian Stringernote a transformation at the industry level around the time Im Kwon-taek’sSopyonje (Seopyeonje, 1993) was released. Post-Sopyonje cinema departsradically from the cultural cinema of the 1980s.

I shy away from identifying the ‘‘newness’’ of Korean cinema in either theNew Wave films of the late 1980s or the more commercially oriented filmsof the 1990s and onward. I refer to the ongoing phenomenon as a secondSouth Korean film renaissance, a label that can encompass both the re-surgence of socially conscious, and/or aesthetically experimental films andthe industrial boom. A precedent can be found in the film renaissance of the1960s,∞∫ when the number of commercially successful films soared in con-junction with the emergence of a new generation of Korean directors, such

Introduction 7

as Yu Hyun-mok, Shin Sang-ok, Hong Seong-gi, Lee Man-hui, Kim Ki-duk,and Jeong Chang-hwa.

A further similarity between these two renaissances can be found in thebroadening of production trends. Although melodrama had been a pre-dominant genre in the Korean film industry in the 1960s, comprising up to70 percent of the films produced,∞Ω Korean audiences saw films that em-bodied various trends, including costume drama—Seong Chun Hyang (ShinSang-ok, 1961); comedy—Romance Papa (Shin Sang-ok, 1961) and PettyMiddle Manager (Lee Bong-rae, 1961); youth films—Private Tutor (KimKi-duk, 1963) and The Barefooted Young (Kim Ki-duk, 1964); action—ABonanza (Jeong Chang-hwa, 1961); horror/thriller—The Housemaid (KimKi-young, 1960), The Devil’s Stairway (Lee Man-hui, 1964), and The PublicCemetery Under the Moon (Kwon Cheol-hwi, 1967); and war films—FiveMarines (Kim Ki-duk, 1961) and The Marines who Never Returned (LeeMan-hui, 1963). Contemporary Korean audiences are witnessing the rebirthand transformation of similar genres.

These two renaissances, however, mark significantly different historicaljunctures in the history of South Korean cinema. If the first renaissancecame into being in the midst of the Park Chung-hee regime’s failed attemptto modernize the film sector—a by-product rather than an intentional out-come—the current one is a result of the increasing globalization of theworld film industry and of Korea’s striving for cultural visibility; it is also anattempt to reach a wider regional and global audience. The use of the dates1986 and 2006 does not suggest that there is a clear-cut beginning and endto the current renaissance. Rather, these dates provide a timeframe thatallows for a fruitful discussion of how the Korean film industry responded tothe increasingly globalized world film industry. As Darcy Paquet notes,unlike the fifth amendment of the mpl in 1984, which was designed toreform an outdated mode of production, the sixth amendment was a directresult of the pressures coming from outside Korea.≤≠ In 1986 the Koreangovernment finally amended the mpl to respond to demands from theMotion Picture Export Association of America (mpeaa) and alleviated theregulations on foreign investment in the Korean film industry. The importquota and the tax imposed on foreign films were also abolished in the sameyear.≤∞ In 2006, two decades after the sixth amendment, the screen quota,which was the government’s last-resort attempt to protect domestically pro-duced films, was reduced in half, as Korea prepared to enter negotiations on


the bilateral Free Trade Agreement with the United States. The record-breaking box-office success of The Host in the same year made it look as ifthe Korean film industry was unaffected by the decision. But in 2007 Koreanfilms saw a drop in audience attendance; it was the first box-office drop ina decade.≤≤

Throughout the book, the discussion of ‘‘Korean cinema’’ primarily fo-cuses on feature films made in South Korea, but the approach taken here ishardly protectionist or reflectionist. The concern is how the concept of‘‘national cinema’’ is articulated both within and outside the South Koreanfilm industry, often as a marketing strategy. Globalization is not, as pre-viously construed by some cultural theorists, a totalizing, homogenizingprocess that erases the local specificity. Rather, as Darrell Davis notes, ‘‘Na-tionality sparks and thickens instead of fading away.’’≤≥ Such a dynamicbetween the global and the local foregrounds the fact that even if the notionof national cinema is challenged as a vehicle to carry national identity, it stillserves as a formative category, providing ingredients to be explored andexploited by global corporations and local filmmakers, by festival program-mers and critics, and by academics and individual viewers.≤∂

The domestic enthusiasm for Korean cinema should partly be attributedto the evocation of ‘‘consumer nationalism.’’ In 1999 the industry protestedwhen the South Korean government proposed further changes to mpl.Earlier changes had already granted the United States direct distributionrights. The protests directed viewers’ attention to the unfair nature of Holly-wood’s demands for ‘‘free’’ trade and to the endangerment of the domesticfilm industry’s very existence. Laura Nelson in Measured Excess character-izes the South Korean consumer pattern from the 1970s to the 1990s as aninstance of consumer nationalism: consumers basing their decisions on thebest interests of the nation and not on the interests of individuals.≤∑ SouthKorea’s export-driven economic polices since the 1970s put heavy emphasison producing exportable goods, often overpricing the consumer goods onthe domestic market in order to compensate for the export loss.≤∏ TheSouth Korean government demanded sacrifice from consumers for the bet-ter good—i.e., national prosperity and unity. A similar rhetoric is heardwhen critics and filmmakers alike encourage South Korean audiences toconsume ‘‘Korean’’ cinema. The gnp, which was the buzzword for SouthKoreans in the 1970s and 1980s, had been replaced by the South Koreancinema’s market share in the 1990s and early 2000s; both share the limita-tion of emphasizing the national over the individual.

Introduction 9

My approach should also be distinguished from a symptomatic approach,which is a tendency still dominant in both critical and academic discourseon national cinema—a tendency to fixate upon a nation’s history and cultureas the sole source of the specificity of national cinema. To reduce nationalcinema to that element exclusively is to discount the nuances that a nationalcinema embodies. Paul Willemen, for instance, attributes the narrative im-passes found in such films as The Aimless Bullet (Yu Hyun-mok, 1960) tothe fact that Korea as a nation had always been ambivalent about embracingmodernity.≤π Modernity was introduced to Korea in conflicting forms—first through Christianity, then through Japanese colonialism, and finallythrough the military dictatorship, which was given implicit support by theUnited States. Modernization came with undesirable baggage—feudalism,colonialism, dictatorship, and neocolonialism—depriving both the nationaland individual sense of agency. Korea is stranded between the past andfuture, unable to either return or move forward.≤∫ Willemen diagnoses thenarrative blockage in Korean cinema as the outcome or a symptom of a na-tional impasse. He observes that the narrative often remains unresolved andthat any recourse to tradition or to some form of irrationalism—shamanism,madness, or hysteria—as a resolution or closure, is abstract in nature andoffers no tangible alternative to the current state patriarchy.

A similar approach can be found in the brief sketch by Ahn Byung Sup ofthe history of Korean cinema from the 1910s to the 1980s. He claims that theprevalent emotional overtone in Korean cinema is sentimentalism, which isan expression of a national sentiment, han. Ahn characterizes han as a frameof mind or, better, an attitude—a sorrowful lament for persecution and aresignation to it.≤Ω According to Ahn, sentimentality originated in Korea’scolonial past and was disseminated in Korea through the Japanese shinpa(shimpa in Japanese, literally meaning ‘‘new wave’’ but often referring tomelodramatic tearjerkers), which was imported at the turn of the twentiethcentury. The satiric tradition in eighteenth-century Korean literature andperformance art is replaced by sentimentalism, and the little humor that isfound in Korean cinema of the 1950s and 1960s is a variation of sentimen-tality in the sense that it hinges upon the vilification and the subsequentpunishment of the antagonist.≥≠ Nancy Abelmann shares the same kindof methodology, although hers is more nuanced than Ahn’s. She attributesthe prevalent melodramatic sensibility in Korean culture to the nation’srapid historical transformation. Melodrama, broadly construed, providesone with both a mental framework with which to apprehend unpredictable


social change and mobility and a vehicle with which ‘‘to dramatize issuescentral to rapidly changing societies.’’≥∞ Underneath such parallel explana-tions, han functions like the Hegelian spirit, sustaining and propelling dom-inant cultural forms in Korea regardless of whether they are imported orindigenous.

These variants of the reflectionist approach, although insightful, arerather deterministic. One must further consider the levels of mediationbetween dominant cultural forms and national history and/or sentiment. Itis certainly true that the socioeconomic and political circumstances of anation-state seep into popular forms, but their manifestation is always fil-tered through industry structure and demand, not to mention the film-makers’ own perceptions and predilections. Instead of postulating nationalcinema as symptomatic manifestation of national history and culture, I willargue that national cinema is a strategic construct, serving as a guide forboth product differentiation and artistic appreciation. The relationship be-tween national cinema and history is fluid, refraction rather than reflec-tion, and what is intriguing about contemporary Korean cinema is how theshared political history of the 1980s has become a commercial lure for theaudience.≥≤

The concern with cultural specificity within the global contour of indus-try practices often limits the discussion to ‘‘local content,’’ the primary ingre-dients of which comprise local history and heritage. This book extends thediscussion to include not only local specificity but also the crossfertilizationsof aesthetic norms and conventions across the region and the Pacific—i.e.,Hollywood. ‘‘Globalization’’ is often equated with the late capitalist logicand/or corporate practices, but one must consider how such practices resultin converging aesthetic canons across nation-states. Current discussion onnational and transnational cinema treats these two categories as if theycorresponded to two different ‘‘modes’’ of film practice. A ‘‘national cinema’’is produced by a domestic film industry, circulates within a nation-state, andappeals to a national audience; whereas ‘‘transnational cinema’’ is financedinternationally, is distributed more widely than the country of production,and is able to appeal to audiences across national boundaries.≥≥ However,national cinema constantly weaves in and out of these two sets of industrymodes. If, as Aihwa Ong notes, the transnational aspect of national cinemashould be located not in the transcendence of national borders but in thetransformation of diverging cultures across the national boundaries,≥∂ SouthKorean cinema showcases how it localizes and promotes such film practices

Introduction 11

as blockbusters and ‘‘high quality’’ films and transforms generic and aes-thetic conventions found in other national cinemas. Instead of identifyingthe specificity of South Korean cinema in its national history and culture,the approach to Korean cinema adopted in this book is primarily relationaland comparative, focusing on how contemporary Korean cinema creates,adopts, borrows, and transforms film practices and aesthetic norms as itaddresses issues that are of immediate concern to Korean audiences, such asnational identity, class mobility, gender, and sexuality. As Bordwell, Staiger,and Thompson note, norms and conventions are not ironclad formulas tobe followed, but rather paradigms that provide sets of artistic as well astechnical choices.≥∑ With the development of alternate means of distribu-tion of cinema via vcd and dvd, aesthetic conventions may, as DavidDesser observes, turn into an ‘‘instant canon’’ that can be franchised andalluded to.≥∏ A relational approach will be helpful in situating Korean cin-ema within a larger context—both regional and global—and delineating thecharacteristics of South Korean cinema.

An immediate difficulty arises when examining the second South Koreanfilm renaissance: it is still very much an ongoing process, and there areendless mergers and reshufflings in the industry among film companies andconglomerates. The lack of industry journals in South Korea also poses aproblem for scholars. I have consulted the U.S. industry journals Variety andThe Hollywood Reporter to grasp the industry discourse, and I have studiedpopular Korean film magazines such as Cine 21 and Film 2.0 to learn sur-rounding Korean local popular discourse. Most data cited are based onfigures provided in Variety or by the Korean Film Council (kofic). Thekofic, which is now in charge of national film promotion and regulation offilm distribution, was established in 1999 as a replacement for the KoreanMotion Picture Promotion Corp., a national film board.≥π But most statisticsprovided by the kofic have, until lately, been estimates based on datagathered only in Seoul, the capital of South Korea, and those data providedby distributors. As more and more screens are computerized (now up to 75percent nationwide), box office data and reported revenue will be moreaccurate, but they are still far from exhaustive. And with filmmakers andproducers alike chasing after new trends and tastes, it is hard to assesswhether directors can or will continue to produce films akin to their pre-vious work. This is one of the reasons why the examination of contemporarySouth Korean cinema in this book should be considered diagnostic ratherthan terminal.


The first chapter delineates the ways in which the South Korean filmindustry has dealt with the industry crisis that resulted from pressure fromthe United States and other countries. How did Chungmuro seek alternativesources of finance from chaebeol (South Korean conglomerates) and thenfrom a new generation of venture capitalists? What are some of the govern-mental policies implemented to facilitate and encourage these new finan-ciers to invest in the film industry? How did these changes in the industryenable the 386 Generation directors to fulfill their ambitions?

Under the rapid transformation that the South Korean film industryunderwent, major production trends and cycles will be examined withan eye toward their economic, cultural, and aesthetic ramifications: block-busters, gangster cinema, romance films, teen pics, and high-quality films—films that attempt to be both commercially viable and artistically compe-tent.≥∫ These trends are categorized in light of the industry discourse foundin trade papers and reviews, and each chapter is ordered with respect to therelative chronological significance, as well as the popularity and productionhierarchy, of each trend. The second chapter examines the key phenome-non that allowed Chungmuro to successfully compete with Hollywood: theblockbuster. What are some of the economic consequences of producinglarge-budget films in an industry as small as South Korea’s? What is mostcharacteristic of ‘‘Korean blockbusters’’? Why do many successful films—Shiri (1999), JSA (2000), Silmido (2004), Taegukgi (2004), and The Host(2006), for example—appeal to the history of South Korea? Conversely, whyhave South Korean science-fiction blockbusters, including Yesterday (2002),Tube (2002), and Natural City (2003), all failed at the box office?

During this boom, South Korean gangster cinema has not only becomeone of the most profitable trends (as evidenced by the box office success of2001’s Friend) but has also provided subject matter for other film cycles toadopt and/or satirize. Chapter Three traces the resurgence of gangster cin-ema in East Asia and highlights some of the similarities and differencesbetween Hong Kong and Korean gangster films. Next, so-called jopok com-edy (jopok means ‘‘organized crime’’ in Korean) is examined, including No. 3(Song Neung-han, 1997), the MyWife Is a Gangster series (2001–2006), andthe Marrying the Mafia series (2002–2006), as is the way these comediesboth piggyback on and parody the popularity of gangster cinema.

Although critics and academics in South Korea have never regardedromantic comedy as a serious genre, the actors and actresses associated withromantic comedy and drama—Shim Eun-ha, Cha Tae-hyun, Kim Ha-neul,

Introduction 13

and Jeon Ji-hyun—have earned their fame in part thanks to the increasingregional popularity of the Korean television series—they have become hotcommodities. Korean filmmakers in turn are learning that romantic comedyis easily exported to the regional market. In Chapter Four, I examine howromantic comedy has undergone a transformation, with a focus on gender.Korean popular romantic comedies often feature an eccentric, hystericalheroine, such as Jeon in My Sassy Girl (Kwak Jae-young, 2001) or Su-wan inMy Tutor Friend (Kim Kyeong-hyeong, 2003). The second half of this chap-ter turns to romantic drama, which often utilizes spatial and temporal dis-tance as an obstacle to the union of a heterosexual couple.

High school has become a transgeneric setting for films of various cycles,including gangster films such as Beat (Kim Sung-su, 1997), horror films suchas Whispering Corridors (Park Ki-hyeong, 1998) and its sequels, the sci-fi/martial arts hybrid Volcano High (Kim Tae-gyun, 2001), dramas includingOnce Upon a Time in High School (Yu Ha, 2004), social-problem films suchas Timeless Bottomless BadMovie (Jang Sun-woo, 1997), and comedies suchas My Boss My Hero (Yun Je-gyun, 2001). High school becomes a central siteof oppression, anxiety, and romance, although each film cycle spins the highschool setting for its own generic purposes. Chapter Five will examine howyouth films achieve both intergenerational and intragenerational appeal byevoking nostalgia as well as by critiquing Korea’s current education system.

Chapter Six focuses on the so-called high-quality film (also referred to asthe ‘‘well-made’’ film within the South Korean film industry), a trend thatbegan with the commercial success of Bong Joon-ho’s Memories ofMurder.≥Ω

The term was coined in Korea to refer to films that, while commerciallysuccessful, also showcase the director’s artistic mastery and/or vision. Advo-cates of ‘‘high-quality’’ films attempt to differentiate their filmmaking fromboth ends of the production hierarchy: low-budget comedy and spectacle-driven blockbusters. Such discourse aims to correct the public’s misconcep-tion that commercial films cater to an audience’s quickly changing tastes andthus lack aesthetic merit. Bong’s suspense thriller Memories of Murder(2003), E’s costume picture Untold Scandal (2003), and Kim Ji-woon’s horrorfilm A Tale of Two Sisters (2003) will be discussed in this chapter. Althougheach director works in a different genre, a common thread can be found intheir attempts to elevate each genre by a refined use of mise-en-scène.

An examination of various emergent production trends in the SouthKorean film industry will challenge an often-drawn distinction of commer-cial vs. art-cinema mode. The last chapter details the active negotiation


between Korean New Wave directors and the South Korean ‘‘commercial’’film industry. Art cinema, like commercially driven films, is an institu-tionalized practice, governed by international film movements and trends.∂≠

Kim Ki-duk and Park Chan-wook pursue what is called ‘‘Asia Extreme,’’ theaesthetics of gore and violence, while Hong Sang-soo’s films are aligned withAsian Minimalism. I will examine how each director is linked to (and at-tempts to transcend) such an aesthetic label and further discuss how inter-national circulation of the directors’ films at film festivals transforms theirdepiction of violence and gender.

Korean Romanization in this book follows the Revised Romanizationissued by the Ministry of Culture in 2000, with the exception of propernames—especially directors, politicians, corporations, and production com-panies—that have already earned currency outside South Korea (e.g. ParkChan-wook instead of Bak Chan-wuk and Myung Film rather than MyeongFilm). In the main body, Asian names maintain their usual order of familyname followed by given name.

15

1 Faces of Globalization

For the past decade, the notion of globalization has becomeone of the dominant frameworks for scholarly discussions of national cin-ema. Although the consequences of globalization—especially cultural con-sequences—are still part of an ongoing debate, there seems to be at leastsome agreement on the ‘‘impetus’’ of globalization. Arif Dirlik explainsglobal capitalism in terms of a new international division of labor, the decen-tering of global economy, and the emergence of multinational corpora-tions.∞ That is, new technologies expedited a divorce between capital, pro-duction, and consumption, which makes it increasingly difficult to define acorporation in terms of nationality and to pinpoint commodities’ origins.Whether these conditions are materialized around the globe, however, re-mains to be examined within the specific political and historical context of anation-state, given the varying degrees of the local government’s involve-ment and policies that block and redirect such global flows. Whether theaims and practices of global capitalism render the transnational imaginaryor homogenized culture has been a question that remains to be further chal-lenged, given the cultural specificity of nation-states and the varying sensi-bilities of the people within a nation-state. This chapter examines the condi-tions of globalization that transformed the film industry in South Korea andits strategies to adapt to global interdependence and connectivity.

Like many other nation-states in East Asia, South Korea confronted theglobal demands to liberalize the media market as the surplus from exportsgrew.≤ The Korean government’s decision to lift the protective measures forthe Korean film industry was part of the government’s ongoing negotiationsto protect leading export industries such as the manufacturing industry andtelecommunication technology. However, after the South Korean media’sinitial opposition to the government’s decision, they eventually began ac-tively seeking methods to cope with unfavorable conditions. The govern-


ment’s decision, unfavorable toward the South Korean industry, furthersparked an ambition among industry personnel to become an active agent inthe regional, if not global, media industry rather than to be a passive trans-mitter of global flows. Subsequent cultural currents witnessed in SouthKorea were rich and complex, yielding an opportunity for the Korean audi-ences to reflect on both the national past and present. ‘‘Think globally, actlocally’’—a catchphrase that often sums up the dynamic between the globaland the local in late capitalism—does not fully explain the cultural forma-tion and transformation that took place in South Korea in response toglobalization for the past two decades. They demand a careful delineationof the relationship between the local media industry, the government, andthe audiences: these relationships are in harmony but also sometimes inconflict.

The Rise of Korean Media Conglomerates

In 1988, two years after the Motion Picture Law (mpl) allowed majorU.S. studios to release their films directly into the Korean market, Twen-tieth Century Fox opened its own distribution office in Korea, followed byWarner Brothers (1989), Columbia (1990), and Disney (1993).≥ Further-more, the United States continued to pressure the Korean government toeliminate the screen quota system. The crisis in the film industry was seen asnot only economic but also cultural. Most of those who advocated the quotasystem thought of it as a means of protecting cultural independence. Directdistribution by the Hollywood majors, in conjunction with the liberalizationof the film industry in general, stirred up Chungmuro, Korea’s film district.Until 1985 the South Korean government enforced a ‘‘linked production-distribution quota,’’ and limited the number of imports to one-third of do-mestically produced films. The rationale behind this was the securing andsustaining of a production-distribution loop; revenues earned from dis-tribution of imports would be reinvested in domestic film production. Pro-duction companies often lack sufficient funds for producing films and mustseek investments from local distributors and exhibitors. With exclusiverights to import films, production companies normally distributed films inlarge cities such as Seoul and Busan, but then sold rights to local distributorsfor a fixed fee in exchange for their investments.∂ Local distributors andexhibitors, in return, could influence the production process by demandingthat the studios incorporate generic plotlines or hire stars with a strong box-

Faces of Globalization 17

office draw. Hollywood’s direct distribution robbed local distributors of theirincentive to invest in domestically produced films. They had invested inKorean films in order to earn rights to distribute imports. After production-distribution quotas were lifted, production companies no longer ownedexclusive rights to imports as they used to, and they were unable to bargainwith local distributors and exhibitors. The apparent crisis, however, pro-pelled a modernization of production practices in the Korean film industry,as a new generation of filmmakers and producers quickly adapted to thechanging mediascape. Chungmuro began to find alternative methods offinancing domestically produced films.

New capital began flowing into Chungmuro in the late 1980s, mainlyfrom conglomerates and venture-capital funding. After the U.S. majorsstarted to distribute their films directly, conglomerates such as Daewoo,Samsung, Hyundai, skc, and Cheil Jedang began to invest in Korean films inorder to secure home-video markets. Daewoo launched its entertainmentdivision in 1988—earlier than its rivals Samsung and Hyundai. Its invest-ments were channeled into a range of activities, including building cinemas,producing Korean films, acquiring and releasing U.S. films, and creating acable channel. Daewoo made partial investments in film projects in order toearn the distribution rights in return. The films that resulted include Mr.Momma (1992), Two Cops (1994), and To TopMyWife (1995)—all of whichwere directed by Kang Woo-suk—and Kim Sung-su’s directorial debut, RunAway (1995).∑ A Single Spark (Park Kwang-su, 1996) was one of only afew films fully financed by Daewoo. Daewoo also had an output deal withNew Line Cinema that ran through the year 2000.∏ Daewoo’s cable channel,Daewoo Cinema Network (dcn), and theater chains in Seoul provided ex-hibition venues for the company.

Samsung followed suit. The Samsung Corporation had been involved inproduction since the early 1990s, financing box-office hits The MarriageStory (Kim Ui-seok, 1992) and TaebaekMountain (Im Kwon-taek, 1994).π In1995 Samsung created Samsung Entertainment Group (seg) to manage itsmedia and entertainment division. After the establishment of seg, Samsungshifted from partial investment to complete financing of films. seg acquiredU.S. films to distribute via its equity investment in New Regency. Manyviewed Samsung’s branching out into the motion picture business as a natu-ral step, since it needed to acquire content for the company’s pay-tv chan-nel, Catch-One, and its theater chain, Cinex.∫

Cheil Chedang Corporation, Korea’s largest food manufacturer and dis-


tributor, established cj Entertainment in 1996, launching itself into themotion-picture business rather late compared to other conglomerates.Ω

With its 11 percent stake in DreamWorks and its 20 percent interest in theU.S.–based digital magazine publisher 2WayMedia, cj emerged as a globalplayer in the late 1990s.∞≠ cj’s investment in DreamWorks provided itwith exclusive distribution rights to DreamWorks’ films in Asia, excludingJapan. Like other conglomerates, cj branched out to invest in exhibition. cjformed an equal partnership with Hong Kong’s Golden Harvest and Aus-tralia’s Village Roadshow in the formation of a multiplex chain called cgv,initiating the multiplex boom in the Korean exhibition market. cj also ownstwo cable-tv networks: a food channel called Channel F; and a music chan-nel, M-Net, which is allied with mtv.∞∞

The conglomerates’ interests in the motion-picture business dried upafter the Asian economic crisis hit in 1997–1998. After the productionof Shiri (1999), Samsung scaled down its investment in the media/enter-tainment business, except for an entertainment wing of Samsung VentureInvestment. Faced with near bankruptcy in 1999, Daewoo folded its musicdivision and sold both its cable channel (dcn) and its theatre chains (Cine-House and Megabox) to the Tong-Yang Group.∞≤ cj Entertainment hasgradually secured more content by forming alliances with domestic produc-tion companies. cj and Showbox are now two of the largest of the invest-ment/distribution companies that command the Korean film industry.∞≥

After the conglomerates downsized their entertainment divisions, a newgeneration of financiers emerged in the Korean film industry. Between 1998and 2005 the number of venture capitalist funds with investments in the filmindustry neared fifty, and the amount of total investment reached $535million.∞∂ New investors such as Ilshin Investment Co., Kookmin VentureCapital, and Mirae Asset Investment Co., most of which were backed by richventure capitalists, poured money into the industry.∞∑ Launched in 1996,Ilshin invested in five to six films per year and was ranked the top financier/distributor in 1997–1998. Many of the films Ilshin financed enjoyed bothcommercial and critical acclaim, including Gingko Bed (Kang Je-gyu, 1996),Christmas in August (Hur Jin-ho, 1998), and The Quiet Family (Kim Ji-woon, 1998). Kookmin Venture Capital, an affiliate of Kookmin Bank, holds$333 million in assets.∞∏ In 1999 Kookmin Venture Capital invested $8.3million in film projects by Cinema Service and B.O.M, including the box-office hit The Foul King, directed by Kim Ji-woon. Mirae Venture CapitalCo., an affiliate of Mirae Asset Investment Co.—which launched the first


mutual fund in Korea—invested in films such as Lies (Jang Sun-woo), Chun-hyang (Im Kwon-taek), and The Anarchists (Yu Young-sik) in 2000.∞π

There are several reasons the film industry became attractive to venturecapitalists during the economic crisis. Because of the unstable stock marketand high exchange rates, investors were looking for ways to redirect theirinvestments. In 1995 the motion picture business, which had been classifiedas a ‘‘service business,’’ was reclassified as a ‘‘semi-manufacturing business.’’∞∫

This was part of the Korean government’s effort to encourage investment inthe film industry: investors could now enjoy tax benefits from investing infilm similar to those received from investing in manufacturing. The gov-ernment also supported the film industry via the investments in film proj-ects by forming Small Business Corp. (sbc), which took a heavier share oflosses when funds underperformed. From 1998 to 2005 the sbc contributed$121 million to film funds, and kofic also invested $46 million over thesame period.∞Ω

The motion-picture business was also appealing to investors because ofits relatively quick financial return compared to other manufacturing busi-nesses.≤≠ Furthermore, to lower the risk involved with high-budget films,investors formed mutual funds and diversified their investments into severalprojects per year. Funds were managed by firms such as Tube Investmentand Muhan Film Venture Capital, which specialized in film investments.≤∞

Kim Seung-beom, the managing director for film at Ilshin, left the companyin 1999 to found Tube Investment.≤≤ Muhan Film Venture Capital Co. in-vested $15 million in more than eighteen film projects between 2000 and2001. Venture-capitalist investments reached their peak in 2001 but werecut in half in 2002–2003, both in their number and in the amount invested,because there were so many high-profile box-office failures in 2002.≤≥

The process of conglomeration, along with financial support from ven-ture capital, marked the birth of Korean blockbuster films. One of the out-comes of this process was the dramatic escalation of production costs. Theaverage production cost for a Korean film doubled from about $350,000 to$420,000 in the early 1990s to $760,000 in 1995, and by 2000 it had morethan tripled, to $1.6 million.≤∂ However, as production costs rose, produc-tion output drastically decreased. The number of films produced droppedby half within a decade, from 110 films in 1990 to around 60 by 2000.≤∑

Another important outcome of the changes in film financing was stan-dardization of film production. Producers and filmmakers in Chungmurowere expected to systematize their outdated production procedures. Heavy


emphasis was put on the preproduction phase and on marketing, which theKorean film industry had previously neglected. Moreover, conglomeratesand venture capital firms demanded financial transparency.≤∏ Productioncompanies were required to provide account statements on a daily basis—infact, Ilshin sent its own staff to keep track of budgets. The emergence of newproduction companies was partly a result of this change in film production.Unlike old production companies, new commercially viable ones such asShin-Cine Communication, Kang Woo-suk Communication (later renamedCinema Service), Uno (later acquired by Sidus), and Myung Film and KangJe-gyu Film (which merged to form mk Pictures) were able to meet thesefinancial demands and thereby attract investors.

The Korean film industry saw the first offspring of the marriage betweenChungmuro and the conglomerates with The Marriage Story (1992), a yup-pie comedy produced by Shin-Cine Communication and financed by Sam-sung. Since that film appeared, most box-office hits have been produced bynew independent production companies either backed by conglomerates orby venture capital funds. Kang Woo-suk’s breakthrough film, Two Cops(1994), was produced by his own company, Kang Woo-suk Communication,and was financed by Daewoo. Shin-Cine’s science-fiction fantasy Gingko Bed(1996) was directed by Kang Je-gyu and backed by Ilshin. Three domesticmega-blockbuster hits opening around the turn of the millennium—Shiri in1999 ($26.5 million gross), JSA in 2000 ($29 million), and Friend in 2001($39 million)≤π—were all produced by new players in the industry: Kang Je-gyu Film, Myung Film, and Korea Pictures, respectively.

Changes to the production end transformed the other two sectors: ex-hibition and distribution. The years between 1985 and 1990 had seen anincrease in the number of theaters, especially small ones, to a total of 789 by1990.≤∫ The number then began to decline, however, hitting a low point in1997 with a 47 percent decrease from 1990 (see Appendix 4). A possiblecause for this was the arrival of direct distribution by the major Hollywoodstudios. Direct distribution made it difficult for owners of small theaters tosecure films, and many quickly found themselves out of business. However,exhibition venues soon enjoyed another boom. Opening in 1998, cgv, a co-venture among cj, Golden Harvest, and Village Roadshow, attracted largeaudiences with new marketing strategies, including the revival of midnightscreenings. After the success of cgv, the number of multiplex theatersskyrocketed. This multiplex trend encouraged old theaters—including oneof the oldest Korean theaters, Danseongsa Cinema (established in 1907)—to


renovate and equip themselves with multiple screens.≤Ω Although the num-ber of theaters decreased in 2001, the number of screens reached a total of818, an increase of 195 percent since 1997.≥≠ The impact of the increase inexhibition venues was twofold. It provided favorable conditions for ‘‘satura-tion booking’’ in the distribution of U.S. blockbusters. Saturation booking isdefined as the simultaneous release of a new film in every domestic market,accompanied by mass advertising. It was a distribution strategy designed toenable production companies to quickly recoup high production costs.≥∞

But because the screen quota mandated that each theater devote at least 146days per year to domestically produced films, the growth in the number oftheaters also allowed Korean films greater potential for success.

Contrary to the prediction that direct distribution by the U.S. majorswould shake up the distribution system in Korea, distributors still followedtheir old customs. It has been shown that distribution methods for bothimported and domestic films still rely on a combination of direct and flat-feedistribution.≥≤ Only uip—formed by Universal, Paramount, and mgm /ua—directly distributes its films nationwide in Korea. Twentieth CenturyFox signed a contract with a local agent, Noma International, for distribu-tion in Korea. Noma International distributes films for Fox both in Seouland nationwide, earning a 10 percent share of the nationwide box-officerevenue in return. Warner Brothers and Columbia Tri-Star directly dis-tribute their films in large cities but still sell distribution rights to localexhibitors for a set fee. The difference in the industry before and after directdistribution is found not in kind but in degree. There still exist areas whereflat-fee distribution is the norm, but regions adopting the direct distributionmethod are on the rise.

One of the most important changes in domestic distribution has been theemergence of major Korean distributors. In the early 1990s conglomeratesformed nationwide distribution networks in an attempt to become verticallyintegrated. With the establishment of Cinema Service in 1995 and Ilshinin 1996, four major distributors—Ilshin, Cinema Service, Samsung, andDaewoo—dominated the distribution sector, commanding more than 70percent of the Korean box office.≥≥ However, since Samsung and Daewoopulled out of the film industry in 1999, cj Entertainment and Cinema Ser-vice have emerged as the two major distributors in Korea, together with anewcomer, Showbox.

All three major distributors are more or less vertically and horizontallyintegrated: that is, a production company not only controls distribution and


owns a theater chain but also has alliances with the cable television, music,game, and merchandising sectors of industry. Although cj Entertainmentdoes not have its own production company, it has signed contracts withindependents such as Myung Film, B.O.M, and Nabi via its equity invest-ments. cj also has secured the right to imports with its stake in Dream-Works. cj’s exhibition wing, cgv, is one of the most profitable theaterchains in Korea. Kang Woo-suk, a maverick in the business, has been one ofthe quintessential figures in the changing Korean film industry.

In 1993 Kang established his own production company, Kang Woo-sukCommunication, and changed its name to Cinema Service two years later.Cinema Service has financed many box-office hits, including the local block-busters Bichunmoo (also spelled Bicheonmu; Kim Young-jun, 2000) andLiberaMe (Yang Yun-ho, 2000), and has served as a domestic distributor forMiramax and New Line Cinema.≥∂ Cinema Service has distribution outputdeals with ten local production companies and has commanded a 23 percentmarket share and the majority of the Korean box-office revenue in 2001. It alsoformed a partnership with Seoul Cinema Town for nationwide distribution.≥∑

Showbox, founded in 2002, has emerged as a strong film investment anddistribution company. Showbox is a branch of Mediaplex, a distributioncompany and an affiliate of Orion, a Korean food company. Orion owns atheater chain, Megabox, and On Media, which is the biggest cable-tv pro-vider in South Korea with its five movie channels.≥∏ Having distributed filmssuch as Romance of Their Own (Kim Tae-gyun) and Taegukgi (Kang Je-gyu)in 2004 and produced domestic hits such as Marathon (Jeong Yun-cheol)and Welcome to Dongmakgol (Park Kwang-hyun) in 2005, Showbox hassecured its status in the industry.

By 2004 an increasing number of directors, having proven their com-mercial viability, began to establish their own production companies.≥π In2004 Park Chan-wook acquired Moho Film by purchasing a 55 percentshare of its stock and produced Sympathy for Lady Vengeance (2005), thelast installment of his Vengeance series. Kim Ji-woon founded Grim Pic-tures through an investment deal with Bareunson, a manufacturer of schoolsupplies. Filmmaker R&K Production, a company formed by action-cinemadirector Ryu Seung-wan, produced his A City of Violence (2006). Poet-turned-director Yu Ha established Film Poeta to produce his third feature, ADirty Carnival (2006). Contrary to common practice in Hollywood, manyKorean directors write their own scripts. By having their own productioncompanies, directors hope to achieve more creative control over their work,


while attempting to distribute their films with major distributors such as cjEntertainment and Showbox.

The Korean film industry has been in a constant state of restructuring andmerger in the 2000s. In 2001 Cinema Service was acquired by Locus Hold-ings, which is an affiliate of the technology conglomerate Locus Group.Locus Holdings had also purchased Uno Film and formed an entertainment/management group called Sidus in the previous year. Locus Holdings thenestablished Plenus Entertainment as its entertainment division. In early2004, however, Cinema Service again separated from Plenus.≥∫ cj then ac-quired a 40 percent stake in Cinema Service.≥Ω The year 2005 saw a secondwave of mergers among the leading production companies in the Koreanfilm industry. After the success of Taegukgi in 2004, Kang Je-gyu Film an-nounced its merger with Myung Film to form mk Pictures. One of thereasons for such a merger is to be listed on the Korean Stock Exchange(kosdac) so as to attract more investors.∂≠ Fun and Happiness, a produc-tion company that has produced comedy hits such as Attack the Gas Station(1999) and Jail Breakers (2002), both of which were directed by Kim Sang-jin,merged with Sidus and launched a new production company, Sidus F&H.∂∞

In 2005 two rival telecom companies, Korean Telecom and SK Telecom,announced their interest in financing movie production companies so theycould acquire content for their mobile tv operations; to this end, they madea move to purchase shares of Sidus and of ihq.∂≤

With the industry boom and commercial success of domestically pro-duced films, South Korean films began to appeal to regional audiences, withJapan being the biggest buyer of Korean cinema. Korean blockbuster Shiri(1999) became the first Korean film to earn a wide release in Japan, andpaid off its Japanese distributors—Amuse Pictures and Cinequanon—with$20 million in box-office receipts.∂≥ The South Korean film industry sawsharp export growth between 2000 and 2005, thanks to the regional stardomof such actors as Bae Yong-joon, Kwon Sang-woo, Jang Dong-gun, and ChoiJi-woo.∂∂ Import rights to films starring these actors and actress are oftensold at the pre-production stage—April Snow ($7.5 million), Almost Love($4.5 million), Sympathy for Lady Vengeance ($3 million), Yeonriji Here andForever ($3.5 million), Running Wild ($4 million), and Typhoon ($4 million).A less successful endeavor was coproduction between South Korean andJapanese companies. Asako in Ruby Shoes (2001), a coproduction betweenKoo & Film (South Korea) and Shochiku Co. (Japan), flopped at the boxoffice. KT, a film based on the real-life kidnapping of Kim Dae-jung in 1973,


disappointed its Japanese producer and distributor Cinequanon and wasignored by the Korean audience.∂∑ Hollywood also emerged as a strongbuyer for Korean products, purchasing remake rights to Korean titles. Mira-max bought both the North American distribution and remake rights to MyWife Is a Gangster (2001); the remake rights for My Sassy Girl (2001) weresold to DreamWorks, and released under the same title in 2008 throughGold Circle Films and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment and thegangster comedy Hi! Dharma! (2001) was acquired by mgm.∂∏

In 2007 the decline of the South Korean film industry was signaled inmany sectors. Production companies suffered from overproduction, whichincreased to 124 films, while admissions to local movies fell by 18 percent to80.7 million tickets (see Appendixes 2 and 3).∂π The local audience sawsporadic box-office successes of blockbusters or historical epics such asD-War (Shim Hyung-rae, 2007) or May 18 (Kim Ji-hun, 2007) with 8.2million and 7 million admissions respectively. Yet the average Korean filmlost $1.9 million in 2007.∂∫ Market share of domestically produced filmsdropped to 47.3 percent in the first half of 2007, the lowest level since 2001(see Appendix 2).∂Ω Although the number of exported South Korean filmsremained the same, it is reported that the minimum guarantees, which werepaid prior to the release of a title, dropped by 50 percent in 2007 comparedto the previous year.

The discourse of crisis occasionally surfaced within the South Koreanfilm industry even during the boom, but the consequences of the often-mentioned industry ills became more palpable around 2006. The box-officefailures of high-budget films created anxiety among investors and forcedventure capitalists to turn away from the film industry. Resurrection of theLittle Match Girl by the Korean New Wave director Jang Sun-woo, whichcost $9 million but grossed only $1 million in its theatrical release, pushedmany investors away from the film industry.∑≠ kofic estimated a loss of $40million overall in 2002 and found that more than 50 percent of venture-capital investment previously available to the film industry was retractedin 2002 because of the number of high-profile box-office failures.∑∞ Thecontinuing structural problems were accentuated by the major dominateddistribution system. The South Korean conglomerates certainly played acrucial role in rehabilitating the Korean film industry from the late 1990sonward, yet they emulated the ‘‘predatory’’ behaviors of Hollywood withmid-budget films given only a small window of opportunity at the box office.Lack of an ample ancillary market is further considered another major prob-


lem for the industry. The dvd market shrank by one third between 2001 and2006. According to a kofic survey, 47 percent of Koreans watch filmsthrough file-sharing services, downloading an average of 54 films a year.∑≤

South Korea is a country where more than 80 percent of South Koreanhouseholds have access to the Internet, and such prevalent illegal down-loading deprived the industry of a crucial source of revenues. Most Holly-wood majors folded their dvd branches in Seoul either by merging with oneanother or by teaming up with local companies. In 2006 Universal decidedto release its titles through Sony, while Paramount and Fox signed with localdistributors cj and Bitwin, respectively.∑≥

Liberalization, in conjunction with direct distribution by the U.S. majors,restructured the Korean film industry. As the mpl was relaxed, new produc-tion companies emerged with projects supported by either conglomeratesor venture capitalists. The introduction of new kinds of capital from con-glomerates and venture capitalists not only increased production costs butalso led to a heavy reliance on commercially oriented filmmaking. The es-tablishment of major distributors—Cinema Service, cj Entertainment, andShowbox—helped to modernize outdated domestic distribution processes.An increase in the number of multiplex theaters not only attracted a greateraudience but also, because of the current screen quota, was beneficial toKorean film. However, the Korean film industry boom coincided with thepolitical changes in Korean society that allowed and supported this transfor-mation. The repressive past of Korea’s military regimes, which was onceconsidered a taboo subject in mainstream culture, surfaced on the publichorizon, providing popular subject matter to be explored by Korean produc-tion companies.

Those 1980s

In 1980, a year after Chun Doo-hwan’s military coup, civilians and stu-dents in Gwangju, a city in a southern province of Korea, protested Chun’smilitary regime and demanded the release of their political leader, KimDae-jung. Chun suppressed the uprising with military force, and hundredsof innocent civilians and students were murdered. After witnessing theGwangju massacre, college students spoke out against the military govern-ment and became actively involved in political demonstrations and pro-labor movements. Because the United States recognized Chun’s dictator-ship, the 386 Generation was also marked by growing anti-American senti-


ment, which was quite palpable to the public and expressed in the burning ofan American flag in front of the U.S. Embassy in Busan.

In 1987, as Chun’s presidency came to an end, Chun not only attemptedto appoint as his successor Roh Tae-woo—who, along with Chun, had beenresponsible for the violent suppression of the Gwangju uprising—but healso tried to annul the next presidential election. On June 29, students,workers, and even disenchanted middle-class citizens participated in a se-ries of massive political demonstrations; as a result, Roh declared the imple-mentation of a set of measures toward democratization, including a presi-dential election. After hosting the 1988 Summer Olympics, however, theKorean government, led by President Roh, turned to conservatism. Thestate retracted its progressive policies and suppressed political dissent, ban-ning, for example, the progressive Teacher’s Movement.

In the 1980s the public discontent with the military regime was not onlymanifested through strikes and demonstrations but also through a culturalmovement called the minjung movement. Minjung literally means ‘‘the peo-ple,’’ but historians of minjung define it as a class confederation of peasants,workers, minor landowners, national capitalists, and the urban middle class,rather than as a single class.∑∂ Although minjung historians trace its originback to at least the late nineteenth century, the 1980s saw the predominanceof a more critical and theoretical discourse on the role and nature of min-jung as students’ involvement in labor movements became prominent. Onecharacteristic strand of the minjung movement was its preoccupation withthe national division between North Korea and South Korea. Minjung activ-ists also rejected Western ideology and culture, locating the source of na-tional unity within the indigenous culture of Korea, including traditionalmusic and dance.∑∑ On college campuses in the 1980s one could often findgroups of college students practicing traditional Korean mask dances to thebeats of a drum. In addition, student activists had recourse to mass cultureas a means of raising critical social consciousness.∑∏ Noraereul ChatneunSaramdeul—translated as ‘‘people who search for songs’’—was an amateursing-along band of college students that tried to bridge the gap between theminjung movement and mass culture. In 1984 they released their first al-bum, which comprised songs that were circulated among college studentsand sung during the labor strikes and demonstrations.∑π Their second al-bum, released in 1989, includes songs such as ‘‘Gwangyaeseo’’ (Into theWilderness), ‘‘Geunali Omyeon’’ (If the Day Comes), and ‘‘Sagye’’ (Four Sea-sons). The songs’ lyrics depicted Koreans’ yearning for democracy and the


unification of the country, while critiquing the deplorable work conditionsin many sweatshops of South Korea. This album ranked seventh on the topalbum chart of that year.

Filmmaking also constituted a part of the minjung movement, less visiblyso compared to other cultural forms such as literature, poetry, and music.In the early 1990s Park Kwang-su formed the Seoul Film Group, whichwas linked to and supportive of student activism and labor organization.∑∫

Some of the producers and filmmakers who propelled the industry boom inthe 1990s had also been involved in student activism. Chang Yoon-hyun, thedirector of The Contact (1997) and Tell Me Something (1999); Oh Ki-min,the producer of such youth-oriented films as Whispering Corridors (ParkKi-hyeong, 1998), Take Care of My Cat (Jeong Jae-eun, 2001), and A Tale ofTwo Sisters (Kim Ji-woon, 2003); and Lee Eun, a cofounder of Myung film(which became mk Pictures), formed Jangsankotmae, a cine-club, whichproduced and circulated 16mm documentary films about labor strikes, in-cluding Paeopjeonya (1990).

At first glance, there exists a significant gap between the minjung move-ment of the 1980s and the cultural production of the 1990s. Advocates of theminjung movement defied commercialism, aiming to revive indigenous artwithin mass culture, while producers and filmmakers since the mid-1990shave turned to profitable trends, appropriating formulas and styles of othernational cinemas, including Hollywood. However, the Korean film renais-sance may be viewed as a reorientation and/or an expansion of the culturalmovement of the 1980s, with its focus changing from minjung to daejung(the mass). There is a continuity between these two cultural eras in that thereimagining of the national divide persists in contemporary South Koreancinema, although in a weakened and commercialized form.

The 1980s was a distinctive period, both politically and economically.While political dissent and cultural movements surfaced in reaction to themilitary government’s continuing oppression, the Korean military regimelegitimized its oppression in the name of national security and economicgrowth. Despite unbalanced economic growth and labor exploitation, anaggressive state export policy and a favorable international economy (in-cluding low interest rates on foreign loans) resulted in massive Koreanexport expansion through the 1980s. From textiles to automobiles, Koreanexports boomed, doubling from $30 billion in 1985 to $61 billion in 1988.∑Ω

Disposable income doubled between 1986 and 1988, and actual consump-tion increased 8.7 percent during that period.∏≠ Further evidence of eco-


nomic growth was increasing ownership of modern consumer goods such asrefrigerators, washing machines, and cars. Car ownership in Seoul aloneincreased almost 20 percent each year between 1985 and 1990.∏∞ In 1988 theKorean government deregulated international travel, which prompted manyKorean tourists to travel overseas. With such economic growth, however,there was an increasing demand for the Korean government to liberalize itsimport policies and financial markets in many industries, including film.Since the mid-1980s the Korean government has been pressured to removethe screen quota and other protective measures in the Korean film industry.

Unlike Korean New Wave directors such as Jang Sun-woo and ParkKwang-su, who were involved with political activism and student move-ments, most 386 Generation directors were not directly engaged in suchstudent activism in the 1980s—with the possible exception of a few, includ-ing Jang Yoon-hyun. The 386 Generation directors are known more for theirfilm expertise than their activism, having been trained in film school athome or abroad, or in the government-subsidized Film Academy. Nonethe-less, the 386 Generation directors did witness the political turmoil in the1980s, and their experiences, even as bystanders, seeped into their work.Moreover, there is a continuity (although not always discernible) between acultural milieu such as the minjung movement of the 1980s and the rise ofcommercial cinema in the 1990s and onward. Despite the divergent subjectmatter and styles, the pursuit of and respect for ‘‘the popular’’—througheither the cultivation of indigenous art forms forgotten by the public (as inthe minjung movement) or the borrowing of conventions from abroad as incommercially oriented cinema—might be seen as a common thread thatlinks the cultural divide of these two periods.

Major players among the 386 Generation directors include Kang Je-gyu(b. 1962), Kim Sung-su (b. 1961), Park Chan-wook (b. 1963), and KwakKyung-taek (b. 1966), all of whom helped launch the newly developed block-buster trend. Kang Je-gyu attended film school at Chung-ang University,one of the so-called Big Three universities that initiated film programs (theother two are Dongguk University and Hanyang University). After graduat-ing from Chung-ang University, Kang briefly worked in the tv industrybefore he debuted with Gingko Bed (1996), a Hong Kong–influenced ghost/fantasy film. In his interview accompanying the dvd release of Shiri, Kangopenly acknowledges his ambition to compete with Hollywood cinema andto discredit the prejudice that Korean cinema lacks entertainment value. Hisfilm Shiri started the box-office race among Korean blockbusters, including


JSA and Friend, and he broke the box-office record again with his filmTaegukgi in 2004.

Kim Sung-su earned a master’s degree in film at Dongguk University afterhe graduated from Sejong University, majoring in English language andliterature. Kim’s breakthrough film, Beat (1997), caught the attention ofaudiences and critics alike not only for its fatalistic portrayal of adolescentlife but also for its overall film style. Kim’s China-Korea coproduction Musa,The Warrior attempts to challenge the perception that the swordplay genrebelongs to Hong Kong. During an interview with Kim, he informed me thatwhile growing up he adored Zhang Che’s swordplay films.∏≤ Yet, after form-ing a production company called Nabi, in which he had a 30 percent share,Kim branched out to direct a teen comedy, Teach Me English (2003).

Although Park Chan-wook studied philosophy at Sogang University, heis a cinephile and a cofounder of Sogang Communication, a film club at theuniversity. Park debuted with The Moon Is . . . the Sun’s Dream (1992), butuntil his breakthrough film JSA (2000) he was involved in small productionsand wrote scripts for other directors. Having proved himself a commerciallyviable director with JSA, in his next film, Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance, Parkturned toward a more ‘‘personal’’ style. Park’s ultraviolent, surreal Oldboy(2004), the second installment of his Vengeance series, won the Grand Prixat Cannes.

Kwak, an nyu graduate, struggled commercially until he directed thebox-office hit Friend, a semiautobiographical story set in Busan. The filmfollows four friends, two of whom go to college after graduating from highschool, while the others end up working for rival gangs. Kwak’s next twofilms, Champion (2002) and Mutt Boy (2003), did not enjoy the level ofcommercial success of Friend, but one can find thematic continuity in thethree films’ exploration of nostalgia and local culture. Champion spoke tothe memories of an older generation familiar with the story of boxer KimDeuk-gu, who died in the 1980s during a match in the United States. In MuttBoy, set in Milyang, a small city in a southern province of Korea, Kwakexplores local dialect and a father-son relationship, as he did in Friend. Afterthe lukewarm reception of blockbuster Typhoon (see Appendix 1), Kwakdirected A Love (2007), which is again set in his hometown of Busan.

By 2001 the film industry appeared to be polarized between high-budgetblockbusters and relatively low-budget comedies, a situation that concernedmany critics and industry personnel. The films of Kim Tae-gyun (b. 1960,Volcano High, Romance of Their Own), Lee Hyun-seung (b. 1961, Ilmare),


Im Sang-soo (b. 1962, AGood Lawyer’sWife, The President’s Last Bang), HurJin-ho (b. 1963, Christmas in August, One Fine Spring Day), Lee Jeong-hyang(b. 1964, Art Museum By the Zoo), E J-Yong (a.k.a. Lee Je-yong, b. 1965, AnAffair, Untold Scandal), Kim Tae-yong (b. 1969, Memento Mori, FamilyTies), and Bong Joon-ho (b. 1969, Memories of Murder, The Host), all ofwhom graduated from the Korean Academy of Film Arts (kafa), filled themiddle ground.

Established in 1984 with government subsidies, kafa played a substan-tial role in providing talent that the Korean film industry sorely needed.kafa was established with the goal of educating and training filmmakerswho would revive the film industry with their talent and film expertise—especially important with the industry under constant pressure to openthe market. Started as a one-year program when first founded in 1984,and expanded to a two-year program in 1996, kafa attracted many tal-ented students who had not had the opportunity to receive film training incollege. Films such as The Way Home (Lee Jeong-hyang), the second-topgrosser of 2002, and Memories of Murder (Bong Joon-ho), the top grosser of2003, attracted audiences with their subtle characterization, sensibility, andaesthetics.∏≥

Festival-oriented cinema directors such as Kim Ki-duk (b. 1960), HongSang-soo (b. 1961), and festival-commercial crossover Kim Ji-woon (b. 1964),belong to similar demographics as the 386 Generation, yet their creativeimpulses are not necessarily rooted in the Korean national story. Hong, whoearned an mfa from the Art Institute of Chicago, is seemingly indifferent topast national traumas, while Kim Ki-duk’s primal sexual politics and Kim Ji-woon’s moody or witty characters can easily bypass national trends. Thepolitical specificities of a nation-state contribute to the formation of a film-maker’s artistic identity, but the relationship between the two is hardlydeterministic. Those 1980s, the experience of which varies even among the386 Generation, have become the seedbed for various styles of filmmakingthat the following chapters will investigate.

31

2 Blockbusters, Korean Style

The first Korean blockbuster Shiri (Kang Je-gyu, 1999) al-legedly cost less than $3 million (including $1.1 million for marketing) andgrossed $26.5 million.∞ Since the release of Shiri, the term ‘‘Korean block-buster’’ (han-guk-hyeong blockbuster) has been used rather casually withinthe South Korean film industry. ‘‘Blockbuster’’ often refers to a produc-tion/distribution strategy Hollywood cinema has used to market such filmsas Jaws (Steven Spielberg, 1975), Superman (Richard Donner, 1978), StarTrek—The Motion Picture (Robert Wise, 1979), Raiders of the Lost Ark(Steven Spielberg, 1981), and E.T. (Steven Spielberg, 1982) in the 1970s and1980s.≤ Blockbusters emerged as a partial remedy to the crisis within Holly-wood’s film industry after the demise of the studio system. The Paramountdecrees of 1948 ruled that the major studios had to dismantle their verticallyintegrated system and divest their theater chains. Furthermore, Hollywoodwas losing their audience to tv and other forms of leisure. With the courtruling on divestiture, the major studios were freed from the responsibility ofproviding an annual lineup of movies that would fill their own screens withdecreasing profits. Instead studios started to invest larger sums of money onfewer films in the hopes that through the aid of global distribution, saturatedbooking, and carefully calculated marketing strategies, they would increaseprofits.≥

The term ‘‘Korean blockbuster’’ should be distinguished from the Holly-wood conception of blockbuster movies. Production costs in the Koreanfilm industry have been rapidly escalating since Shiri, including those ofKang’s next film, Taegukgi (2004). The biggest budgets reach over $12 mil-lion, but they still represent a fraction of the budgets of Hollywood block-busters, which often cost well over $100 million. Although Shiri was alsotheatrically released outside of South Korea, earning $17.6 million in Japan,the film was not as widely circulated as Hollywood films, which reach morecountries than Korean cinema.∂ Certainly, Korean blockbuster films fallshort of satisfying the criteria applicable to Hollywood blockbusters. How-


ever, if the same criteria are used to compare Korean blockbusters withHollywood blockbusters, one will lose the significance of the rise of Koreanblockbusters within the East Asian market. Korean blockbusters demand adifferent set of measures in order to be properly situated and evaluated.

What constitutes a Korean blockbuster film? Is Shiri indeed the firstKorean blockbuster film? What are the consequences of producing high-budget films given the Korea’s relatively small market? What are the charac-teristics of Korean blockbusters in terms of theme, narrative, and style? Thischapter examines the idea of Korean blockbusters in light of two criteriaproposed by Steve Neale: ‘‘specialness’’ and ‘‘spectacle.’’∑ Certainly, these twocriteria are neither necessary nor sufficient conditions for defining a block-buster. However, these two concepts can provide us with guidelines forcomparison and contrast among Korean blockbusters, as well as betweenKorean and Hollywood blockbusters.

Korean Blockbusters

The establishment of the blockbuster in South Korea was partly creditedto the success of Kang’s second feature Shiri. In the Seoul area alone, whichaccounts for almost a quarter of the nation’s 48 million population, Shirisold 2.4 million tickets with a total of 6 million tickets sold nationwide.∏ TheMummy (Stephen Sommers, 1999) ranked as 1999’s top foreign film with1.1 million tickets sold in the same area. The success of Shiri was a cul-tural, economic, and industrial phenomenon, and it paved the way for theemergence of subsequent blockbusters, creating the so-called Shiri syn-drome.π The Korean blockbuster trend continued, reaching its pinnacle in2001, with Friend (Kwak Kyung-taek, 2001) attracting 8 million admissionsnationwide.∫

A few box-office disasters in 2002, notably Resurrection of the LittleMatchGirl (Jang Sun-woo, 2002), Tube (Baek Woon-hak, 2003), and Yesterday(Jeon Yun-su, 2002), brought the blockbuster trend to a temporary halt; but2004 was again marked as a year for blockbusters. Kang Je-gyu’s war epic,Taegukgi, (with a $12.8 million budget) broke box-office records and sold anestimated 11.9 million tickets, slightly ahead of the 11.7 million tickets soldfor Silmido, directed by Kang Woo-suk.Ω In 2006 Bong Joon-ho’s The Hostalso broke the record by selling 13 million tickets.∞≠ With the increasingpopularity of Korean cinema abroad, production companies increasinglybegan to rely on the export market to recoup production costs. Silmido was

Blockbusters, Korean Style 33

sold to Japan for a $3 million minimum guarantee, while Taegukgi waspresold for $1.7 million.∞∞ The distribution of The Host in Japan was handedto Kadokawa and Happinet for $4.8 million, while the remake rights wereacquired by Universal Studios in Hollywood.∞≤

Although the South Korean industry discourse foregrounds blockbus-ters’ mega-hit success at the local box office, the blockbuster mentality is aproduction/marketing strategy characterized by the size of the productionand the scale of distribution. According to Neale, the ‘‘special’’ status con-cerns its industrial and production circumstances, achieved through pro-duction scale, cost, method of distribution, as well as the amount of pub-licity a film receives. A Hollywood blockbuster is heavily advertised longbefore its release and enjoys saturation booking, opening nationwide onbetween two thousand and seven thousand screens.∞≥ Simply put, a Holly-wood blockbuster is an event that audiences eagerly anticipate. Neale alsostresses the importance of technical specialty, including special effects andsound technology. Dolby and other sound systems played an important rolein assigning special status to blockbuster films of the 1970s, thereby distin-guishing these films from films of the previous decade.

As Neale acknowledges, spectacle—another important criterion forblockbuster status—is harder to define. Spectacle can be thought of as anextratextual quality, which Neale calls ‘‘presentational prowess.’’ This canbe taken to mean that certain textual features—whether visual or aural—are designed to evoke awe or admiration of some sort via their size, elaboratetechnique, excess, power, or energy. These features include spectacular land-scapes, explosions, chases, battles, fights, costumes, and more. For regionalblockbusters, such as Korean blockbusters, certainly both ‘‘specialness’’ and‘‘spectacle’’ should be taken in a relative sense and discussed within a specifichistorical context. As Chris Berry accurately observes, adoption of block-buster strategy for non-Hollywood industries such as those of South Koreaand The People’s Republic of China inevitably involves a scaling down, or‘‘de-Westernizing’’ process.∞∂

Difficulties arise in applying Neale’s criteria to a discussion of Koreanblockbuster films. First, production costs have been escalating rapidly forthe last decade. What used to qualify as a big-budget now represents justslightly above-average production costs. Take, for example, Kang Je-gyu’sGingko Bed (1996), a precursor to Korean blockbusters.∞∑ Its estimated costwas approximately $1.7 million, more than twice the average productioncost in 1995 ($760,000).∞∏ However, Gingko Bed cost only slightly more than


the average production cost of later films ($1.5–2 million). Melodrama IWish I had a Wife (Park Heung-sik, 2001) and comedy Jail Breakers (KimSang-jin, 2002) cost more than Gingko Bed: estimated production costs were$1.8 million and $2.2 million, respectively.∞π It would be mistake to judgewhether or not a film is considered a blockbuster on production costs alone;but production costs should be considered important when assessing big-,mid-, and low-budget films. Furthermore, with the expansion of the multi-plex and increasingly aggressive marketing strategies, it is hard to determinewhat constitutes saturated booking in the Korean domestic market. Forinstance, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone (Chris Columbus, 2001) seta record in 2002, when it opened on nearly 200 screens (out of 977 screens)in Korea; but in 2004 Korean blockbusters such as Silmido and Taegukgiopened on 450 and 512 screens, respectively (out of 1100 screens total).∞∫

What is, then, the significance of the Korean film industry producing itsown blockbusters? What are the features unique to Korean blockbusters?What are some possible explanations for the tendency of Korean sci-fi block-busters to flop? First, the adoption of Hollywood conventions initially led totighter narratives, eliminating the episodic narratives previously character-izing Korean cinema. Crime thrillers/investigation films were long neglectedin Korean cinema because they tended to have loose and sometimes incon-sistent narratives. However, Korean thrillers have now augmented theirstructure to compete with Hollywood cinema. On the contrary, New Holly-wood has given rise to a debate over whether the narrative structure ofcontemporary Hollywood cinema is as causally tight as classical Hollywoodcinema: whether the insertion of ‘‘spectacles’’ disrupts the narrative advance-ment of the latter, which is necessitated by characters’ motivations. Whethersuch a change is a matter of degree or of kind is still an ongoing debate, butsuch a debate itself shows that blockbuster films brought about changes inthe narrative structure of Hollywood films, probably by loosening causality.∞Ω

Second, both Hollywood and Korean blockbuster films heavily rely onsimilar genres: action-adventure, disaster, war films, and science fiction.However, the significance of these films in their respective industries differsconsiderably. Hollywood blockbuster films employ genres that once be-longed to the province of B-films during the studio era, while Korean block-buster films borrow genre and stylistic conventions from abroad and fashionthem to appeal to a Korean audience. With no stable studio system in place,the Korean film industry lacked the production hierarchy that Hollywood


studios had long sustained. If there was an inversion of the rank with theadvent of New Hollywood, Korean blockbusters lack an institutional—andthus ideological—implication associated with such a change. In this regard,the 386 Generation directors’ turn to blockbuster filmmaking—regardless ofwhether it is because of industry-related circumstances or personal predilec-tions—diverges greatly from the minjung cultural movement of the 1980s,which attempted to revive indigenous cultural art forms such as madangeukand mask dancing, in order to appeal to and mobilize the masses. The 386Generation directors employ Hollywood’s production strategies and stylisticnorms in order to appeal to the Korean people.

One may even find the 386 Generation directors’ commercial turn ironic,given the fact that these directors are known for their political activism. Itmay appear that the 386 Generation directors lost their political edge andartistic vision by succumbing to the commercial pressures and demands ofthe globalized film scene. However, such an assessment simplifies the phe-nomenon in question and downplays the active negotiation that has takenplace within a small film industry like South Korea’s. In academia, both inNorth America and Korea, third-world cinema emphasizes its alternativeaspect, underscored by such labels as cinema of ‘‘opposition,’’ of ‘‘resistance,’’of ‘‘anti-imperialism,’’ and of ‘‘postcolonialism,’’ among others.≤≠ However,these labels neglect the heterogeneity of third-world cinema. With Koreanblockbusters, as well as Hong Kong cinema and Indian cinema—whichemerge as alternative ‘‘entertainment’’ cinemas—their significance can-not be measured with the same yardstick applied to festival-oriented cin-ema. What is at stake is not the originality or political transgression of Ko-rean blockbusters but the interplay between the global and the local: howlocality—regardless of whether it is indigenous to a particular culture orhybrid—is transformed and utilized for global and national needs.

One of the peculiarities of Korean blockbusters can be found in theirappeal to a shared sense of Korean history as one possible means of productdifferentiation from Hollywood and other national cinemas. Many Koreansci-fi blockbusters such as Yesterday (Jeon Yun-su, 2002), Resurrection of theLittle Match Girl (Jang Sun-woo, 2002), Tube, (Baek Woon-hak, 2003) andNatural City (Min Byeong-cheon, 2003) did not even recoup the cost, whileblockbusters dealing with North-South relations and specific historical ref-erences thrived commercially. At the end of Shiri, while being interrogatedby national intelligence officials, agent Yu claims that North Korean female


spy Lee Bang-hui (Lee Myeong-hyeon) was a hydra produced by the divisionof the Korean peninsula. This evoked sense of victimology—Korea being avictim of cold-war ideology—is a recurrent theme in Korean blockbusters.Shiri (1999), JSA (2000), Double Agent (Kim Hyeon-jeong, 2003), Silmido(2003), and Taegukgi (2004) all deal with North-South relations from differ-ing angles and tones, and all generated above-average box-office returns,with the exception of Double Agent. TheHost, although it departs from thesefilms in terms of genre, references the presence of U.S. military in SouthKorea. In The Host, the emission of toxic chemicals from the U.S. militarybase creates an acrobatic lizardlike monster in the Han River. Bong based hisfilm on the true story of Albert McFarland, an American civilian who ran themorgue at the U.S. military base in Seoul and ordered Korean employees todump embalming waste down a drain. McFarland was given a two-yearsuspension.≤∞ Throughout the film, there are many allusions to the U.S.presence in Korea or interference with Korean social issues, which wasviewed (in the eyes of many younger generations, including the 386 Genera-tion) as the result of the country’s division after the Korean War.

Why have North-South issues become such a popular topic for successfulKorean blockbuster films? One may find an answer by linking the subjectmatter of these films directly to the specificity of South Korea as a nation-state. During the cold-war era, South Koreans were led to believe that NorthKoreans were untrustworthy enemies. But if anything, during the post–coldwar era the popular conception of North Korea has become that of aninvisible counterpart rather than a threat. Although North-South issuesresurface from time to time, these usually occur only before or after a presi-dential election. David Scott Diffrient claims that Shiri represents NorthKoreans as invisible ‘‘others’’ and argues, ‘‘The image track is . . . anchored toan ideological uncertainty of nationhood and history that verges on nationalamnesia. . . . The capital of South Korea, cinematically painted as a cityof anonymous tenement buildings, department stores, and governmentalagencies, has been built atop the debris of a past forgotten by all but theNorth Koreans.’’≤≤

Local critics also emphasize the fact that tension between North andSouth has become so malleable that such representations of the North as aninvisible ‘‘other’’ have become permissible. The border between North andSouth is cinematically crossed to render North Koreans as victims of thesame cold-war politics as South Koreans.≤≥ North Koreans become peoplewith whom South Koreans can possibly fall in love or build friendships. The


theatrical release of JSA, in fact, was preceded by a summit conferencebetween North Korean leader Kim Jung-Il and then–South Korean presi-dent Kim Dae-jung, held in the summer of 2000. The political atmosphere,together with more permissive attitudes and less censorship, are conditionsthat make the existence of these films possible. However, such an explana-tion falls short of providing us with a complete picture as to why blockbusterfilms such as Shiri, JSA, and Taegukgi have turned to such subject matter. Amore immediate cause can be found in marketing strategy.

In order to reduce the risk involved in producing blockbusters, the Holly-wood industry often bases its films on presold properties: best-sellers, com-ics, plays, tv shows, or well-known historical events. One of the benefits forproduction companies in adapting preexisting works is that a lucrative tar-get market has already been established. Furthermore, it is possible to createaudience awareness and anticipation prior to a film’s release. Hollywoodblockbusters feature protagonists ranging from dinosaurs to Batman andaliens to hobbits. In contrast, one current trend in Korean blockbustersrelies heavily on ‘‘historical’’ events. Although JSA and Silmido are basedon presold properties—the novels DMZ (Demilitarized Zone) and Silmido,respectively—it does not appear that these two films gained substantialprofits from the popularity of these books. A novel’s adaptation may shortenthe preproduction phase, or possibly facilitate an investor’s decision to funda film project. But more importantly, the apparent historicity of Koreanblockbuster films can yield the following additional benefits.

For an action-packed blockbuster, one must devise a narrative in such away that fight scenes or physical confrontations are narratively integrated aswell as plausibly motivated. Historic wars and espionage, more than any-thing, can easily lend verisimilitude to gunfights, especially since guns arebanned in Korea. It is worthwhile to note that the North-South issue and theKorean War are not historic events only recently made available for the newgeneration of filmmakers to explore. Such political issues provided a histori-cal background for action and espionage films in the 1950s and 1960s aswell.≤∂ For instance, in The Hand of Destiny (Han Hyeong-mo, 1954) femaleprotagonist Margaret works as a spy for the North. She falls in love withYeong-cheol whom she saves from accusations of being a thief. Yeong-cheolworks for a national security agency and is assigned to track down the NorthKorean spies who have infiltrated the South. The two face the dilemma ofeither fulfilling their job or following their heart. The North and South (KimKi-duk, 1965) also features a loving relationship caught in the North and


South divide. A North Korean Lieutenant Jang surrenders himself in orderto look for his love, Eun-a, a woman he was separated from before the war.A love triangle between Jang, Eun-a, and her current husband Lee ends trag-ically, as Jang commits suicide out of guilt. Red Muffler (Shin Sang-ok,1964) showcases the spectacle of the South Korean Air Force against thebackdrop of the Korean War. The representations of North Korea havechanged throughout history; with the arrival of a civilian government in theearly 1990s, North Koreans have been portrayed in a more humane manner,devoid of anti-Communist sentiment. But the 386 Generation directors’exploration and appropriation of the North-South issue should be con-sidered as product differentiation from Hollywood blockbusters and othernational cinemas. In their films, the 386 Generation directors utilize theunique aspects of Korean culture and history for commercial gain.

The adaptation of a historic event into a blockbuster can further functionas a marketing strategy to target a film to a larger audience. As previouslymentioned, the Korean industry relies heavily on box-office revenue to re-coup production costs. The sense of plausibility and verisimilitude derivedfrom the historical circumstances of Korea, and the audience’s familiaritywith historical events, enable production companies to broaden the scope oftheir target audience to include audience members over forty years old. In acountry where theater admissions comprise three quarters of total revenue(in Hollywood, box-office income accounts for only one forth) it is im-perative for Korean producers to cater their products to a multigenerationalaudience.≤∑ The population of Korean baby-boomers (those born from1955–1963) is 8.1 million, or 16.8 percent of the country’s population.≤∏ Ifother production trends such as horror films target a smaller niche market,Korean blockbusters attempt to appeal to as broad an audience as possible byreferencing familiar historical events. One possible cause for some Koreanblockbusters’ box-office failure, then, can be found in their appeal to mostlyyoung audiences.

The avocation of and enthusiasm for Korean blockbusters within theKorean film industry is, thus, twofold. The industry personnel were anxiousto attract the Korean audiences to theaters by evoking a sense of sharedcrisis—the encroachment of the domestic market by the ‘‘foreign’’ com-panies. Consumer nationalism—the idea that consumers’ choice should bebased on national interests—is achieved through the producing of nation-specific (not necessarily nationalistic) contents. The 386 Generation direc-tors’ commercial take on the national division does not inherently rule out


the possibility of making a forceful political statement regarding the contra-dictory nature of Korean political circumstances. However, these politicalgestures in recent Korean blockbusters are ‘‘abstract’’ in the sense that theyneither align with any particular regime or political ideology nor provide anyalternative solution or suggestion.

These Korean blockbusters question and doubt the legitimacy of themilitaristic nationalism and ideology advanced and advocated by the Koreangovernment for the last couple of decades, yet they do not provide anyalternative national ideals. Nonetheless, such blockbusters provide an occa-sion or a site for audience and filmmaker alike to revisit and reconsider issuesspecific to Korea through cinematic means. In this regard, one can find aclose parallel between Korean blockbuster films and films directed by theHong Kong New Wave’s Tsui Hark. In his OnceUpon a Time in China series,Tsui features Wong Fei-hong, a folk hero whose story is endlessly remade inChinese cinema. Through the series, however, Tsui laments the fate of Chinaat the turn of the century: ‘‘China as a country of lost opportunities.’’≤π

Nationalism as a marketing strategy, however, backfired, igniting a fiercepublic debate with the D-War’s successful box-office draws in South Korea.Set in Los Angeles with dialogue mostly in English, the film incorporates theKorean legend of the mythic dragon. Ill-fated lovers Ha-ram and Na-rin, thelatter of whom is destined to sacrifice her life for the transformation ofimoogi (creatures from Korean myth that are cursed and unable to becomedragons) into a dragon, are reincarnated as Ethan and Sarah in Los Angeles,five hundred years after their deaths in Korea. Cultural critic Jin Jung-kwon’sdenouncement of the film on national television forum triggered the audi-ence’s rage. Jin attributed the film’s popularity to the evocation of nationalsentiment and criticized the film for its lack of narrative logic and plausibil-ity.≤∫ Independent filmmaker Lee Song Hui-il and producer Kim Jo Kwang-su also expressed unease toward director Shim’s self-promotion. Fans ofD-War were outraged, voicing their views on the Internet. To the eyes ofmany of these fans the lack of narrative cogency can be justified by referenceto comparable narrative strategies found in Hollywood blockbusters.

This debate certainly deals with issues broader than the proper evalua-tion of the film, but it also emphasizes how the notion of nationalism isarticulated in different ways within both the industry and popular discourse.Nationalism has long functioned as a marketing strategy not only for D-Warbut also for previous blockbusters such as Shiri, JSA, and Silmido; mid-budget films such as Forever the Moment (Im Soon-rye, 2008); and even


festival-oriented films such as Im Kwon-taek’s Sopyonje (1993) and Chunh-yang (2000). However, what is intriguing in this debate is that Hollywood’sexample has become the yardstick employed in both the South Korean filmindustry and among audience members to judge the quality—both technicaland stylistic—of a film; but the significance of adopting Hollywood styleneeds to be further examined within the trajectory of the transformation ofthe Korean blockbusters.

New Wine in New Wineskins

When Shiriwas released, audiences and the media alike raved that it is likea Hollywood movie. As Shin Chi-Yun and Julian Stringer note, many of thenarrative devices and premises reference the action films of other nationalorigins (Hollywood and notably France): the training of a female assassin (LaFemme Nikita, France) and the dismantling of a bomb (Speed and Die Hard,USA).≤Ω However, Hollywood-like impressions not only come from Shiri’sspectacle-driven narrative but also from its employment of Hollywood story-telling devices. By borrowing Hollywood narrative conventions, Shiri pre-sents a fast-paced story with a more contemporary style. But this does notmean that director Kang merely mimicked Hollywood techniques. Populartrends in Korea for the last three decades—comedy, melodrama, and the‘‘road’’ movie—have relied on episodic narrative structure, and Kang’s adop-tion of Hollywood conventions marks a departure from the norms of Koreancinema. This deviation helped his film to achieve a certain novelty andreceive ‘‘event’’ status—something that breaks sharply from cinematic rou-tine—which was what Shiri as an early blockbuster was striving for.

Among Korean blockbusters, Shiri is most faithful to Hollywood narra-tive conventions. Shiri concerns North Korean special agent Lee Bang-hui(also referred as ‘‘Hui’’ throughout the film), who assassinates South Koreanpolitical leaders and researchers. After completing her assassinations, shedisappears from the public eye and goes to Japan to receive plastic surgery.She then changes her identity to Lee Myeong-hyeon, and falls in love with aSouth Korean, Yu Jong-won, who is a national intelligence service agent.While Yu is trying to track down Hui, North Korean terrorists led by ParkMu-yeong infiltrate the South to steal a liquid bomb called ctx in order toblow up a soccer stadium during a North versus South match. Yu foils theirattempts to overthrow both the North and South governments, and Hui iskilled by her lover at the end of the film.


Shiri follows Hollywood dual-plot structure; the protagonist Yu has totrack down the North Korean assassin, Hui; but, at the same time, Yu is to bemarried in the next month. Hui (Myeong-hyeon), in the role of both enemyand lover, brings the two plots together at the end of the film. Kang’s use ofHollywood narrative structure, however, serves various functions. Kang ex-pands and emphasizes the romantic plot in Shiri—a tactic largely lacking inHong Kong gangster/action films.≥≠ Hong Kong gangster cinema gainedhuge popularity among young audiences in South Korea between the mid-1980s and early 1990s.≥∞ In an interview accompanying the dvd, Kang ex-presses his concern that his film would be affiliated with another Hong Kongcinematic genre. Hong Kong gangster films, such as the A Better Tomorrowseries, center on loyalty among male protagonists, while typically minimiz-ing the romantic subplot—John Woo’s The Killer (1989) being an exception.In A Better Tomorrow I (John Woo, 1986), Kit’s girlfriend Jackie is the onlyfemale character. Although she tries to unite two brothers, Ho and Kit, whohave drifted apart, her role within the narrative is minor. Moreover, theromance between Kit and Jackie never develops. Kang’s expansion of theromantic subplot is a strategy to differentiate his film from Hong Kongcinema, while tailoring it to a Korean audience already accustomed to Holly-wood cinema. With a slight narrative twist, Kang manages to keep both theaction-based plot and the romantic subplot intact and prevents the latterfrom dangling.

Shiri borrows three major narrative strategies from Hollywood cinema:deadline, causality, and redundancy.≥≤ Kang advances the narrative andsteadies its pace by constantly resetting mini-deadlines throughout the film.For example, in order to track down Hui, Yu and his partner, Lee, need toidentify the next victim, while North Korean commander Park threatens thenational intelligence service by telling them when the next target will ex-plode. In addition, the narrative is structured via a series of events based oncause and effect. All the spectacles introduced in the beginning of the filmare causally linked, and each scene leaves a question open. For example:Why did Hui kill Lim, a secret-weapons dealer, and Kim, a researcher atNational Defense lab? This is answered in the next scene: Hui needs ctx. Inturn, this leads to another question: Why is Hui in desperate need of ctx?Such narration swiftly advances the plot and keeps the narrative threadcausally tight.

Once the North Korean agents have hijacked ctx, the viewer is con-stantly informed of the capacity of ctx. Yu learns this from a doctor in the


national defense lab, and he shares the information with the national intel-ligence service board. Dr. Kang, who is with the intelligence service, demon-strates to Yu and a rookie how a combination of light and heat can activatectx. The rookie, after noticing the light is on in the stadium’s royal box,calls Dr. Kang to confirm how ctx works and then heads to the controlbooth. Such redundant cues function to achieve narrative clarity and enablethe viewer to predict how the story will unfold.

Halfway through the film, the viewer’s knowledge slightly exceeds that ofeach character, an effect that builds suspense toward the climax. Hui andPark chat on the Internet, during which time Hui is ordered to eliminate‘‘kissing gurami’’—a reference to Yu. This cues the viewer to infer that Huiand Yu’s fiancée, Myeong-hyeon, are the same person, recalling the fact thatMyeong-hyeon gave Yu a pair of kissing gurami in the beginning of the film.Yu calls his friend Ho for help, without telling his partner Lee to identify theinside informant. In the meantime, Lee installs devices in Yu’s car and inMyeong-hyeon’s shop in order to record their conversations. Now the ques-tion shifts from ‘‘Who will do what?’’ to ‘‘When and how will things turn out?’’

All these dangling causes are neatly tied up before the finale of the film.After a shootout in the kitchen, Park manages to escape with the help of Hui.Yu follows Hui and discovers that Hui is his fiancée. Instead of confront-ing Hui right away, Yu returns to his office to do a background check onMyeong-hyeon and leaves his office to meet the real Myeong-hyeon on JejuIsland. While the confrontation between Yu and Hui/Myeong-hyeon is de-layed, Lee realizes that Hui has had access to his conversation with Yuthrough devices planted in an aquarium. Still, the narration of this film is notcompletely omniscient and restricts the viewer’s knowledge to an extent.Myeong-hyeon’s pregnancy, which is withheld from both characters and theviewer, comes as a surprise at the end of the film.

Although lively in plot development, Shiri manifests some leaps and gapsin terms of narrative logic and continuity. It is unclear how Hui managed toescape after she fell for the trap set by Yu. We witness Park trying to escapethe site by holding a bystander hostage, while Hui is pointing her gun at Yu.Next, the camera cuts to a subway without showing how this confrontationended. Another weak spot occurs when Yu follows Hui to the fish shop. Yusees Hui putting her wig in a drawer. Shortly after, when Park pays a visit toHui, the wig is on the table! Despite these narrative lapses, Shiri is coherentoverall and causally tighter than most Korean films. By incorporating Holly-


wood conventions—urgency conveyed through deadline, causally drivennarrative, and redundancy—Shiri was an example of Korean cinema equal-ing Hollywood cinema not only in spectacle and entertainment value butalso in storytelling.

By adopting a nonlinear narrative, the structure of JSA becomes morecomplex than that of Shiri. The opening credits of JSA unfold with a crimescene: we see light streaming through a bullet hole in the wall. The onlyobserver is an owl. Next, Swiss Major Sophie Jean arrives to investigate thecrime. Throughout the film, this crime scene is repeated three times inflashbacks: the first two are false flashbacks based on Sergeant Oh’s and Lee’sreport, respectively; and the third, toward the end of the film, is a flashbackof Lee.

The narration of the film is predominantly restricted, with the narrativeinformation being withheld from the audience: this is typical in investiga-tion films. Although JSA is framed as a crime-investigation story, the filmeventually becomes a more psychologically driven drama when a flashbackshows how four soldiers have developed a brotherly relationship. The flash-back runs uninterrupted for forty minutes and covers an eight-month pe-riod, from the moment Lee dismantles a mine with help from Oh and Jeong,until a shootout on Jeong’s birthday. (The flashback does not seem to bepresented as either Nam’s or Lee’s, although the flashback is inserted whileNam is being carried to the hospital.)

This flashback is lengthy, but early in the film director Park carefullysignals the major events through interviews that Sophie conducts with Leeand other soldiers. Thus the viewer is cued to recognize these key events asthey unfold within the flashback. For instance, during Sophie’s interviewwith three South Korean soldiers (including Nam), a second interviewertells her that Lee was once missing during combat practice. This interviewinitially functions to build up Lee’s masculinity, but later it helps the viewerto realize that the flashback has just begun.

The flashback begins with the camera focusing on Panmunjeom from thesouth. Unlike other scenes, where subtitles inform the viewer of the specifictime of events, the subtitle here reads only ‘‘Security,’’ which is meant toslightly disorient the viewer. Tourists exit one building, and as they move tothe next building, the wind blows a red hat off one of them; the hat lands infront of Sergeant Oh on the north side. Oh picks it up and returns it to anAmerican soldier. In an overhead shot, a tourist is seen approaching the


border to take a photograph as a South Korean soldier signals to stop thetourist from doing so. When the South Korean soldier escorts the touristback to his tourist group, another Korean soldier takes his place. A segmentof this scene is repeated at the end of the film. As Oh returns the red hat, theclick of the camera is heard. The image turns to black and white, and thecamera pans right to reveal Jeong marching in the background. As thecamera continues to pan left, Nam is seen on the left side and Lee in theforeground as he uses a hand signal to try and stop the tourist from takingthe photo. The viewer is invited to link this last shot to the earlier scene andto infer the significance of the moment: this scene depicts the four soldiersat a time when they were strangers to one another.

Alternatively, when the flashback ends, Park snaps the viewer out of it: wesee Nam open the door to find a North Korean lieutenant outside as cameracuts to Nam being carried to the hospital. We, as viewers, construe the sceneof Nam being carried out as representing a present action. However, thescene is, again, titled rather abstractly: ‘‘Joint.’’ The flashback is carried bytwo subtitles: ‘‘Security’’ and ‘‘Joint.’’ These subtitles are taken from the filmtitle: ‘‘Joint’’ ‘‘Security’’ ‘‘Area.’’ Therefore, one might naturally wonder aboutthe appearance of the subtitle ‘‘Area.’’ We see it in a shot of Sophie’s flightlanding, followed by the scene when the vehicle carrying her arrives atPanmunjom. Each word of the title is employed, in reverse order, to markthe beginning of the investigation and the beginning and end of the flash-back. This authorial mark can be interpreted in various ways, but the reverseorder of the title words mirrors the film’s structure. It begins with a crimescene and the arrival of the investigator, Sophie. As in many film noir/inves-tigation films that utilize a flashback structure, the plot begins in the presentand intermittently flashes back to the past. The flashback bracketed between‘‘Security’’ and ‘‘Joint’’ alludes to the fact that the memory of the friendshipamong these four soldiers in the Joint Security Area will be bracketed andburied in this rather politically ambiguous and ambivalent space, sinceSophie decides not to reveal the truth. This type of plot structure is notunique to JSA. And as Desser notes, despite its nonlinear narrative it is‘‘reasonably straightforward.’’≥≥ What seems interesting within the contextof Korean blockbusters, however, is that narrative puzzles are well cuedearlier on in the film. Meanwhile, the long flashback builds up a languidrhythm through South Korean soldiers’ recurring visits to the North post,


which would invite the viewer not only to observe but also to be immersedin the friendship developing among the four soldiers.

Later blockbusters such as Taegukgi, Silmido, The Host and D-War, losethe narrative clarity and complexity found in Shiri and JSA, respectively, andsubordinate the narrative logic to the unfolding emotional trajectory ofcharacters or spectacles at the expense of narrative consistency. In Taegukgi,Kang adopts a more episodic narrative structure than that of Shiri. The storyof two brothers is framed as a flashback, as Jin-seok arrives at a site toidentify his deceased elder brother Jin-tae—fifty years after the Korean Waris over. Within the flashback, the plot more or less follows a linear trajectory.However, Kang prioritizes the evolving conflict of the two brothers over thedepiction of the war. The film provides the viewer with minimum informa-tion regarding the war’s progression. Although the viewer is informed aboutthe time and location of some (but not all) of the battles, viewers, as well ascharacters themselves, are kept in the dark with regard to the specific de-velopment of the war or the significance of each battle. Even with knowledgeof the geography of the Korean peninsula, one has only a vague sense ofdirection, starting from Seoul to South (Daegu), then to North (Pyeongyang,Haeju), and retreating back to Seoul.

The development of the war is beyond the comprehension of both pro-tagonists and the viewer, and each battle is marked by increasing casualtiesand their impact on the changing relationship between the two brothers. Inthe first battle, which takes place near the Nakdong River, the injury ofSeung-cheol, a teenage boy who kills other soldiers and then himself be-cause of the unbearable pain of his wounds, signals the beginning of a seriesof deaths awaiting the South Korean soldiers, including Jin-tae. In Pyeong-yang, Yeong-man dies while protecting Jin-tae, who physically struggleswith a North Korean commander. During the retreat, Yeong-seok, whomboth Jin-tae and Jin-seok had befriended before the war, is killed. In Seoul,Yeong-shin, Jin-tae’s fiancée, is accused of being a Communist and is mur-dered by South Korean soldiers. The brotherhood between Jin-tae and Jin-seok suffers from witnessing all these deaths, especially when the deaths ofthe victims have an increasingly personal significance for them.

The romantic subplot is underplayed in Taegukgi compared to Kang’searlier blockbusters such as Ginkgo Bed and Shiri. Although we have aglimpse of the interaction between Yeong-sin and Jin-tae in the beginning ofthe flashback, their relationship serves a more important role within an


extended family: Yeong-sin as a dutiful future daughter-in-law and Jin-taeas a father figure to all, including Yeong-sin’s three young siblings. Yeong-sin bears significance to the narrative in that her death marks a turningpoint within the narrative, leading to the climax. Yeong-sin’s death indicatesthe slow disintegration of the family. But there is minimal romantic de-velopment between Yeong-sin and Jin-tae. From the beginning of the film,Yeong-sin is presented as part of the family that Jin-tae is eager to protect.What drives the narrative of Taegukgi appears to be a conflict between thetwo brothers, but actually the conflict resides within Jin-tae, whose valuesare torn between his Confucian ideal of family and the realities of war: hisactions oscillate between his obligation to protect his younger brother andhis growing obsession with power and control. The weakness of the narra-tive is its lack of a subtle shift between these two aspects of his dilemma: Jin-tae’s behavior and actions sometimes seem absurd and extreme.

In Silmido, Kang Woo-suk also puts character psychology above narrativecoherence. In the fast-paced opening sequence, two parallel lines of actiontake place—Kang’s attack on a local gang boss and a North Korean guerilla’sattempt to infiltrate the Blue House. Both attempts fail, and the perpetratorsare captured. Kang is sentenced to death. But Kang and other ex-convicts aresent to an island for training, as members of a special unit with the mission toassassinate North Korean President Kim Il-sung. As the training on theisland brings the narrative to a halt, the focus shifts to character developmentalong with Kang’s growing obsession with the mission. The exposition on theisland is unconventional, as we rarely learn characters’ names, except HanSang-pil and Sergeant Jo (referred to as ‘‘Sgt. Dick’’ throughout the film); thisis despite the fact that there are five or six important characters, includingGeun-jae. Geun-jae, whose name is not revealed even when he dies, mediatesthe growing rivalry between Han and Kang in the beginning of the film.Furthermore, his relationship with a twenty-one-year-old trainer is fore-grounded as an example of the growing attachments among the pairs oftrainees and trainers on the island. We learn Geun-jae’s name only after theremaining members arrive at a small town in Gyeonggi province and specu-late about what Geun-jae would do if he were with them.

The audience can begin identifying characters by name only after the goalof the soldiers in the 684 Unit shifts from their redemption to regaining theirown identities. When Sgt. Park, whose name is never mentioned but shownin a close-up of his nametag, is surrounded by the members of the unit, hereveals that the government’s promise of rewarding the 684 Unit was a hoax


from the beginning: since being shipped to the island, their personal recordshave been erased for good. Before members of the 684 Unit commit suicideinside a local bus they’ve hijacked, each writes his name with his own bloodas an attempt to assert his identity, however momentary.

The narration of Silmido departs from Hollywood-style narration in an-other significant way. Following the subtitle in the precredit sequence read-ing ‘‘1968, January,’’ there is no clear timeframe until General Choi is orderedto eliminate the 684 Unit within a week. A Hollywood film would likely set aclear deadline for the training to be completed. What’s unusual is that theviewer is uninformed with regard to passage of time even after the missionhas been aborted. The 684 Unit has to return to the shore after the projecthas been stopped. It appears that more time has passed since then, whenHan asks for more food while standing in line for lunch. This scene signalsthe shortage of food on the island probably due to the lack of governmentsupport. It is not until Won-hui mentions in passing that two years havegone by that the viewer finally learns exactly how long the 684 Unit has beenon the island.

Temporal cues in Silmido are not only delayed but are sometimes incon-sistent. Shortly after we hear Won-hui’s complaint, he and another mateescape the training camp and rape a woman in a village. The two are sur-rounded by Sgt. Jo and others and told that their lives will be spared if theysurrender. The two discuss whether they should surrender: Won-hui claimsthat he would not trust Jo’s promise, given his experience with Jo over theyears. The two attempt a double suicide. Won-hui stabs his mate first but iscaptured before he can do the same to himself. In the next scene, Won-hui istied up in front of the whole unit. Won-hui starts to insult his mates, whenthey are being punished for his violation. Kang, outraged, runs toward Won-hui and smashes his head—killing him instantly. A few scenes later, Kang isbeaten up by his trainer for this, on the charge that he has wasted three yearson Kang for nothing. Yet it is inconceivable to assume that a year has passedbetween Won-hui’s death and Kang’s punishment. Such temporal ambiguityand inconsistency may be attributed to the spatial isolation of Silmido. Onthis island, both the trainers and trainee lose track of time, dedicating them-selves to the sole purpose of the unit: assassinating North Korean PresidentKim Il-sung. However, given the urgency of the task, it is odd not to havea specific deadline. The delay and incoherence of temporal cues are un-motivated, unlike the peculiar exposition that withholds characters’ names,which underscores their lost identities.


The Host adopts an episodic structure, prolonging the narrative throughmultiple lines of action. Adolescent girl Hyeon-seo is devoured by a mon-ster, but she manages to survive when it spits out some of its victims in thesewer. Gang-du is forced to stay in a compound with military officials,fearing he might be infected with a virus after having physical contact withthe monster. Gang-du’s family escapes from the military compound, andeach family member—Grandpa, Gang-du, Nam-il, and Nam-ju—attemptsto independently locate and rescue Hyeon-seo. Family members are con-nected via mobile phones, and the ill-functioning communication devicesisolate each from the rest—one of the major motifs throughout the film. Themultiple lines of action merge at the end of the film, as each character isgiven a shot at destroying the monster.

The loose narrative of D-War, as previously mentioned, became the mostpublicized issue in South Korea in 2007. Critic Jin criticizes the film’s plot forits reliance on a deus ex machina, a device that unexpectedly solves orresolves the story’s main conflict.≥∂ Since 1999, narratives in Korean block-busters have become increasingly versatile. D-War’s peculiarity within Ko-rean blockbusters is not its sparse or implausible narrative per se, but hasmore to do with its narrative strategy—its lack of modulation between re-stricted and unrestricted knowledge. Young Ethan’s encounter with Jackreveals the backstory to both the protagonist and the viewer too early on inthe film, taking away from Ethan and Sarah a necessary investigation thatwould answer the cause of the imoogi’s attack. Instead, D-War quickly be-comes a chase film—the flashback to their previous life five hundred yearsbefore would normally come toward the end as Ethan and Sarah discovertheir past together.

Despite the fact that Korean blockbusters employ various narrative struc-tures and devices, they share a narrative trajectory: nihilistic, tragic endings.Unlike most Hollywood blockbusters, protagonists in Korean blockbustersonly partially achieve their goals. Hollywood cinema often features a nar-rative in which the protagonist is presented with two compatible goals—one in a public sphere, the other in heterosexual romance—and the suc-cess in one triggers or contributes to the achievement of the other.≥∑ InGodzilla (Roland Emmerich, 1998) for instance, Dr. Niko Tatopoulos (Mat-thew Broderick) successfully saves New York from a monster with the helpof his college sweetheart Audrey (Maria Pitillo), and this victory providesthe opportunity for them to rekindle their romance. On the contrary, pro-tagonists in Korean blockbusters face more serious dilemmas. In Shiri, agent


Yu must kill Hui or neglect his duty. In JSA, Sophie reveals the truth aboutthe shooting incident, which leads to Lee’s suicide. The goal of Jin-tae inTaegukgi is self-defeating; Jin-tae’s desire to protect his family from theKorean War costs him his life. When General Choi is ordered to get rid ofthe 684 Unit in Silmido, he must execute the order, otherwise his subordi-nates will also be killed. Gang-du, in The Host, defeats the monster, but he isunable save his daughter Hyeon-seo.

Diffrient finds that the commercial success of Shiri can be linked to thistype of hybrid structure. He claims, ‘‘Perhaps the film’s singularity and hugesuccess can be attributed to the way it fuses the special-effect-driven spec-tacles of Hollywood blockbusters and the melodramatic sentiments of tradi-tional Korean storytelling’’ (emphasis mine).≥∏ Such a tragic ending, however,is not unique to Korean storytelling. One can find similar endings in manyHong Kong gangster sagas. Characters are often torn between different obli-gations, and conflicting loyalties derive the narrative of both Hong Kong andKorean gangster cinema. Incorporation of melodramatic elements withinblockbusters is also common to both Hollywood and Korean blockbusters.Blockbusters combine conventions of various genres with an aim to target arange of demographic groups. Armageddon (Michael Bay, 1998), for in-stance, incorporates characteristics of family melodrama: Harry Stamper(Bruce Willis) initially opposes his daughter, Grace (Liv Tyler), dating aj(Ben Affleck). Both personal and professional conflicts between Stamper andaj are resolved at the end of film, as Stamper acknowledges and approves ofaj and sacrifices himself for the mission. Similarly, in The Day After Tomor-row (Roland Emmerich, 2004), Jack Hall (Dennis Quaid), a paleoclimatolo-gist, tries to save the world from the effects of global warming, while alsotrying to rescue his son Sam (Jake Gyllenhaal), who is in New York City for ascholastic competition.

Sentimental attachment to characters may be more permissible in Ko-rean blockbusters than in Hollywood blockbusters, but it is hasty to claimthat such storytelling is rooted in Korean tradition. A better way to charac-terize the difference would be that Korean blockbusters are more character-driven and attempt to expand ‘‘narrative depth,’’ which is often lacking incontemporary Hollywood blockbusters.≥π Characters function as more thanthe nodes that advance the narrative, and the narrative is often suspended asin JSA and Silmido to portray and develop character psychology.

If Korean blockbusters partially adopt Hollywood narrative conventions,they acquire conventional characteristics of contemporary Hollywood film


style—what Bordwell characterizes as ‘‘intensified continuity’’ style. Bord-well claims that post-classical Hollywood cinema displays a more obtrusiveand self-conscious style—flashy opening credit sequence, rapid editing,close framing, and a free-ranging camera—but it still adheres to the basicpremises of classic Hollywood continuity editing: temporal consistency andspatial coherence. Narrative can be nonlinear and more elliptical than inclassical Hollywood cinema, but it is coherent in retrospect. The editingis fast-paced, with tight framing and a mobile camera, but it preserves spa-tial unity.≥∫

Korean blockbusters, like many Hollywood blockbusters, begin with acaptivating spectacle: Shiri with Hui’s violent training sequence; JSA with acrime scene; and Silmido with Kang’s attempted murder crosscut with theinfiltration of North Korean terrorists. The precredit sequence of Silmidoconsists of three parts, which last over ten minutes: crimes, a trial, and anexecution, with an average shot length of 3.42, 5.5, and 8.3 seconds, respec-tively. In the crime sequence, editing underscores both visual parallels andcontrasts between the two lines of action. While both Kang and Kim arechased, there are close-ups of their weapons, knife and gun, respectively. Ifgraphic similarities between their actions underscore a situational parallel,visual contrasts between the two emphasize the different scales of theircrimes—assassination of the national leader vs. murder of a local gang. Asthe alternation between these actions becomes more rapid—almost shot byshot—the two actions appear to merge, forming one continuous actionsequence. For instance, we see Kang drop his knife, followed by a shot ofKim being captured, with Kim’s comparable action omitted. In this openingsequence, Kang teases the viewer by setting up a formal pattern and thenviolating it to counter the viewer’s expectation.

The remaining precredit sequence is structured in a similar way. DuringKang’s trial sequence, he enters a building, escorted by two policemen. Butin the next shot, when the door opens, Kim enters the pressroom instead,hosted by two policemen. In the execution sequence that follows, GeneralChoi visits Kang, who is now in a prison uniform. Choi asks whether Kang iswilling to serve his country, if he’s given a second chance. Before Kanganswers, Choi orders: ‘‘Execute him!’’ We see a man walk down the alleyfrom behind, but when the camera cuts to show his face, it is not Kang butsomeone else! After showing the execution of the wrong man, there is a shotof a boat in the ocean and the title credit ‘‘Silmido.’’ A closer view of the boat


shows the man who was just executed. The viewer now infers that not onlywas this man’s execution a fake but that Kang’s was probably phony as well.Both men, along with many other ex-convicts on the boat, are on their wayto Silmido for the training. Although the precredit sequence lacks aestheticprecision and refinement—similar actions or objects are not shown in per-fect graphic match from shot to shot, it certainly succeeds in holding theviewer’s curiosity. The rest of the film is interspersed with spectacles, com-parable or inferior to this precredit sequence, which manage to emotionallyengage the viewer.

Action sequences reflect a predilection of each director, but they more orless conform to contemporary Hollywood stylistic conventions. The actionscenes in Shiri are often shot with a handheld camera to create a shakyimage. Consider the kitchen scene immediately after three North Koreanterrorists fall for a trap set up to trick Hui. The scene begins with Park,chased by Yu and his squad team, entering a kitchen and ends with himescaping with a hostage. The scene is edited with an average shot length of2.04 seconds, cut faster than the opening sequence of Silmido. Park does notstart shooting until the South Korean agents are close to him. In this scene,the space itself is confined, and Kang employs a few camera set-ups with thecamera crossing the axis of action a few times. But Park and Yu, who are shotin tight framing, occupy opposite sides of frames as they shoot at each other(figure 2.1, 2.2); and with cutaways to the members of the squad (figure 2.3)and consistent eye-line match, Kang prevents the spatial disorientation ofthe viewer.

In the kitchen scene, Kang avoids extensive use of slow motion and flam-boyant, balletic movements, which are often associated with Hong Konggangster cinema. Even when Park runs out of bullets and realizes that he isdoomed, we see his momentary despair in normal speed. Nor is Hui’s en-trance glamorized when she rescues Park at the last minute. Instead, Kangcreates a sense of chaos by the unstable camera and sudden appearances ofcharacters in a frame. Characters are initially blocked by objects in thekitchen, such as a sink, storage cabinet, a cart or even smoke: then they sud-denly appear to briefly fire their weapons and then hide again. The sceneis punctuated with slightly lengthier shots, underscoring characters’ mo-ments of realization, such as when Park finds out that he has run out ofbullets. Kang’s restraint from slow-motion montage aesthetics is multifac-eted: he not only keeps the style of his film from undermining the purported


Figure 2.1 Yu aims his gun in Park’s direction.(Shiri, Kang Je-gyu, 1999)

seriousness of the story but also tries to distinguish his movie from HongKong films such as Woo’s gangster sagas. Yet, the influence of Woo ispalpable in an overtly dramatic three-way standoff in which Yu, Park,and Hui all point their guns at one another while the camera circlesaround them.

While Shiri displays mostly chase-driven spectacles, Taegukgi showcasesmore special-effects-driven spectacles with massive explosions. This is inpart due to their contrasting subject matters—espionage vs. war—but it alsohas to do with their production costs. With three times the budget of Shiri,Taegukgi boasts an abundance of explosions and gory images—specifically,mutilated limbs and bodies. Taegukgi includes more elaborately staged com-bat sequences, but it shares the basic editing patterns of Shiri. Major actionsare coherent with more or less consistent screen directions. The cameramovement is motivated by the figure movement, and it pauses to pick upmultiple lines of action as it glides along. In a daytime combat scene inwhich a teenage boy named Seung-cheol is injured, two parties are visuallydemarcated: South Korean soldiers inside the bunker at screen left andNorth Korean soldiers running down the hill at screen right. The camera

Figure 2.2 Park fires back at Yu with consistent eye-line match.(Shiri, Kang Je-gyu, 1999)

Figure 2.3 A cutaway to the squad before the camera crosses the axis of action.(Shiri, Kang Je-gyu, 1999)


violates Hollywood’s 180-degree rule when a Sergeant runs toward Seung-cheol to save him while the camera crosses the character’s axis of action. Butsince the screen directions of South vs. North Korean soldiers have alreadybeen fully established, it does not disorient the viewer.

In Taegukgi, Kang attempts to create an impression of subjective immer-sion in the action, by propelling debris and human figures out toward theviewer, a convention established in many action-spectacle-based films suchas Saving Private Ryan (Steven Spielberg, 1998) and Gladiator (Ridley Scott,2000).≥Ω In the scene alluded to above, when a bomb explodes right next toSeung-cheol, the impact sends his body hurtling toward the camera. In amatch-on-action cut, the camera cuts closer to Seung-cheol, making it ap-pear though he falls in front of the viewer.

Compared to Shiri, Kang manipulates both the image and the audiotracks to a greater extent in Taegukgi, which provides a much more intimatetake on Jin-tae’s subjective state. Consider a night combat scene in whichJin-tae blows up the North Korean army post. As the battle heats up, thecamera cuts to a couple of separate lines of action inside the bunker, includ-ing scenes of Jin-tae and Jin-seok struggling with enemies. The camera pansfrom screen left to screen right as Jin-tae runs toward the North Koreanpost. As Jin-tae nears the North Korean post, the camera awaits him with afrontal shot. Jin-tae heaves a couple of grenades. After the explosions, Jin-tae is seen outside the post, overhearing a North Korean commander order-ing that the post be guarded at all costs. As Jin-tae is shot in slow motion, thesound coming from inside the post is amplified, underscoring Jin-tae’s effortto eavesdrop. Then the camera cuts to an interior shot of the post, shortlyafter which we see Jin-tae enter through a door in the background and attacka North Korean soldier. Both the North Korean soldiers and the viewers aretaken aback by the sudden appearance of Jin-tae. We soon see anothertemporal ellipsis. Jin-tae pours gas inside the post. The camera then cuts toan exterior shot of the post, where other soldiers are fighting, followed by ashot of Jin-tae now outside the post, throwing grenades back at it. Jin-tae’scourageous but reckless attack, suggested by his ghostlike appearance anddisappearance, shows his eagerness to be recognized by his army so that hecan safely send his brother home.

JSA lacks the amount of spectacle and violence shown in Shiri and Tae-gukgi. In fact, JSA is a peculiar case among Korean blockbusters as well as forits production company Myung Film. Formed in 1995, Myung Film pro-

Figure 2.5 The camera pans right to show Choi in a similar shot scale.(JSA, Park Chan-wook, 2000)

Figure 2.6 A delayed establishing shot that punctuates the scenewith a great tension. (JSA, Park Chang-wook, 2000)


Figure 2.4 Lee framed in a tight close-up.(JSA, Park Chan-wook, 2000)

Oh in the middle, and Lee and Nam on the left—while Jeong is at the centerof the far background.

A sudden loud sound from the tape recorder startles everyone. The cam-era again swish-pans from Lee, to Oh, and then to Choi as they all look in thedirection of the recorder. The camera fades to black, and a gunshot is heard.This sequence is punctuated by two exterior shots shown in the openingsequence: a shot of light streaming through a gun hole, followed by that ofan owl. Subsequent shootings are shown in slow motion, conveying Nam’spanic and temporary insanity. As Nam gradually comes to his senses, thecamera resumes its normal speed.

The manipulation of sound is particularly notable. Although not portray-ing the subjective states of characters, the use of sound here is feasible innarrative terms. Music fades in and out to underscore the fluctuating ten-sion among the characters and serves a narrative function: that is, a triggerof the shooting. Music continues from the previous scene, signaling thebeginning of the flashback. It fades out during the confrontation betweenLee and Choi, whose guns are pointed at one another. As they are about toput their guns down, the same music resumes but shortly fades out again.After a moment of silence, loud rock music begins playing as the tape

Figure 2.5 The camera pans right to show Choi in a similar shot scale.(JSA, Park Chan-wook, 2000)

Figure 2.6 A delayed establishing shot that punctuates the scenewith a great tension. (JSA, Park Chang-wook, 2000)


recorder automatically plays the other side. During the slow-motion shoot-ing, various soundtracks coexist: a voice coming from a receiver, a gunshot,heavy breathing, screams, and blood dripping, as well as a piano accompani-ment. As Lee and Nam exit the post, a harmonica sound from nondiegeticmusic is heard, which blends into the warning siren, signaling the arrival ofSouth Korean troops.

The film style of JSA does not show the same level of self-consciousnessas Park’s Vengeance trilogy: Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance (2002), Oldboy(2003), and Sympathy for Lady Vengeance (2005). The trilogy features anumber of stylistic embellishments, including modernist aesthetics, elabo-rate use of mise-en-scène, strikingly symmetrical shot compositions, andovert camera movements that are either motivated more by character psy-chology than figure movement or even simply unmotivated. The fact thatJSA aims at a mass audience in part explains a stylistic disparity between JSAand Park’s overtly stylized hardboiled thrillers. But it also shows the 386Generation directors’ versatility and their efforts to change the industryfrom within and that their film expertise and stylistic predilections are fil-tered through industry demands and production trends.

The major goal of the 386 Generation filmmakers is not merely to appealto a sensibility specific to Koreans; more importantly, they have attemptedto do so via stylistic, aesthetic elevation, even by borrowing from Hollywoodor other national cinema film styles. Changes in budgeting and productionprocedures, in conjunction with the adoption of new distribution and mar-keting strategies, enabled the 386 Generation directors to showcase theirfilm expertise through narrative and film style. Enthusiasm for Korean cin-ema may have initially been ignited and encouraged by consumer national-ism, but subsequent blockbuster success could not have been sustainedwithout the successful synthesizing of a more refined film style with subjectmatter and themes that appeal to Korean audiences. Korean directors ex-ploit national identity and national history in order to reach out to a wideraudience. Despite their varied portrayals of their country’s national history,common among the 386 Generation directors is that instead of makingretroactive films that trace cultural roots—a strategy taken by Im Kwon-taek’s festival films such as Chunhyang (2000) and Chihwaseon (2002)—theyborrow Hollywood film style and fashion it so as to incorporate recentKorean experience.

Korean blockbusters’ success at the box office has rewarded 386 Genera-tion directors in different ways. Taegukgi provided Kang a ticket to Holly-


wood and a contract with a Hollywood agency. After Park proved himself asa commercially viable director he turned to a kind of filmmaking wherethere is more latitude to experiment with film style. Winning the Grand Prixat Cannes with his Oldboy, Park established himself as a hybrid auteur—onewho is adept at both commercially oriented films and cult films. Kang Woo-suk, with the success of Silmido, maintains his status as one of the mostpowerful producers and filmmakers in the Korean film industry. Bong hasbecome one of the few directors in Korea who can appeal to both a localmass audience and art-house audiences abroad.

60

3 No Blood? No Tears!

Korean Gangster Cinema

A black sedan slides into the frame. A gang boss exits thesedan in front of a nightclub. Bouncers in black suits bow to him. The bossdescends the stairs and enters the club, followed by his henchmen. Suchurban gangster icons are often—maybe too often—found in contemporarySouth Korean cinema. Gangster films have not only become one of the mostprofitable trends in the contemporary South Korean film industry, but theyhave also provided icons for other film cycles to incorporate and adapt. Forinstance, in the melodrama A Promise (Kim Yu-jin, 1998) a female doctorfalls madly in love with her patient, a gang boss. Gangsters and their codes ofconduct, honor, and loyalty have also become the subject matter of comedy,as in No. 3 (Song Neung-han, 1997), MyWife Is a Gangster (Jo Jin-gyu, 2001),Kick the Moon (Kim Sang-jin, 2001), Hi! Dharma! (Park Cheol-kwan, 2001),and the Marrying the Mafia series (Jeong Heung-sun, 2002–2006).

Korean critics often remark on the emergence of contemporary Korean‘‘gangster’’ (kkangpae) cinema as if it were a novel form, historically unprece-dented.∞ Such a misconception probably arises because of the long absenceof Korean gangster films during the 1980s as a result of censorship. In theprior history of Korean cinema, however, gangster films constituted an im-portant cycle within action films, along with crime/spy films and hwalgeuk,the latter of which feature Korean revolutionaries in Manchuria duringJapanese colonial rule.≤ Influenced by Japanese yakuza films, Korean gang-ster films of the 1960s often dealt with an internal conflict within a gang oran external conflict between rival gangs, foregrounding the gangsters’ codesof conduct and their loyalty. Although Japanese films were banned in Koreaat the time, producers and directors were of the generation that had re-ceived an education in Japanese during the Japanese occupation.≥ Somefilmmakers were even encouraged to model their films after Japanese yakuzafilms. With the establishment of Park Chung-hee’s Yushin government, dur-ing which Park implemented new constitutions in order to grant himselfformal authoritarianism, stricter censorship was imposed. Gangster films,

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which filled screens until the early 1970s, began to decline in number. By themid-1970s, Korean gangster films were slowly giving way to Hong Kongwuxia and kung-fu films.

The Korean gangster cinema was reawakened in the 1990s by the popu-larity of Hong Kong action films, which began to appear in the mid-1980s.Audiences in their twenties and thirties were more familiar with Hong Konggangster sagas than with the Korean gangster cinema of the 1960s and1970s. Gangster films directed by John Woo, Wong Jing, and Ringo Lamrapidly encroached on the Korean market. The success of Hong Kong actioncinema led to a drastic increase in the number of Hong Kong imports: therewere fewer than twenty in 1987, but within two years there were nearlyninety, and the total remained above seventy until 1993.∂ The boom in HongKong action/gangster films also coincided with a change in distributionwithin the Korean film industry. With the advent of direct distribution byU.S. majors, it became difficult for the owners of small and second-runtheaters to acquire rights to Hollywood films;∑ Hong Kong cinema became alucrative alternative.

Ironically, the resurgence of Korean gangster films was signaled by ImKwon-taek’s The General’s Son (1990) series (figure 3.1). During the 1980s,when Im established himself as an auteur at international film festivals withsuch films as Mandala (1981), The Surrogate Mother (1987), and Aje AjeBara Aje (1989), he shied away from action films. In fact, he had not directedan action film since 1973. But through his The General’s Son series, the firstand second installments of which became the top grossing domesticallyproduced films in 1990 and 1991 (0.67 and 0.35 million admissions in Seoul,respectively, Appendix 1), Im revived the gangster film of the 1970s.∏ KimDu-han’s life and political career have been popularized by action/gangsterfilms such as The True Story of Kim Du-han (Kim Hyo-cheon, 1974), KimDu-han II: Righteous Fighter (Kim Hyo-cheon, 1975), and Kim Du-han III(Ko Young-nam, 1975). Directors of younger generations, however, most ofwhom debuted in the 1990s, transferred gangsters to contemporary urbansettings. Lee Chang-dong directed Green Fish (1997) and Lee Myung-secreated Nowhere to Hide (1999). Kim Sung-su and Kwak Kyung-taek di-rected the box-office hits Beat (1997) and Friend (2001) respectively. Kim Ji-woon’s stylized A Bittersweet Life (2005) is one of the most recent Koreangangster noirs.

This chapter examines how Korean gangster cinema reemerged as apopular trend. Why did Korean gangster cinema suddenly attract a domes-


Figure 3.1 Kim Du-han challenges a Japanese judo master.(The General’s Son, Im Kown-taek, 1991)

tic audience again? How do Korean gangster films attempt to depart fromother nations’ gangster cinemas, particularly those from Hong Kong? Howdo other film cycles, especially gangster comedy, appropriate gangster iconsfor comedic purposes?

‘‘Am I Your Sidekick?’’

In 2001, Friend, directed by Kwak Kyung-taek, sold 6.5 million ticketswithin six weeks, earning $24 million and surpassing the record that Shiri, ablockbuster, set in 1999.π That record lasted until another wave of Koreanblockbusters reignited the box-office race in 2004. Friend marks the turningpoint of Korean gangster cinema not only because of its immense popularitybut also because it helped gangster cinema become a major trend and pro-pelled other variants within the industry. Although gangster films beforeFriend were released only sporadically, the film’s success popularized gang-ster tropes in other films. What, then, are the reasons for the growinginterest in and attraction of gangster cinema?

Gangster Cinema 63

Critic Kwak Han-ju attributes this resurgence at least partly to the socio-economic crisis of the post-1997 period. A series of major corporate bank-ruptcies in Korea (Kia Automobile and Hando Steel, for example) andthe currency crisis in the Southeast Asian region put the Korean economyin a fragile state. Disposable foreign reserves held by the Bank of Koreaamounted to less than $8 billion; the exchange rate between the won and theU.S. dollar plunged from 808 won to the dollar in 1993 to 1,415 won to thedollar by the end of 1997.∫ In 1997 the Korean government filed for nationaleconomic bankruptcy and asked the imf for $55 billion. The imf bailoutentailed drastic budget cuts, higher interest rates and taxation, and reducedgrowth.Ω In her analysis of Friend, Shin Chi-Yun claims that ‘‘the revival andpopularity of the [gangster] cycle in the post-imf period can be seen as aconsequence of, and a response to, the national economic crisis.’’∞≠ Theunemployment rate had increased, higher education no longer guaranteedemployment, and employment did not ensure a stable future. It is claimedthat such socioeconomic conditions contribute to social identity crises andanxiety in men, especially those in their teens and twenties. Violence ingangster films represents the frustration of this younger generation; itis presented as an alternative route to making money and climbing the so-cial ladder.∞∞

Such an explanation, although insightful, does not account for the diffi-culty of pinpointing the exact moment of the emergence of the cycle, nordoes it address its lack of stylistic consistency. Gangster films such as Im’sThe General’s Son series became popular before the deterioration of theKorean economy began in 1997. It is hard to find any narrative or stylisticpatterns that distinguish the post-1997 gangster cycle from previous gang-ster films. Kwak lists contemporary urban settings, nightclubs, and orga-nized crime as some of the common elements of post-1997 gangster films.Such elements are hardly new, however, and are unique neither to olderKorean gangster films nor to the post-1997 gangster films. Gangsters havelong been associated with urban settings. Films directed by Kim Hyo-cheonand Im Kwon-taek in the 1960s and 1970s unfold against downtown Seoul.Kwak suggests that a shared style entailing dim lighting, handheld camera,fast-paced editing, and slow motion marks the post-1997 gangster cycle.∞≤ Itis true that contemporary gangster cinema is one of the most style-drivengenres. However, the stylistic characteristics that Kwak mentions becamethe norm during that period across genres, not exclusively in gangster cin-


ema. Unless Kwak can provide us with a convincing way to distinguish them,his explanation for the emergence of ‘‘new’’ gangster films appears to beinsufficient.

In addition, one must note that although gangster elements are prevalentacross a wide range of films, they serve varying purposes in individual films.As David Desser claims, gangster tropes play out differently in each film.∞≥ InGreen Fish, Lee Chang-dong uses the form for a social critique of rapidurbanization and suburbanization, as well as the consequent deteriorationof the traditional family. On the other hand, in films such as Nowhere to Hideand A Bittersweet Life directors use gangster cinema for stylistic exploration.A comedy such as No. 3 parodies the trend. Certainly socioeconomic condi-tions are relevant to these films, but it seems farfetched to argue that suchconditions directly led to the reemergence of gangster cinema without tak-ing into consideration the industry context, which has a more immediateimpact on the films’ look as well as on their content.

A better explanation for the current status of gangster films can be foundin the emergence of new independent production companies and the suc-cessful niche-marketing of such films as No. 3 and Friend. The production ofKorean gangster films tends to be a short-lived strategy undertaken by mid-level to small independents. Unlike blockbuster films backed up by con-glomerates and venture capital funds, the gangster trend was initiated byindependents such as Uno Film (Beat), East Film (Green Fish), and CinelineII (Friend) as part of a niche-marketing strategy. The conglomeration of theKorean film industry has made producers and filmmakers preoccupied withfinding a consistently lucrative market. Beat was a breakthrough film forboth the director, Kim Sung-su, and the short-lived production companyUno Film.∞∂ However, soon after producing the critically acclaimed box-office hit Christmas in August (Hur Jin-ho, 1998), Uno Film was absorbedinto the entertainment management group Sidus. East Film produced Pep-permint Candy (1999) and Oasis (2002), Lee Chang-dong’s next two filmsafter Green Fish, both of which were fashioned with the film festival circuitin mind. After the success of Friend and My Wife Is a Gangster, their dis-tributor, Korea Pictures, emerged as one of the major distributors in theKorean industry.∞∑ Once gangster cinema was established as profitable,other production companies followed suit—or parodied it.

Although Desser claims that the weakening of the Japanese film industryhas contributed to the current boom in South Korea, one must note theKorean film industry’s anxiety over the opening up of the domestic market

Gangster Cinema 65

to Japanese cinema. Japanese cinema had its first theatrical release in Koreain 1998, over thirty years after the Korean government restored diplomaticrelationships with Japan in 1965.∞∏ With Hana-bi (Takeshi Kitano, 1997)being the first film that received a theatrical release, Japanese films beganto be shown nationwide. But the performance of Japanese cinema in theKorean market was indeed underwhelming, except for romance films (LoveLetter, 0.64 million admissions in Seoul and over 1 million nationwide),anime (Howl’s Moving Castle, 0.98 million in Seoul), and the horror genre(Ju-on, 0.34 million in Seoul).∞π

The strong box-office draw of Korean gangster films is therefore closelylinked to the success of their immediate predecessors, notably the HongKong gangster films of the 1980s and 1990s. Hong Kong cinema constituteda significant portion of Korean popular culture in those years. Woo’s A Bet-ter Tomorrow and The Killer were ranked sixth and fifth, respectively, withover 0.25 million admissions in Seoul (Appendix 1). Hong Kong stars suchas Chow Yun Fat and Leslie Cheung appeared on Korean television com-mercials. The decline of Hong Kong action cinema in the early 1990s leftvacant the market it once dominated. Korean filmmakers targeted theirproduct toward the already-established niche market. The success of theHong Kong gangster-hero cycle in the region, thanks to directors such asJohn Woo and Ringo Lam, stands as a landmark in the regional film industryand established conventions for succeeding directors to inherit or rein-terpret. Since the mid-1990s the gangster films in the region have followedseveral routes. Hong Kong gangster cinema produced a number of series,such as the Young and Dangerous series (Andrew Lau, 1996–1998) and theAMoment of Romance series (Benny Chan and Johnnie To, 1990–1996) thattransformed the norms established by the gangster-hero cycle. Johnnie To, aleading producer and director of Hong Kong gangster cinema, altered thepath. To replaced the hyperbolic action of Woo’s gunfights with relativelysubdued, strikingly posed battles. In 1996 To and his screenwriter partnerWai Ka-fai formed Milkyway Image Production, which has since producedsuch offbeat gangster films as The Odd One Dies (Patrick Yau, 1997), TheLongest Nite (Patrick Yau, 1997), Expect the Unexpected (Patrick Yau, 1998),The Mission (Johnnie To, 1999), and PTU (Johnnie To, 2003). In 2002 and2003 the Infernal Affairs series, directed by Andrew Law and Alan Mak,attracted the Hong Kong audience to theaters.

The effort to create a Korean counterpart to Hong Kong gangster filmswas rewarded with the box-office success of Friend. Within the Korean film


industry, Hong Kong style is a model to follow and to surpass, as indicatedby an interview with Kim Dong-ju, the founder of Korea Pictures, the com-pany that distributed Friend. Kim expressed confidence that Korean cinemacan and should replace Hong Kong cinema in the region and beyond.∞∫ If, asis claimed here, there is a close tie between the decline of Hong Konggangster cinema and the rise of Korean gangster cinema, the commonalitiesor differences between these two cinemas should be explored. Apart fromthe fact that Korean gangsters use different weapons than Hong Kong gang-sters, is there any significant difference between Korean and Hong Konggangster films? What distinguishes them from each other? Or, as one writerputs it, is Korean cinema the ‘‘new Hong Kong cinema?’’∞Ω

The Hong Kong gangster-hero cycle does not display one coherent for-mula. Rather, like other forms of Hong Kong cinema, it combines, recycles,and reworks various norms. This synthetic approach to conventions is evi-dent in the catalog of Woo’s gangster films. Woo’s first gangster hits, ABetter Tomorrow I and II (1986 and 1987), adapt the gangster-hero formula,while his next film, The Killer (1989), takes up the ‘‘cops-and-robbers’’ for-mula. Bullet in the Head (1990) is a war-epic gangster film, combined withelements of a ‘‘buddy’’ film. Hardboiled (1992), Woo’s final action film beforehe moved to Hollywood, can be seen as a variation of the G-men cycle. InHardboiled, Chow Yun-fat, the epitome of the gangster hero in the A BetterTomorrow series, is recast as a cop. While Hollywood gangster films under-went various cycles throughout the entire studio era, it took less than adecade for Hong Kong gangster cinema to effectively appropriate the gang-ster tropes and formulas of Hollywood gangster films: with filmmakers suchas Woo borrowing, adapting, and replacing those generic norms as theywished.

This characterization of Hong Kong gangster cinema is not, however,meant to imply that it is indebted solely to the West. In fact, A BetterTomorrow is a remake of Lung Kong’s The Story of a Discharged Prisoner(1967). Ma Ka-fai claims that Hong Kong gangster films are a variation ofthe hero cycle, the precedents of which can be located in the swordplay filmsof the 1960s and kung-fu films of the 1970s.≤≠ Ma claims that although thepower dynamic between heroes and villains in the hero cycles shifts overtime—reflecting the changing social, political, and economic relations be-tween Hong Kong and the People’s Republic of China—heroes can be distin-guished from villains by their abidance by yi (pronounced as ui in Korean).Yi is often translated as ‘‘righteousness,’’ but it also refers to a moral sense to

Gangster Cinema 67

feel and a disposition to act out for the sake of rightness.≤∞ It should befurther distinguished from other Confucian virtues such as zhong (chung inKorean, meaning ‘‘loyalty to one’s superior’’) and xiao (hyo in Korean, mean-ing ‘‘filial piety’’). If Hollywood’s classic gangster heroes are driven to ruth-less actions in order to fulfill their desire for power and wealth, Hong Konggangster heroes are reluctant and restrained in their execution of ‘‘justice.’’In addition, unlike swaggering, obtuse Hollywood gangster heroes or sub-dued French lone-wolf gangsters, Hong Kong gangsters constantly sufferfrom intense mental agony and guilt.

The manifestation of yi in Hong Kong gangster cinema distinguishes itfrom Hollywood gangster cinema not just thematically. It also provides aframework for the overall narrative trajectory. The employment of yi as ameasurement of a character’s ‘‘virtue,’’ in conjunction with a heavy focus onfamilial relations and obligations, makes the Hong Kong gangster-hero cyclemore closely related to Hollywood melodramas than to gangster cinema.The peculiarity of the Hong Kong gangster-hero cycle can be found in itsodd combination of melodramatic narrative structure and excessive vio-lence. Julian Stringer notes that Woo’s heroes in such films as A BetterTomorrow and The Killer belong to both ‘‘doing’’ and ‘‘suffering’’ genres, thetwo different ways protagonists delineate their modes of agency.≤≤ If in a‘‘doing’’ genre such as the western or the war film the characters (often male)advance the narrative—in other words ‘‘they make things happen’’—in the‘‘suffering’’ genres, such as melodrama and women’s films, female characterssuffer from impaired or blocked agency. Despite the common associationof ‘‘melodrama’’ with women’s pictures, it has been argued that the term‘‘melodrama’’ has been used across genres, to refer to both action-drivengenres and women’s pictures.≤≥ I will use the term ‘‘melodrama’’ as an um-brella term that does not refer exclusively to women’s films but encompassesvarious film genres or cycles, including early action-oriented melodrama,family melodrama, male melodrama, and the ‘‘fallen woman’’ cycle. What isrelevant to my aim here is the common characteristics of melodrama—oldand new—with respect to narrative structure and film style.

The narrative structure of the Hong Kong gangster-hero cycle is melo-dramatic in the sense that it creates an impasse that prevents the protago-nist from acting upon a situation. He is reluctant to retaliate against theenemy, because of familial or other obligations. For example, in A BetterTomorrow I, despite his partner Mark urging him to take revenge uponShing, who has betrayed both Ho and Mark, Ho does not retaliate so as to


earn forgiveness from his younger brother, Kit, and to keep his promise tohis deceased father to quit the gang. Ho refuses to negotiate with Shing untilShing threatens to harm Kit.

Both classic Hollywood and Hong Kong gangster heroes are caught be-tween the competing values of tradition and modernity. However, whereasHollywood gangsters symbolize transgression against traditional valuesand their replacement of older values, Hong Kong gangsters represent theregression toward and adherence to the traditional values of loyalty andhonor. Gangsters in the classic Hollywood cycle start out as underdogs,often coming from immigrant families or from small towns. Their ambitionand aggression fuel their desire for power and pleasure. Taking this intoaccount, Robert Warshow and Thomas Schatz view classic gangsters asmythic romantic heroes who briefly transcend the social order, rejecting thesystems of law and ideology.≤∂ However, as Fran Mason points out, theHollywood gangster hero’s lack of discipline and constraint ultimately de-stroys him.≤∑ The tragic end for most Hollywood heroes can be attributed inpart to traits that are irreconcilable—transgression and excess. It is quitethe opposite for Hong Kong gangsters. Although their trustworthiness andloyalty are what lead to being betrayed by their subordinates, these samequalities are also what enable them to become ‘‘heroes’’ again. Unlike classicHollywood gangster heroes who follow a rise-and-fall trajectory, Hong Konggangster heroes follow a ‘‘return of the hero’’ trajectory: when the storybegins they are at the top of the underworld; as the story develops, they losetheir social status but regain their status as heroes.

Korean gangster cinema shares some of the melodramatic structure mani-fest in Hong Kong cinema. Male protagonists often face tragic endings inboth Hong Kong and Korean gangster cinema. Loyalty does not pay off forthe protagonists in Korean gangster cinema. In fact, male bonding—be itfriendship or a surrogate father-son relationship—rarely survives. Min andHwan-gyu in Beat are both from dysfunctional families. Min rebels againsthis widowed mother for no obvious reason. A stepfather figure is introduced,but he exercises no authority. Although we do not see Hwan-gyu’s inter-action with his family, he is separated from them, living by himself in Seoul.Tae-su plays the surrogate father role among this circle of friends. Min oftenturns to Tae-su when he needs money or a place to stay, and Hwan-gyu gets ajob at a nightclub after he’s released from prison thanks to Tae-su. However,the friendship between Min and Hwan-gyu falls apart as a result of thequadruple love relationship involving Min, Ro-mi, Han-gyu, and Sun-ah.

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And Tae-su faces death when he is betrayed by his mob boss. In Friend, Jun-seok is put in a situation where he must order the killing of his childhoodfriend Dong-su because the two are working for rival gangs. Furthermore, themoment of Dong-su’s death coincides with the moment when he acknowl-edges their friendship by seeing their mutual friend Sang-taek off at theairport. Dong-su is betrayed by his own henchman, Eun-gi, and is stabbed bya novice who works for Jun-seok.

In Korean gangster cinema, any type of transgression, sexual or social, isoften forbidden and severely punished. Unlike the first installment of TheGeneral’s Son series in which Kim Du-han becomes the town boss, in con-temporary urban gangster films the protagonists fall prematurely, eitherbecause of their Oedipal desire for a mother figure or because of a transgres-sion of the gang order. The death of Mak-dong in Green Fish is attributednot only to his naiveté but also to his infatuation with Mi-ae, his boss’s lover.Similarly, in A Bittersweet Life Seon-wu’s desire for his boss’s young lover,Hui-su, triggers his premature fall and leads him to seek revenge. In Beat,the deaths of the protagonists are caused by their attempts to subvert theestablished order. Min abides by neither the gang order nor the social orderand often reacts impulsively, while Tae-su is betrayed by his boss, whoclaims Tae-su is ‘‘too ambitious.’’ Both Jun-seok and Dong-su in Friend fallvictim to the social order of the gang world. The elliptical narrative struc-ture attributes their fall to circumstances rather than to character flaws.Jun-seok, who is portrayed as prudent and discreet, gives the order not toretaliate upon Dong-su, but his subordinates plan to kill Dong-su withoutJun-seok’s approval. The endless battle between the two gangs begins unin-tentionally. Dong-su and his henchmen retaliate, eventually killing Jun-seok’s cousin, which leads Jun-seok to feel obligated to get rid of Dong-su.There remains only an empty succession of battles, deprived of moral signif-icance, which ultimately takes the lives of both Dong-su and Jun-seok.

The frequent use of the high school as a setting for Korean gangstercinema is perhaps most peculiar element; this type of setting is hard to findin Hong Kong gangster cinema except in Young and Dangerous: The Prequel(Andrew Lau, 1998). The high school in Korean gangster cinema representsa society that replicates as well as substitutes for some social norms of powerand hierarchy. A tug of war among adolescents mirrors a power strugglebetween rival gangs; at the same time, the high school days comprise adistinctive period, marked by a hierarchical structure involving teachers andparents as well as students. Students rebel against teachers and momentarily


disrupt the order; however, the order is reestablished when the students areexpelled from school. In their adolescent years, both Min and Tae-su in Beatmay have succeeded in temporarily subverting the social hierarchy by rebell-ing against authority. In Friend, when a teacher not only physically punishesJun-seok and Dong-su for their bad grades but also insults them, Jun-seokrebels against the teacher by leaving class, as does Dong-su. Shortly after thegroup fight at the theatre, Dong-su smashes the windows in the schoolhallway and in the teachers’ lounge. However, all four characters fail toadjust to the larger society, in which power and hierarchy are mapped outsomewhat differently than in high school, and this failure ultimately leads totheir death. In Green Fish, the character Mak-dong has just been dischargedfrom the military, which is another institution governed by strict rules andregulations. In this regard, Korean gangster cinema presents the same coreconflicts as male coming-of-age stories such as Spirit of Jeet Kune Do (a.k.a.Once Upon a Time in High School, Yu Ha, 2004)—individual vs. society,desire vs. duty, rebellion vs. conformity, and longing vs. contentment≤∏—and in both, the male protagonists neither make successful transitions fromadolescence to adulthood nor come to terms with their own identities.

Despite the fact that romantic plots are more prominent in the Koreangangster cinema than that from Hong Kong, female characters still lackagency. Ro-mi and Hui-su, in Beat and A Bittersweet Life, respectively, areunintentional femme fatale figures: they trigger the disintegration of a malerelationship but fall short of being seductresses. The romance between Minand Ro-mi makes it impossible for Min to maintain his relationship witheither Hwan-gyu or Tae-su. Although there is mutual attraction betweenMin and Ro-mi, Ro-mi is unobtainable for Min because of their class differ-ences. Min cannot satisfy the material demands of the self-absorbed Ro-mi,and so he reverts to gang activity and violence. When Ro-mi leaves Min,Min is devastated and spends a night with Sun-a, who Hwan-gyu has a crushon. When Mr. Kang asks Seon-wu to keep an eye on Hui-su while he’s awayon a business trip, Seon-wu pays a visit to Hui-su. Hui-su comes down thestairs, changes into high heels, and trips—showing she is beautiful, yes, butstill young and immature.

Women in the gangster cinema also serve as an indication of the hier-archy. In Friend, Sang-taek and Jun-seok seem to be equals because theyboth have a relationship with the same woman. The conflict involves Sang-taek’s infatuation with a female bandleader, Jin-suk. Sang-taek, who is thenerd among the four friends, falls for Jin-suk after he sees her perform. At a

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small gathering at Jun-seok’s house, he introduces Sang-taek to Jin-suk.Dong-su confronts Jun-seok, thinking that Jun-seok favors Sang-taek overhimself. Later in the film we find out that Jun-seok has married (or at leastlives with) Jin-suk.

One may find exceptions to this rule. In No Blood No Tears (Ryu Seung-wan, 2002) two female protagonists, aspiring singer Su-ji and cab driverGyeong-seon, team up to snatch money that was bet on a dog fight run byBulldog, Suji’s psychotic gangster boyfriend. My Wife Is a Gangster (Jo Jin-gyu, 2001) features a female mob boss, Eun-jin, who is able to defend hersubordinates and her husband from attacks by rivals. But whereas No BloodNo Tears does not grant full agency to the two women whose plan goeswrong, My Wife Is a Gangster utilizes the gender role reversal as a comicdevice. Although the audience’s reception of the film indicates that theyexperience a vicarious pleasure when watching the apparent agency in acomedy such as My Wife Is a Gangster,≤π it is not the femininity of thesefemale protagonists that allow them to earn agency—which is, in any case,limited. Also, female agency is incompatible with the reproductive capacity.During the final fight, Eun-jin pleads for her life by pointing to the fact thatshe’s pregnant.

Kim Kyung-hyun claims that the fetishized male icons and body imagesmanifest in contemporary action blockbusters such as Shiri and JSA canbe seen as a remasculinization process, a restoration of the masculinitythat was lost as a consequence of the historical trauma of the military era.Frances Gateward expands on Kim’s observation, concluding that Koreanblockbusters and gangster cinema engage male audiences as Hollywoodblockbusters did in the Reagan era, which was a period of ‘‘reassertion ofAmerican military strength, economic power (for some), and male patri-archy.’’≤∫ Local critics such as Kim Ji-mi also express concern about theinfantilizing of male characters in gangster cinema, in which they are seenas sympathetic precisely because the melodramatic structure has deprivedthem of agency.≤Ω

In discussing masculinity depicted in such Korean films, one must notethe ambivalence, both in film narratives and in the industry as a whole, overthe use of gangster codes to represent virility. This ambivalence is evidencedby the tonal shift within gangster films themselves and the popularity ofgangster comedies such as My Wife Is a Gangster, Marrying the Mafia,and My Boss My Hero, which will be discussed shortly. Gangsters are fromsouthern provinces—Jeonra or Gyeongsang—have heavy accents, and re-main ‘‘marginal’’; they neither acquire the level of hegemonic power they


desire, nor are they morally redeemed. ‘‘Am I your sidekick?’’ goes one of thefamous lines from Friend, which underscores Dong-su’s inability to ascendthe social hierarchy.

When Dong-su is stabbed, the viewers’ sympathy for him is amplifiedthrough music, which starts as he steps out of the club. Having been be-trayed by his own henchman Eun-gi and by Jun-seok, Dong-su is attacked byJun-seok’s henchman, who has been hiding in the street. After being stabbedover and over in front of his limo, Dong-su tries to escape. As he runs off-screen left, a high-pitched female vocal begins. The music not only high-lights the drama of the scene, it also helps to define the meaning of Dong-su’s death and establishes him as a victim. As Dong-su is ruthlessly stabbedby the rookie gangster, we see fish that have been thrown from a crashedtruck and are flopping around in the middle of the street. The camera slowlymoves away from Dong-su, following rainwater mixed with blood as it flowstoward the sewer. Although this is a powerful moment, neither Jun-seok norDong-su is morally redeemed. Jun-seok disapproves of Sang-gon, Dong-su’sboss, because Sang-gon does not follow the gang’s code of honor. However,Kwak does not fully establish the moral differences between the two. Al-though we get glimpses of the way the two rival gangs operate, their differ-ences do not appear to be significant. In the scene in which Dong-su and hisgang attack a fish factory, there are cross-cuts that show Jun-seok instruct-ing newcomers to his gang on how to stab a person. Jun-seok behaves nomore humanely than Dong-su and his gang. The viewers, like the protago-nists, are fascinated only with the superficial aspects of gangster life, but theviewers’ sympathy for the protagonist is temporary. The viewers grieve overthe loss—or the absence—of friendship, rather than celebrate the heroicacts of either Jun-seok or Dong-su. What would be fruitful here is a distinc-tion between ‘‘narrative’’ agency and ‘‘moral’’ agency and, more importantly,the relationship between the two. Melodrama not only concerns the narra-tive impasse but also how the moral agency—or the act of desire or will—isblocked or unfulfilled by the narrative impasse. Lea Jacobs delineates therelationship between the two when discussing narrative agency and situa-tion. Rosa, in King Vidor’s Beyond the Forest (1949), makes decisions andinitiates actions that are blocked by untimely situations (such as her preg-nancy) or the actions of others (such as her husband’s loyal friend).≥≠ Theprotagonists in Korean gangster cinema may lack narrative agency in thesense that their actions are motivated by external forces—family, gangster,or other types of obligations—but what is important is whether they carry

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any moral agency, regardless of whether it is ultimately fulfilled or not. Someof the gangster protagonists, including Jun-seok and Dong-su, lack suchagency—or else it is not strong enough to enlist the viewer’s moral alle-giance. Thus the accidental deaths of some of the protagonists in recentKorean gangster films, such as Blood Tie and A Bittersweet Life, shouldbe examined to determine whether they foreclose the narrative or moralagency of the characters.

Furthermore, as the gangster cinema evolves, more self-conscious gang-ster films emerge. Kwak’s Mutt Boy (2003), although not strictly a gangsterfilm, deals with the futility of false empowerment through allegiance withgang activity. Dirty Carnival (Yu Ha, 2006) also investigates Korean society’sexploitation of the gangster icons—how the apparent legitimacy of both the‘‘underground’’ business such as clubs and bars and the Korean film industryis dependent upon exploitation of gangsters or conceptions of gangsters inKorean society. A film like Cruel Winter Blues (Lee Jeong-beom, 2006)explores the trend of ‘‘rural gangster’’ drama, in which gangsters are sent tothe countryside and find themselves transformed into members of a localcommunity.≥∞

The industry’s concerns about criticisms of the gangster film in generalare also manifest in the discourse on film style. When Beat was first released,critics and audiences raved about its unique look. Although Wong Kar-wai’sfilms have not been commercially successful in Korea, his style has in-fluenced many contemporary Korean directors, including Kim Sung-suand Lee Myung-se. Kim has adopted some of Wong’s stylistic characteris-tics: impressionistic fight scenes shot with swift camera movement; blurredimages generated by step printing, low-key lighting, and saturated color.However, although Wong moves away from mainstream film techniques byloosening up his narratives, Kim refashions Wong’s style for commercialpurposes by combining it with more mainstream narratives. Wong and Kimpunctuate action sequences in a similar way: by alternating between blurredaction shots and deftly executed close-ups. For example, when Tae-su at-tacks a gangster at a restaurant, we see Tae-su enter the room with a knife inhis hand, framed from Min’s point of view. As Tae-su is thrown out with aman whose back is bleeding, their actions are seen as a blurred image (figure3.2). We see Tae-su in handheld camera shots brandishing the knife andthreatening the people surrounding him (figure 3.3), followed by a shot ofTae-su being pushed toward a table by henchmen. The action continues inthe next shot but is seen more impressionistically as the camera cuts to

Figure 3.2 Tae-su thrown out of the room after stabbing a mobster.(Beat, Kim Sung-su, 1997)

Figure 3.3 An impressionistic fight scene, reminiscent of theWong Kar Wai aesthetics. (Beat, Kim Sung-su, 1997)

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Figure 3.4 Min punctuates the impressionistic fight.(Beat, Kim Sung-su, 1997)

frame Tae-su more closely. The camera then pans left to reveal Min at therestaurant door and follows him as he enters (figure 3.4). We see Tae-subleeding, crosscut a few times with reaction shots of Min. The camera, then,pans right to reveal the police.

Kim’s action sequences are not as elaborate and rhythmic as Wong’s. Anexample can be found in As Tears Go By, at the moment when Wah avengesFly’s treatment. Wong increases the visual tension by using more cameraset-ups than Kim usually does and by changing the rhythm more rapidlythrough fast-paced editing. What Kim tries to accomplish simultaneouslyin Beat is an elevation of his own film’s style and a commercialization ofWong’s style, which is internationally acknowledged as aesthetically worthy.

The discourse on ‘‘gritty realism’’ and ‘‘film noir’’ in the Korean filmindustry further underscores the anxiety over the status of the gangstertrend and the industry’s attempt to elevate it beyond the aesthetic level ofthe action film that valorizes gruesome violence. The fact that directorKwak’s Friend is semiautobiographical is often used as a counterargument tothe criticism of its representation of excessive violence. Blood Tie (Choi Ho,2006), which is also set in Busan, was praised for its ‘‘realistic’’ depiction of


drug trafficking and addicts; Running Wild (Kim Sung-su, [not to be con-fused with the director of Beat] 2006), Blood Tie, and A Bittersweet Life weremarketed as ‘‘hard-boiled noir,’’ an aesthetic cachet in both industry andcritical discourses.≥≤ Two reviews of Running Wild, although they come toopposite conclusions on the film’s aesthetic merit, measure it against noirconventions. A Bittersweet Life, which seems to be most faithful to film noiraesthetics with respect to mise-en-scène, showcases the intricate explora-tion of light and shade as well as the imaginative use of color.

Whether gangster cinema advocates and sustains patriarchy is an im-portant question to be discussed with respect to individual cases, butmore significant is the active exchange involving the industry, critics,and the audience on the representation of masculinity and how industryresponds to critical observations on the social significance and conse-quences of gangster cinema’s popularity.

We Are a ‘‘Family’’

The Gangster Comedy Cycle

The birth of gangster comedy may be attributed to the success of gang-ster films such as Friend: but prior to Friend, action comedies such as theTwo Cops series (Kang Woo-suk, Kim Sang-jin, 1993–1998) and the gang-ster comedy No. 3 began to form a cycle within the Korean film industry.High-concept comedies such as My Wife Is a Gangster and Marrying theMafia turned out to be lucrative. With a mid-range budget of $1.5 to 2.5million, the revenue from these movies was twenty times their original cost.MyWife Is a Gangster attracted over 5 million viewers, bagging $30 millionon a budget of $1.5 million,≥≥ and Marrying the Mafia marked the biggestlocal gross in 2003.

Gangster comedy targets two holiday seasons: the Korean Thanksgivingholiday, chusoek, and the lunar New Year’s Day, seol. With its growing andproven popularity, gangster comedy can secure the saturated booking thatblockbuster films enjoy and be seen on up to five hundred screens nation-wide. My Boss My Student (a.k.a. My Boss My Teacher, Kim Dong-won,2006), a sequel to My BossMy Hero (Yun Je-gyun, 2001), opened in over fourhundred theaters in the spring of 2006, while Marrying the Mafia III (2006)reached five hundred theaters. Over the past decade, gangster comedy hasestablished itself as a reliable moneymaker within the Korean film industryand the rare cycle that fostered successful sequels.≥∂ Remake rights to many

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of the gangster comedies were sold to Hollywood: Miramax bought theremake rights to MyWife Is a Gangster and Jail Breakers, while mgm pickedup Hi! Dharma!

In so-called sammai comedy, a term coined within the Korean industry,one-dimensional characters—gangsters, punks, or cops—with bad taste andmanners become major sources of humor. Examples include the Two Copsseries, No. 3, and Kim Sang-jin’s Attack the Gas Station (1999), Kick theMoon (2001), and Jail Breakers (2002). Other gangster comedies create gagsvia the role reversal that results from gangsters’ interaction with ordinarypeople (My Wife Is a Gangster, and Marrying the Mafia I, II) and the ‘‘fishout of water’’ scenarios, My Wife Is a Gangster II: The Legend Returns, Hi!Dharma! (Park Cheol-kwan, 2001), the My Boss My Hero series, and Ma-pado (Chu Chang-min, 2005).

The word sammai originally came from Japanese kabuki theater billingpractices. Sammaime refers to actors with third-tier billing, most of whomare comic actors with minor roles in the play, while nimaime, with second-ary billing, are often young and handsome male actors. In the Korean usagethe word is abbreviated, and it carries a connotation of ‘‘cheap’’ or ‘‘low.’’ No.3, which earned actor Song Kang-ho stardom for his stuttering characterand also helped circulate the word sammai, is a satiric portrayal of gangcodes of honor and loyalty. The film follows eight characters introduced inthe opening of the film: Tae-ju, his wife Hyeon-ji, district attorney Ma,starving hit man Jo-pil, a poet named Rimbaud, Ashtray, Do-shik the boss,and Do-shik’s wife Gina. The film revolves around the tangled relationshipsamong these eight characters, although Tae-ju and Ma become more salientthan the rest during the course of the film. Gangster film is parodied by anunflattering representation of gangsters themselves—for instance, Tae-ju’smullet hairstyle, Do-shik’s lack of manners, and Jo-pil’s struggle to make aliving—in contrast to the slick look of gangsters in Hong Kong and Koreangangster cinema. But more importantly, as ‘‘Swan,’’ the title of the first actindicates, this film underscores the hypocrisy and superficiality manifestedin the supposed trust between husband and wife, boss and subordinates, andcitizens and law enforcers. In No. 3, trust within each pair is easily broken.The first act demonstrates the instability of each relationship: Hyeon-ji hasan affair with her tutor Rimbaud; Do-shik is betrayed by his right-hand man;Tae-ju eventually becomes disloyal to Do-shik.

Kang and Kim solidify sammai comedy as a lucrative cycle. After thesuccess of Two Cops (1993), Kang Woo-suk directed its sequel Two Cops 2


(1996) and produced Two Cops 3 (1998). The Two Cops series revolvesaround a pair of police officers, a veteran and a rookie, who try to tame eachother as they work together. In the first installment, the veteran cop teachesthe stubborn rookie how to handle criminals and compromise with localmob officials. In its sequel, when the rookie-turned-veteran tries to pass ontips to a rookie, a behavior he learned from his previous partner, he findsthat the rookie is even more stubborn than he himself was a few yearsbefore.

The Two Cops series combines elements from various cycles, such asHollywood ‘‘buddy action’’ movies and Hong Kong gangster films. Through-out the Two Cops series, Hong Kong gangster movies function both as acommon reference and an object of satire. The Two Cops series evokes anatmosphere similar to that found in Hong Kong gangster films, emphasizingnight scenes and the mobsters’ lifestyle. Yet the series differentiates itself bypoking fun at some of the typical features of Hong Kong gangster films. Inboth the first and second Two Cops, the rookie claims that he wants to be acop because it is ‘‘cool.’’ The veteran quickly dismisses this notion by sayingthat the rookie has watched too many Hong Kong movies. And in the firstTwo Cops the rookie steals a bag of cocaine while investigating a theft andtries to sell it to mobsters. The veteran reluctantly joins in this venture. Ontheir way to trade cocaine for money, the cops predict that the mobsters willnot have guns because ‘‘this is not Hong Kong.’’ The mobsters predict thesame of our protagonists.

Kim Sang-jin, an assistant director to Kang and the director of TwoCops 3, spins off this trend. After teaming with a new film company, Fun andHappiness, he directed his breakthrough film Attack the Gas Station (1999),which features four adolescents robbing a gas station for no reason. His nextfilm, Kick theMoon (2001), has a more coherent narrative than his first, withgreater emphasis on the romantic plot. In it, two friends encounter oneanother ten years after they graduated from the same high school. The onewho used to be the tougher of the two now teaches at a local high school,while the one who was a geek during his high school years is now a powerfulmember of a mob syndicate. They compete for the love of the owner of asmall ramen noodle shop. Jail Breakers (2002), the last of Kim’s sammaicomedies, is closer to Attack the Gas Station in terms of its narrative struc-ture. In it, two inmates escape from prison, not knowing they are scheduledto be pardoned and released the next day.

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The success of Kang’s and Kim’s films contributes to the creation of abrand—sammai comedy—but an important difference should be noted be-tween the two directors with respect to both their both visual style and theirnarrative structure. Kang often creates visually parallel situations in whichrepetition and variation lead to comedic situations. For instance, in TwoCops 2 there are numerous parallels and contrasts in the actions of theveteran and of the rookie, as on the different occasions when each chases acriminal on a motorcycle. There are also many references to the first install-ment of Two Cops. Kim, on the other hand, relies on oblique angles andextreme close-ups to render the protagonists grotesque and humorous, as inAttack the Gas Station.

While the narrative structure of Kang’s films, especially Two Cops andTwo Cops 2, is additive, organized via visual and narrative parallels, that ofKim’s films, especially Attack the Gas Station and Jail Breakers, builds to-ward an explosive, chaotic battle near the end. All three films directed byKim—Attack the Gas Station, Kick the Moon, and Jail Breakers—containanarchic moments in which a fight takes place in the midst of a massivecrowd. In Attack the Gas Station there is a battle among the four mainprotagonists, some cops, and local gangs who are unintentionally broughtinto the fight. In Kick theMoon, a geek-turned-mob-boss is chased by both alocal cop and a gang. He and his high school teacher friend are nearly beatento death by members of a rival gang. Some of the teacher’s students join thefight to save both him and the mob boss. Eventually the cops arrive to stopthe fight. In Jail Breakers, the security chief begs the escapees to come backto prison before high-ranking officials come for an inspection. Hardened byphysical labor, other inmates instigate a riot and take over the prison.

Kim’s comedies may be compared to the anarchistic comedies of theMarx Brothers, although Attack the Gas Station lacks the dual plot struc-ture involving a conventional young romantic couple and a clown that isreminiscent of Hollywood anarchistic comedies of the 1920s and 1930s.≥∑

However, the tension between social order and disorder is a vital part of thenarrative, and it ultimately leads to a chaotic finale. The four adolescents inAttack the Gas Station are discontented with ‘‘repressive’’ social norms. InKick theMoon, high school—a setting, as we have seen, that is often found inKorean films—is portrayed as a place that restrains freedom and creativity.In Jail Breakers, two inmates try to escape from prison, a place where orderis strictly maintained—one for love, the other for freedom. The events in allthree films are, in one way or another, reactions against social norms.


It is interesting to note, however, that social order is restored—howeverweakly or ironically—at the end of Kim’s films. During the end credits ofAttack the Gas Station we see each character pursuing his dream and be-coming a legitimate member of society. Ironically, the rock music accom-panying the end credits undergoes a transition into the Korean nationalanthem. In Kick theMoon, the mob boss turns himself in to the police. In JailBreakers, the two escapees return to the prison and stop the riot. In the lastscene of the film, we see the two ex-convicts opening a bakery and a restau-rant and working as active members of their local community. These end-ings may be viewed merely as a generic closure that provides a temporaryend point for what has appeared to be a chaotic moment. Alternatively, suchendings may be seen as curbing the subversive undertone of the films. Re-gardless, Kim’s comedy forms an anarchic film cycle of a kind rarely foundin the Korean film industry. Kim’s partnership with the screenwriter ParkJeong-wu ended after their cooperation on Jail Breakers; Kim subsequentlydirected a ghost film called Ghost House (2004) and Park debuted as thedirector of Dance with the Wind (2003).

My Wife Is a Gangster begins with a lavish fight scene, as Romeo (a.k.a.Ppada) retells to his rookie friend Boxers (a.k.a. Ppanseu) the legend abouthis boss Eun-jin (a.k.a. Mantis) rescuing him and Mazingga from a gangbattle. The source of humor resides in the conflicting gender roles assignedto Eun-jin as both mob boss and wife. As a boss Eun-jin’s fighting skill islegendary; she is calm and well respected by her henchmen. As a wife, herandrogynous side gets in the way. Eun-jin tracks down her long-lost sisterafflicted with terminal cancer. The sister’s dying wish is to see her little sisterEun-jin get married and settle down. Inexperienced in the dating scene,Eun-jin gets tips on how to attract men from Sherrie, who works at a club. Aseries of gags emerge, based on Eun-jin’s lack of femininity, from the redcocktail dress that she wears on her first blind date, to her wedding gown,which reveals huge tattoos on her back. The comedy escalates when hersister hopes that Eun-jin will present her with a niece before she dies—butEun-jin needs lessons from Sherrie on how to consummate her marriagewith Su-il.

Fight scenes, especially the ones that feature Eun-jin at the beginning,middle, and end of the film, provide visual spectacles. However, each fightscene is handled in a different style. The opening sequence is a flashback byRomeo, who embellishes the legend of Eun-jin. Shot in an impressionisticstyle, it shows only fragmentary actions in silhouette against a darkly lit

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bluish background, and it includes references to Korean gangster films suchas Lee Myung-se’s Nowhere to Hide (1999). In the second fight scene, whichtakes place in a field, long grass partially blocks the view of both Eun-jin andthe Japanese-trained hit man she is fighting. The rhythm of their fight buildsslowly while preserving the integrity of the action. Character actions areclearly legible from shot to shot despite differing camera angles and scales.The scene is sometimes punctuated by offbeat witty moments, such as whenEun-jin disappears in the middle of the fight to urinate. The last fight scene,which takes place in a garage, includes more exaggerated action sequences.This time, Eun-jin fights alone against a group of gangsters to avenge thedeath of Romeo. Wired action sequences are juxtaposed with slow-motionreactions, not only to underscore the power of Eun-jin’s blows and kicks butto mark her heightened emotion.

Jeong Heung-sun directed the sequel, MyWife Is a Gangster: The LegendReturns, one year after his gangster comedy hit Marrying the Mafia. Thesequel relies less on the previously established persona of Eun-jin than on anentirely new persona that she takes on as a result of an accident. After fall-ing from a rooftop during a gang battle, she is found and eventually hiredby Jae-cheol, a Chinese restaurant owner. Widower Jae-cheol and his re-bellious teenage daughter grow attached to Eun-jin, while her henchmendesperately seek her whereabouts. Although sometimes Eun-jin’s mobsterattitude seeps into her present character—she teaches a foul-mouthed mer-chant a lesson and suppresses a robbery at a local bank—the sequel focuseson her futile attempts to regain her memory, utilizing shock therapy, hypno-sis, and spirituality. As the film nears its finale, Eun-jin’s past as a mob boss isrevealed to her neighbors. Eun-jin visits a pottery factory where her rivalgang, White Shark, is holding hostage Jae-cheol’s daughter, Ji-hyeon. Thefinal fight sequence, with its rough transition between the shots of Shin andshots of her stunt, is less elaborate than the one in the first installment. ChoJin-gyu, the director of the first installment, returned to direct the last in-stallment of MyWife Is a Gangster III, featuring Shu Qui and Lee Beom-su.

In My Wife Is a Gangster, courtship between a gangster and a laypersonconstitutes an integral part of the narrative development, though to a lesserdegree than in the sequel. Marrying the Mafia (2002) expands this plotfurther. A local mob family attempts to marry off their youngest daughter,Jin-gyeong, to Dae-su, who graduated from a prestigious university and iscurrently the ceo of an Internet company. Dae-su finds himself lying nextto Jin-gyeong after a drunken night. Jin-gyeong’s mob brothers threaten to


force him to marry her. In the sequel, Marrying the Mafia II (Jeong Yong-ki,2005), In-jae, the eldest son of a mob family led by his mother Deok-ja,rescues female prosecutor Jin-gyeong in a parking garage. Love blossomsbetween the two without Jin-gyeong knowing about In-jae’s background.

The treatment of marriage in the Marrying the Mafia series mirrors aswell as reverses the Korean melodrama plot in which the female protagonistmarries a man from a rich family in order to elevate her social status.Gangsters’ affluence, having been obtained by dubious means, certainlydoes not guarantee the respect they hope to earn from the public. What isironic, at least in the first installment, is the fact that the elite son-in-lawunintentionally ignites a battle between Jin-gyeong’s family and a rival mob.It is not Dae-su’s law degree that settles the unreasonable bill charged by anightclub owner but rather his phone call to his future brothers-in-law. Incontrast, in the second installment In-jae earns Jin-gyeong’s love throughhis redemption. The final scene ends with Deok-ja, the mob boss, dismissingher gang, while Jin-gyeong lovingly observes the scene.

Just as the gangster’s lack of legitimacy motivates a marriage with arespectable member of society in the Marrying the Mafia series, it gives riseto the need for further education in My Boss My Hero. Dusabuilche, theKorean title of the film, pokes fun at the Confucian dictum Gunsabuilche,which can be literally translated as ‘‘ruler, teacher, and father are one andthe same.’’ It promotes parallel devotions to father, teacher, and the state.In the Korean title of the film, gun (ruler) is replaced by du (boss), add-ing the connotation that a gang boss can demand the same kind of devotionand obligation from his henchmen as in the other five social relationshipsin Confucianism: father-son, ruler-minister, husband-wife, elder brother–younger brother, and friend-friend.

Du-sik, a middleman in a mob, is promised that he will be in charge of thelucrative downtown area when he earns a high school diploma. Instead offurthering his knowledge, however, Du-sik uncovers the corruption of theprincipal and his association with the underworld. The principal sexuallyharasses a female teacher and fires teachers who refuse to manipulate stu-dents’ grades. Yun-ju, a female student with whom Du-sik has developed aspecial bond, is severely beaten up by the principal and then expelled fromthe school after she posts a charge on a government Web site. Du-sik is atfirst hesitant to confront the school officials out of fear that he won’t be ableto graduate, but he eventually gives up his share of the promised territory inorder to join the teachers’ and students’ protest against the principal.

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In the sequel, My BossMy Student, Du-sik returns to high school, but thistime as a college student fulfilling his practicum requirement. He is assignedto teach ethics; even worse, his boss is enrolled as a student in his class. Du-sik manages to earn respect from some students and makes friends with oneof them: Mi-jeong. The sequel follows a formula similar to that used in thefirst installment. Du-sik’s action is triggered by the death of the female lead,who is the victim of sexual harassment by a teacher.

The idea that both the humor and the tragedy in this cycle stem from thegangsters’ motto dusabuilcha—meaning boss, teacher, and father are oneand the same—is untenable. The films in the series omit one of these threerelationships, that of father and son, and focus on the other two. Du-sik’srelationships with his sidekicks, Sang-du and Daegari, and with his boss,though absurd, are uncompromised, while the relationship between teach-ers and students within the institution is severely hampered. It is interestingto note that in the gangster melodrama examined earlier neither relation-ship is tenable. My Boss My Student begins with a voiceover by a femalestudent, reminiscing of the time she first met Du-sik. But Du-sik’s bond withhis students can only be maintained outside the institution. After the gangbattle with Shin Gang-nam and his henchmen, Du-sik goes to jail and is seenreading letters from his former student. The irony resides in the fact that hisoriginal intention to pursue higher education is undercut: in the first install-ment Du-sik gets expelled, and in the second he is fired.

Gangster comedy, like many cycles of Korean cinema, incorporates arange of conventions: those of gangster-hero cinema, action film, comedy,and melodrama. However, the tonal shift is more frequent and abrupt thanin gangster drama. In Friend, for example, the overall tone of the film gradu-ally darkens in accordance with the degradation of the friendship betweenDong-su and Jun-seok. In contrast, in gangster comedy the tone often fluc-tuates even within a single scene. For instance, in MyWife Is a Gangster, wesee Eun-jin in her office as a competent boss when Boxers is introduced toher. Shortly after, her deputy Mazingga receives a phone call that informsthem that Eun-jin’s long-lost sister has finally been located. A flashback tothe orphanage where Eun-jin and her sister grew up is then intercut withEun-jin heading to the hospital to meet her sister. Shot in black and white,the footage depicts Eun-jin’s deplorable childhood. After the sisters’ tearyreunion, we see Eun-jin threatening the doctors with a scalpel and orderingthem to save her sister! Or, as in the last battle in My Boss My Hero, thesolemn tone is only momentary and immediately undercut by Du-sik’s pass-


ing jokes and his sidekick’s asides. When Du-sik falls as a result of hisopponent dealing him a sudden blow to the head, Daegari holds the blood-ied Du-sik and asks whether he is okay. Du-sik bluntly answers, ‘‘Do I lookokay to you?’’ During one-on-one duels between the two gangs, Sang-duwhispers to a female teacher, Ms. Lee, detailing the impact of each blow as ifbroadcasting a boxing match.

A narrative twist that motivates the protagonist’s final line of action oftenoccurs three-quarters of the way through a film. The death of Romeo and ofJae-cheol in the MyWife Is a Gangster series seems unnecessary at the levelof narrative. Romeo dies after having been stabbed by a group of local punkswhile he was waiting for his girlfriend Sherri to show up. As he is dying inthe rain, he tells Sherri that he had planned to propose to her that night.The function of such twists, however, differs from those in the gangsterfilms examined earlier. In gangster cinema, the contingency of the narrative(rather than causal necessity) often makes the protagonist deliberate, some-times prohibiting him from effectively pursuing his goal; in gangster com-edy, on the other hand, the contingency propels the protagonist to act uponthe situation. For example, in the gangster melodrama Friend, the fact thatDong-su and Jun-seok used to be friends delays their retaliations againsteach other. Jun-seok orders his henchman to wait until after Dong-su andhis gang have attacked the fish factory. Dong-su’s death, even though it hasbeen ordered by Jun-seok himself, prevents him from fleeing the country.But in the comedy MyWife Is a Gangster, the death of Romeo not only yieldsthe emotionally charged final fight scene between Eun-jin and the WhiteShark gang but, more importantly, forces Eun-jin to avenge him. Similarly,in My Boss My Student Min-ju, who is a friend of Du-sik’s, has been sexuallyharassed by a teacher; and as she walks away she is accidentally killed by anoncoming vehicle. This accidental death sets Du-sik on the path of revenge,which was fueled by the anger first exhibited at Min-ju’s funeral.

Generic hybridity is one of the most prominent characteristics in Koreancinema: similar to those narrative shifts just discussed, it attempts to maxi-mize emotional impact. However, one should assess the apparent similari-ties with an eye on the differing narrative function of generic hybridity,despite the melodramatic undertone shared by both forms. As the incor-poration of melodrama convention within gangster cinema deprives theprotagonists of agency (in the sense that they act out of obligation and duty),in the gangster comedy sentimental moments are inserted to facilitate char-acters’ actions.

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4 I’m Not a Girl, Yet Not a Woman

Contemporary Korean Romance Films

With the corporate conglomeration of the Korean film indus-try, spectacle-driven action blockbusters and gangster cinema have emergedas attractive trends that appeal to filmmakers and audiences alike. How-ever, romance films’ box-office draws remained strong. Most notable isthe romantic comedy My Sassy Girl (Kwak Jae-young, 2001), which wassecond at the box office in 2001 (grossing $26 million) and then becamea pan-Asian phenomenon.∞ The romantic comedy My Tutor Friend (KimKyeong-hyeong, 2003) also drew more than 5 million admissions nation-wide ($25 million).≤ Melodrama cycles of the late 1990s turned out to belucrative. The Letter (Lee Jeong-guk, 1997) and A Promise (Kim Yu-jin,1998) were top-ten national box-office hits in 1998.≥ The Contact (JangYoon-hyun, 1997), AnAffair (E J-yong, 1998), and Christmas in August (HurJin-ho, 1998) enjoyed both box-office success and critical acclaim. Melo-drama resurfaced in 2004–2005 with such films as AMoment to Remember(John H. Lee, 2004) and You Are My Sunshine (Park Jin-pyo, 2005), drawingmore than 3 million in domestic audiences.

Romances on the big screen were welcomed by audiences in the wider EastAsian region as well. In Japan, My Sassy Girl earned $4.2 million in a limitedrelease in 2003, while Kwak’s subsequent romantic comedy, Windstruck,made $15.2 million in 2005.∂ AMoment to Remember (John H. Lee, 2004) seta box-office record of $25.6 million for Korean films released in Japan,∑ andoutperformed Korean megastar Bae Yong-joon’s April Snow (Hur Jin-ho,2005) with $21 million in box-office receipts.∏ Christmas in August, whichwas commercially released in Hong Kong, grossed 795,000 hkd.π

The local and regional popularity of South Korean romance films is sig-nificant: but not just as an industry financial success story. The popularity ofromance films and their stars in Southeast and East Asia indeed contributedto a Korean export boom in the region and ignited series of internationalcoproductions. Although disappointing at the box office, E J-yong’s sopho-more feature Asako in Ruby Shoes (2000) was a product of Koo & Film in


Korea and Shochiku Co. in Japan. Hur Jin-ho’s One Fine Spring Day (2001)was cofinanced by Korea’s Sidus, Japan’s Shochiku, and Hong Kong’s Ap-plause Pictures. Lee Hye-won, the marketing manager of then Sidus (cur-rently Sidus F&H), claims that cofinancing is an attractive strategy for localproducers: it lowers the financial risk by enabling films to reach the overseasmarket.∫ More importantly, as film scholar Chung Hye-seung notes, theregional success of melodrama and romantic comedy suggests that thereexists a shared regional sensibility and a longing for genteel love amongthe Asian regional audiences. This contests the prevalent theoretical as-sumption about Korean cinema that the melodramatic impulse manifest inKorean cinema is unique to its culture and sensibility, han.Ω

This chapter focuses on romance films. In South Korea, what Varietycalls ‘‘romancer’’ (Korean equivalent romance-mul) perhaps earned morecurrency in popular and critical discourse than within the industry, referringto films’ treatment of (often) heterosexual romance—both its comedic anddramatic variants.∞≠ Romance films’ appeal can be found in their versatilityand adaptability to audiences’ taste, responding quickly to changes in gen-der dynamics and cultivating an alternate conception of gender. Romanticcomedies such as ArtMuseum by the Zoo (Lee Jeong-hyang, 1998), My SassyGirl (Kwak Jae-young, 2001), and My Tutor Friend (Kim Kyeong-hyeong,2003), each of which features an eccentric heroine, attempt to destabilizethe binary categories of gender and open up more fluid forms of sexuality.The title of this chapter, ‘‘I’m Not a Girl, Yet Not a Woman’’ (a play on theBritney Spears song of the same title), nicely captures the liminal freedomassigned to female characters prior to their coming to terms with mother-hood. To what extent is such representation of gender influenced by thenorms of romantic or screwball comedies? Is the inversion of gender rolesused merely for comedic effect, or is it intended to subvert gender norms?

Unlike Korean gangster cinema, the genealogy of which is traced to HongKong gangster cinema of the 1980s and 1990s, this chapter finds a close tiebetween Korean and Japanese romance films. The popularity of formulaicromance on regional television and the audiences’ familiarity with it se-cures a certain demographic market, but this further provides local film-makers with room for narrative and stylistic experimentation. Although intelevision drama series more traditional obstacles such as parental objec-tions, class differences, and many kinds of health problems are employedto delay the union of a romantic couple, many romantic dramas utilize‘‘abstract blockage.’’ The Contact, Il Mare (Lee Hyun-seung, 2000), and

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Asako in Ruby Shoes (E J-Yong, 2000) use spatial and temporal barriers toprevent the union of heterosexual couples.

I’m Not a Girl, Yet Not a Woman

The immense popularity of My Sassy Girl in 2001 revived the box-officedraw of romantic comedy. Romantic comedy, both domestically producedand imported from Hollywood, constituted one of the prominent film cyclesin the early 1990s. The ‘‘battle of the sexes’’-style comedies of the early1990s, in such films as My Love, My Bride (Lee Myung-se, 1990) and TheMarriage Story (Kim Ui-seok, 1992) signaled the beginning of a cycle, fol-lowed by such films as Mr. Mama (Kang Woo-suk, 1992), How To TopMy Wife (Kang Woo-suk, 1994), A Different Kind of Man (Gaseum DallinNamja, Shin Seung-su, 1993) and Dr. Bong (Lee Gwang-hun, 1995). TheMarriage Story, a Sin-Cine production financed by Korean conglomerateSamsung, marks a significant turning point within the modernization pro-cess of the Korean film industry. It was preceded by a careful preproduc-tion and accompanied by audience-research-driven marketing. Korean filmscholar and critic Yu Ji-na attributes the box-office success of such a cycle toboth external and internal factors: the popularity of Hollywood romanceimports—especially the Nora Ephron–scripted Meg Ryan vehicle WhenHarry Met Sally (Rob Reiner, 1989) and Sleepless In Seattle (Nora Ephron,1993)—and the growing population of women in the South Korean work-place and female desire for gender equality.∞∞ The popularity of leadingactresses Choi Jin-sil, who earned fandom through television commercialsand drama, and Shim Hye-jin, who starred in such Korean New Wave filmsas Park Kwang-su’s The Black Republic (1990), further solidified the lucra-tive box-office draw of the cycle.

Romantic comedy, however, slowly gave way to a subdued romantic stylein the late 1990s as seen in The Contact (1997) and An Affair (1998). Thisshift also coincided with production companies’ efforts to cater to the tastesof a younger generation—teenagers and those in their early twenties—andwith a generational shift in talent, as increasingly younger stars were beingcast in major films. By the late 1990s, female stars such as Jeon Ji-hyun, KimHee-sun, Ko So-yong, Shim Eun-ha and Jeon Do-yeon, replaced the slightlyolder generation of actresses such as Choi and Shim Hye-jin, who led thebattle-of-the-sexes comedies half a decade previously. David Desser furtherclaims that the presence of young protagonists and talents in Korean film


indeed propelled the Korean industry boom into an international phenome-non.∞≤ The prevalence of high school, the transgeneric setting for manyKorean film cycles of this era, can be credited to such generational shiftsboth in talent and targeted audiences.

The specific appeal of romance films is that it fosters active crossover oftalents and facilitates media synergy among cinema, television, and theInternet. My Sassy Girl is an adaptation of the eponymous Internet column,which had already gained popularity on the net in August 1999.∞≥ Jeon andCha, male and female leads in My Sassy Girl, starred as a couple in thetelevision drama series Happy Together (aired on SBS from June 16–Aug. 5,1999). My Tutor Friend, which is also based on the novel posted on theInternet, stars Kim Ha-neul, another crossover celebrity. Kim’s debut was inthe film Bye June (1998), but she earned recognition for her role on thetelevision show Happy Together, costarring with Jeon and Cha. Not onlyfemale leads but also male actors such as Lee Byung-hun, Jang Dong-gun,and Kwon Sang-woo crossed over to the film industry after successful tele-vision careers.

During the first decade of the twenty-first century, Korean televisionprograms have grown enormously popular throughout Asia. Represented byYun Seok-ho’s Season series—Autumn Tale (2000), Winter Sonata (2002),Summer Scent (2004), and Spring Waltz (2006)—the Korean miniseriesdrama continues to stir the melodramatic imagination of its female audi-ence. Hallyu (or ‘‘Korean Wave’’) had gained a following in Taiwan butreached its peak with the Japanese craze surrounding Winter Sonata. Theseries, which originally aired in Korea in 2002, appeared twice on NHK(Japan’s public television network) in 2004. During his first visit to Japan, BaeYong-joon, who has gained international fame from his role in Winter So-nata, was mobbed by thousands of female fans.∞∂ Hallyu became one of theregion’s most discussed cultural phenomena.

The significance of hallyu can be assessed on both commercial and cul-tural grounds. Korean actors’ fame not only yields international revenue forthe Korean entertainment industry but has also spurred cultural exchange inthe region. Content-hungry cable networks, in conjunction with audiences’demands for Korean dramas (or ‘‘K-’’ dramas), provide the Korean entertain-ment industry with an ample ancillary market. Rights to distribute Koreancinema, piggybacked on the craze surrounding Korean movie stars, arepresold to neighboring countries. April Snow (Hur Jin-ho, 2005), which fea-tures Bae as the male lead, was presold its distribution rights for $7.5 million

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to Japan, and it is one of the first Korean films released simultaneously inKorea, Japan, Taiwan, Hong Kong, Singapore, and Malaysia.∞∑ Korean filmexports benefited from Korean stars such as Choi Ji-woo and Kwon Sang-woo, who earned fame for their work in the popular drama series WinterSonata and Stairway to Heaven (sbs, Dec. 3, 2003–Feb. 5, 2004): Kwon’sromance Almost Love (Cheongchunmanhwa, $ 4.5 million) and crime-stillerRunning Wild ($4 million), and Choi’s Yeonriji Here and Forever ($3.5. mil-lion).∞∏ With the growing interest in Korean dramas, tourism in Korea hasalso soared. Several Web sites have been launched to promote tourismin the locations where popular dramas such as Winter Sonata and Stairwayto Heaven were filmed. In 2004 the number of Japanese tourists visitingKorea increased by 38 percent compared to the previous year.∞π AlthoughKorean television drama attracted a wider range of viewers around the globethan Korean films,∞∫ romance films ‘‘reached’’ both Europe and the UnitedStates via adaptations—The Contact was remade in Germany as Frau2 seeksHappyend (Edward Berger, 2001), My Sassy Girl and Il Mare were remade inthe United States as My Sassy Girl (Yann Samuell, 2008) and The Lake House(Alejandro Agresti, 2006), respectively. The Lake House was ranked fourthat the box office in its opening week and drew $52 million in U.S. box-officereceipts.∞Ω

Despite the growing importance of romantic films in the region, con-temporary romantic comedy is neglected by scholarly discourse, comparedto the South Korean melodrama of the golden age. According to leadingSouth Korean feminist film scholar Kim Soyoung, yeosong film refers to‘‘both films that targeted a female audience and explicitly feminist films.’’≤≠

Romantic comedy partially falls under the rubric of yeosong film in thatit targets female audiences in their twenties and thirties. However, manydiscussions center on the representation of female sexuality in South Ko-rean melodramas of the 1950s and 1960s.≤∞ Romantic comedy may seem tolack the subversive dimension assigned to the melodramas of Korean direc-tors from the 1960s such as Shin Sang-ok, Han Hyeong-mo, and Kim Ki-yeong. Postwar melodramas Madame Freedom (Han Hyeong-mo, 1956) andThe Housemaid (Kim Ki-young, 1960) unearth a repressed female sexualitythat lurks behind the longing for a modern lifestyle. Romantic heroines havenot yet been the subject of scholarly discussion the way melodrama has.Instead, more attention has been given to contemporary documentariessuch as The Murmuring (Byun Young-joo, 1995), which portray so-calledcomfort women and their experiences.≤≤ Romantic heroines may be seen as


succumbing to a conventional life: a heterosexual union and often mar-riage.≤≥ Such an assessment of the cycle as a whole, however, is weak; forwhile complying with formulaic conventions, each film portrays the genderdynamic rather differently. In the paragraphs that follow, I will examinethree romantic comedies featuring the ‘‘eccentric’’ heroine and discuss howgender roles are differently configured.

My Sassy Girl, the English title of the 2001 Korean romantic comedy hitYeobgi-jeogin Geunyeo, does not adequately characterize the eccentric be-havior of the female protagonist, played by Jeon Ji-hyun. She bosses herboyfriend Gyeon-u around, beats him up, and publicly embarrasses him.Her behavior is hardly sassy; it is rather hysterical, even sadistic. The eccen-tric heroine presented in My Sassy Girl is a recurring character type incontemporary Korean romantic comedy. Eccentric heroines in contempo-rary Korean romantic comedy can best be characterized in terms of their‘‘boyishness’’ in both physique and personality. These heroines are lacking insigns of adult female sexuality. Their slim bodies, curveless figures, or theirloose-fitting clothing conceal their femininity. These heroines also lack themarkers of motherhood: they are clumsy and hardly domestic. Chun-hui inArt Museum by the Zoo, for example, walks barefoot in her apartment like aboy and imitates chimpanzee noises at the dinner table. Unlike the manytelevision commercials featuring Jeon, in which the sensuality of her body isaccentuated, My Sassy Girl presents Jeon as a rather desexualized characterwho hides her sensuality with casual clothing. In My Tutor Friend Su-wanexpresses her frustration at Ji-hun, an unruly student she is tutoring, byscreaming in the church confessional. The eccentric behavior of romanticheroines serves first and foremost as a narrative device to achieve a comiceffect. However, an examination of how the narrative posits the origin ofsuch behavior will further illuminate how female sexuality or agency isviewed or fantasized.

Art Museum by the Zoo, directed by Lee Jeong-hyang, features a couplefalling in love with each other after a brief forced living arrangement. Cheol-su, who is on vacation from active duty, visits his girlfriend, Da-hye. Da-hye,however, has already moved out of her old apartment without informingCheol-su. Chun-hui, who shoots wedding videos, lives in Da-hye’s old apart-ment. Chun-hui has a crush on In-gong, a secretary of the Senate, who is apopular guest at many of the wedding ceremonies Chun-hui has been as-signed to. Cheol-su runs into Chun-hui’s landlady, who complains about the

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rent being late. Thinking that Da-hye owes the landlady money, Cheol-supays the rent on her behalf. But Cheol-su soon learns that Da-hye is engagedto someone else. Chun-hui is short of money and unable to pay Cheol-suback until she gets her next paycheck, and Cheol-su has no place to stay: sothe two decide to live together in the studio apartment until Cheol-su mustreturn to military duty. Cheol-su also volunteers to help Chun-hui finish afilm script that she hopes to submit for a contest.

A gender inversion between Chun-hui and Cheol-su in the beginningof the film creates a tension between the sexes. Chun-hui is boyish—‘‘unladylike’’—while Cheol-su displays feminine traits. Cheol-su complainsabout Chun-hui’s dusty apartment. Chun-hui is clumsy: she has no drinkingglasses left because all of them have been broken. Chun-hui’s curly hair isalways messy, and she feels more comfortable in a sweatshirt and baseballcap than in formal attire. Cheol-su, on the other hand, is domestic. Cheol-suknows how to cook, and he cleans the apartment in Chun-hui’s absence. Heeven cries—although with his back to Chun-hui—when Chun-hui reads herfavorite poem.

Nevertheless, male and female characters still retain conventional genderroles. Chun-hui’s infatuation with ‘‘platonic’’ love makes her fall for In-gong, whom she barely knows, while Cheol-su’s rejection by Da-hye makeshim retreat from his true emotions. While Cheol-su explains events scientif-ically, Chun-hui takes a more empathetic approach. For example, whenChun-hui enjoys a sunset, Cheol-su informs her that it is just dust makingthe sun look red. And when, as they work on their film script, Da-hye tellsIn-gong that the earth is the star that all the other stars envy the most, In-gong bluntly corrects her by saying that the earth is not a star but a planet.Their opposite perspectives underscore Chun-hui’s naiveté as well as herimmaturity.

Throughout the film, Chun-hui’s sexual inexperience is the butt of Cheol-su’s jokes. Cheol-su asserts his superiority to Chun-hui with respect to sex.When Chun-hui and Cheol-su discuss their sleeping arrangements, Chun-hui insists that she will take the bed, as if it is her sanctuary. Cheol-sudismisses that idea quickly and says that he has been sleeping in the bed—which used to be Da-hye’s—longer than Chun-hui has, thereby revealinghis premarital sexual relationship with Da-hye. Furthermore, Cheol-su de-mands that they insert sex scenes in their film script, claiming that withoutsexually charged scenes viewers will not be interested. Chun-hui, however, is


not coy about her virginity. She declares that she does not take such a matterlightly and that if someone cares enough about her he will understand andrespect her decision.

The differences between the hero and heroine in romantic comedies canbe reconciled only after the two mature as a result of their interaction.Throughout the film, the mutual learning process between Chun-hui andCheol-su is projected onto the changing relationship between their charac-ters In-gong and Da–hye, whom Chun-hui and Cheol-su have named afterthe objects of their affection. Both of the film’s protagonists, like Chun-huiand Cheol-su, eventually learn to love each other. One common feministcriticism of romantic comedy as a ‘‘conservative’’ genre resides in the factthat although the transformation of a couple in romantic comedy is mutual,it is often the case that males and females are not transformed equally. AsSteve Neale points out, it is mostly men who educate women.≤∂

A similar observation can be made about the gender dynamic in ArtMuseum by the Zoo. Chun-hui is the one who becomes educated by Cheol-su—about femininity as well as about sexuality. Also, throughout the film,Cheol-su becomes more and more attentive to Chun-hui’s needs—buyingplastic glasses that won’t break or buying a stereo that she couldn’t afford.However, it must be said that Cheol-su is portrayed as a nurturer from thebeginning of the film, and Chun-hui appreciates that quality in him. On theother hand, we witness more character development on Chun-hui’s part.Chun-hui’s boyish behavior becomes more subdued as the film unfolds. Shefollows the instructions suggested or imposed by Cheol-su: she dries herumbrellas in the sun, wears socks, and no longer makes chimpanzee noisesat the dinner table. It is Chun-hui who launches the film as well as the filmscript, but it is Cheol-su who decides how both stories end.

To a certain extent, however, Art Museum by the Zoo complicates theapparent gender inequality sketched above. The romantic plot between afictional couple in Chun-hui’s script functions as more than just a site onwhich Chun-hui and Cheol-su can project their own hopes and frustrationsin romantic relationships. More importantly, it functions as a reflexive de-vice, playing with and commenting on generic norms and closure. Therigidity of In-gong’s character and the childishness of Da-hye’s—as evidentin her costumes, hair, voice, and diction—are not a sign of the couple’splayfulness as they would be in a conventional romantic comedy; but theydo become a source of humor. By exaggerating gender stereotypes and theconventional characteristics of a romantic couple, the film underscores the

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artificiality and the constructed nature of gender and sexuality as it is de-picted in romantic comedy.

Toward the end of the film, Chun-hui herself questions the plausibil-ity of the happy ending for In-gong and Da-hye. Nevertheless, Chun-huiand Cheol-su’s romantic relationship mimics that of the fictional couple,no matter how artificial it may be. The convergence of these two plots—combining the fictional and the real—in the film is also indicated toward theend of the film. Cheol-su, before he returns to the military base, and Chun-hui, after she realizes Cheol-su has left, return to the museum and the zooseparately: places that each would possibly visit. On their respective visits,Chun-hui and Cheol-su pass the fictional couple—In-gong and Da-hye—riding a bicycle. In-gong and Da-hye are not only linked the soon-to-be-united ‘‘real’’ couple spatially but also foreshadow the generic outcome oftheir romantic journey. Cheol-su and Chun-hui finally meet under signsthat point in the direction of the museum and zoo, respectively. Cheol-sukisses Chun-hui and says, ‘‘This is how I ended the script. Do you like it?’’Chun-hui smiles and then nods silently. The narrative conflict betweenChun-hui and Cheol-su can be resolved only via Chun-hui’s reconceptual-ization of romantic love, but it still cannot escape the same generic ending asIn-gong and Da-hye experience.

Recent scholarship carefully reexamines the implications of the apparentaffirmation of romantic love in contemporary romantic comedy. Althoughthe generic ending of what Neale classifies as the ‘‘new romance’’ of the1980s and 1990s is ‘‘happy,’’ it signifies something rather different fromthe heterosexual unions characterizing romantic comedies of the 1930sand 1940s. New romances assert the previously discredited values of old-fashioned romance or courtship in the ‘‘nervous comedy’’ of the 1970s,exemplified by Woody Allen’s Annie Hall (1977) and Manhattan (1979), butthey do so self-consciously, which underscores the fabricated nature ofromantic love, as in When Harry Met Sally (1989), or presents it merely aswish-fulfillment, as in Pretty Woman (1990).≤∑

Art Museum by the Zoo is in many respects indebted to When Harry MetSally, including the insertion of couples’ interviews about how they metand fell in love, and its use of jazz music. The union between Harry andSally, however, appears to signify something rather different from that ofCheol-su and Chun-hui. If the former takes the form of a negotiation that theprotagonists come to embrace after their awareness of the illusion of love,the latter—at least on Chun-hui’s part—is the first step toward the un-


masking of the illusion of love. As Krutnik puts it in When Harry Met Sally,‘‘What impels the film’s validation of heterosexual monogamy is not a gen-uinely romantic vision of transcendent union but the terror of isolation.’’≤∏

In contrast, Chun-hui has not yet experienced a ‘‘real’’—not imaginary—relationship with a ‘‘real’’ man and the subsequent complications that wouldnaturally arise from such a relationship. Chun-hui is suspicious of the im-plausible happy ending for her fictional characters, but she still hopes thatboth the fictional and real-life endings are the same.

Although Art Museum by the Zoo selectively incorporates the genericconventions of both romantic comedy and screwball comedy, its adoptionof these norms seems rather minimal. First, the eccentricities that charac-terize Chun-hui are rather weak compared to those of other contemporaryKorean romantic heroines, such as Jeon in My Sassy Girl or Su-wan in MyTutor Friend. Secondly, the union of the romantic couple in this film is de-layed not by external circumstances such as parental figures, romantic rival-ries, or class differences, but by character flaws. There exist false couples—‘‘Cheol-su and Da-hye’’ and ‘‘Chun-hui and In-gong’’—but their roles aredownplayed. Except for a few occasions, such as the brief encounter be-tween Chun-hui and In-gong in an elevator and a three-way meetingbetween Cheol-su, Chun-hui, and Da-hye at a restaurant, we rarely see theminteract. The presence of In-gong and Da-hye mostly remains off screen.Unlike the Hollywood screwball comedies of the 1930s, in which classdifferences—and conflicting class ideologies—function as an obstacle tothe union of the romantic couple, as in It Happened One Night (1934), sucha tension does not bear great narrative significance in Art Museum by theZoo. One reason Cheol-su is rejected by Da-hye is because Cheol-su is stillserving in the military and thus is unable to provide the financial securityDa-hye expects from marriage. However, such class difference is pushedaside. Most importantly, Art Museum by the Zoo lacks one of the quin-tessential elements of screwball comedy: the ‘‘playfulness’’ of the couple.Although Cheol-su and Chun-hui console each other over the emotionalwounds they have received from previous love interests, they hardly mani-fest the ‘‘playfulness’’ that signals the ‘‘compatibility’’ and ‘‘specialness’’ of acouple. This is because both the male and female characters are introverted.The two seem compatible, but there is nothing ‘‘special’’ about them.

My Sassy Girl pushes gender inversion further as a comic device. Rankedin the top two at the box office in 2001 (next to Friend), My Sassy Girlbrought legacy back to Shin Cine, a production company that initiated the

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‘‘battle of the sexes’’ comedy cycle in the early 1990s with its film The Mar-riage Story (1992). However, despite the apparent quirky behavior of thefemale protagonist, referred to only as ‘‘she’’ throughout the film, My SassyGirl embodies a rather conservative gender ideology. The tripartite nar-rative structure— ‘‘first half,’’ ‘‘second half,’’ and ‘‘overtime’’—reflects thedevelopment of the courtship between Gyeon-u and ‘‘she.’’ In the ‘‘first half ’’we witness how Gyeon-u and ‘‘she’’ ‘‘meet cute.’’ Gyeon-u is misidentified asher boyfriend because ‘‘she’’ calls him ‘‘Honey’’ when she vomits on a fellowpassenger’s head in a subway. In the ‘‘second half,’’ the relationship betweenGyeon-u and her develops into mutual affection, but it faces obstacles be-cause ‘‘she’’ feels guilt over her boyfriend, who has passed away. In ‘‘over-time,’’ the uncertain prospect of the romantic relationship between the twois resolved—but only by pure luck and chance.

Jeon’s character possesses an odd combination of feminine and ado-lescent boyish traits. Jeon’s long hair and slim body make her resemblea typical female character from sunjeong manhwa (shojo manga in Japanese;a girl’s comic book). But ‘‘she’’ gets drunk, vomits in public, walks up tostrangers to lecture them about propriety, beats up her boyfriend, and makesher boyfriend walk in her high-heeled shoes. Gyeon-u lets his girlfriend bosshim around, sometimes willingly and sometimes unwillingly. Despite theirsemisadomasochistic relationship, Gyeon-u’s and her playfulness marks thecouple as special. For example, on the hundredth day after they met, ‘‘she’’asks Gyeon-u to bring his high school uniform to the campus. Wearing theseuniforms, they visit places underage youngsters are forbidden to go, such asnightclubs and bars. They dance, drink, and smoke, enjoying their pretendedadolescent rebellion as high school students.

As the film unfolds, however, it takes a melodramatic turn, identifyingthe eccentric behavior of Jeon’s character as a mere front for her vulnerablenature: she acts tough in order to overcome the sorrow she feels about thedeath of her ex-boyfriend. Such a shift of genre and tone takes agency awayfrom Jeon’s character. Eccentric women and their deviation from socialnorms not only become a source of laughter but also represent a challengeto patriarchal social norms and restrictions. In the beginning of the film,‘‘she’’ is discontented with conventional gender representations and tries todistance herself from sentimentality. For example, in her treatment entitled‘‘Demolition Terminator,’’ which parodies The Terminator, it is a femalewarrior who comes to earth from the future to save her boyfriend. Onanother occasion, Gyeon-u attributes most Koreans’ fondness for melo-


drama to a famous Korean short story called ‘‘Showers’’; particularly influen-tial is its sentimental but deeply suggestive ending, which resonates as aninnocent adolescent love. A girl spends an afternoon with a boy underneatha hut during a summer shower. The boy later finds out that the girl wasseriously ill. As a dying wish, the girl asks her parents to bury her in theclothes she wore that rainy day. ‘‘She’’ expresses dissatisfaction with thesentimental ending and insists that it be rewritten. In their imaginary re-enactment of the story, her character’s dying wish is a request that the boy beburied alive with her.

However, the sentimental side of Jeon’s character gradually overshadowsher eccentric side. One sequence begins as ‘‘she’’ introduces Gyeon-u to herdate, thereby betraying the sadistic aspect of her behavior. In hers absence,Gyeon-u gives her date a list of rules to observe when around her, and thenhe leaves the café. Moved by Gyeon-u’s considerateness, ‘‘she’’ runs off look-ing for him. Desperately, she calls Gyeon-u’s name in the announcing boothof a subway station. Although she punches Gyeon-u in the face when hefinally embraces her in the booth, the scene is still marked by her sentimen-tality. The most sentimental scene takes place soon after Jeon’s father for-bids Gyeon-u to see his daughter. Before the two break up, they decide totake a trip to the vicinity of Seoul. Unbeknownst to Gyeon-u, ‘‘she’’ acknowl-edges to herself that she is unable to erase the memory of her deceasedboyfriend. The revelation of her ‘‘true’’ self and feelings makes the viewerreassess, in retrospect, the eccentric behavior of Jeon’s character. Unfortu-nately, My Sassy Girl stops short of locating female eccentricities in theirsexual desires. That is, female eccentric behavior is not presented as a posi-tive liberation from the norm, but rather as a defensive mechanism to copewith emotional vulnerability.

My Sassy Girl combines the conventions of screwball comedy with thesentimentality of romantic drama, and perhaps this is the reason for the film’spopularity.≤π In screwball comedy of the 1930s and 1940s, as Neale notes,courtship is conducted without such sentimentality, taking instead the formof a competition.≤∫ Despite the fact that My Sassy Girl is divided into threeparts like a sporting event—first half, second half, and overtime—the battlebetween the sexes comes to an end rather early. There is an attempt onGyeon-u’s part to get even with Jeon by acting the same way she did: becom-ing intoxicated and acting irresponsibly. However, he miserably loses thebattle and ends up in jail. The rest of the narrative is episodic, stressing thebelief that chance will bring a couple together if they are ‘‘meant to be.’’

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If the battle of the sexes is downplayed in My Sassy Girl—as a result ofGyeon-u’s voluntary submission to his girlfriend—My Tutor Friend furtherexploits the combative nature of romantic courtship in screwball comedy.Su-wan, a college student, tutors Ji-hun, a rich, spoiled high school student.Despite the fact that Su-wan, played by Kim Ha-neul, is more androgynousthan Chun-hui or Jeon in the other two films examined so far, Su-wanis paired up with Ji-hun, a more masculine type than either Cheol-su orGyeon-u. The scene in which Su-wan and Ji-hun are introduced is crosscutwith scenes in which we see Su-wan being harassed by mischievous boysduring her tutoring, while Ji-hun beats up his high school peers at the gym.Ji-hun’s masculinity is foregrounded throughout the film; we, like Su-wan,witness his virility numerous times.

Unlike My Sassy Girl, in which characters do not have specific goals otherthan having fun—they would rather waste time together than do anythingelse—the narrative of My Tutor Friend comprises a dual structure: Ji-hunmust graduate from high school in order to receive financial support fromhis father, and he will achieve his goal with help from Su-wan. In the first halfof the film, the narrative revolves around the power game of the tutor-pupilrelationship. The film repeatedly cuts back to Ji-hun’s room where the tutor-ing takes place, and it observes the changing power dynamic between Ji-hunand Su-wan. Su-wan is at first intimidated by Ji-hun’s unruly behavior. Hesmokes in front of her without asking permission, suggests that they use aPlayboy magazine as an English textbook, and makes fun of Su-wan’s an-drogynous body. However, when Ji-hun treats her as if she is a replaceablecommodity, Su-wan refuses to tolerate his arrogance. Su-wan’s triumphlasts only momentarily, though. After she witnesses Ji-hun’s fight with hispeers on a building rooftop Su-wan is physically intimidated by him.

However, it would seem that the battle between Ji-hun and Su-wan mustend as soon as Ji-hun’s father presents himself as an immediate obstacle toJi-hun’s goal. One day Ji-hun is severely wounded in a fight and is arrested bythe police. His father bails him out and orders him to return to the UnitedStates in order to stay out of trouble. Ji-hun pleads with his father to allowhim to stay in Korea, promising that he will pass his midterm exam with amark of more than 50 percent. Ji-hun seeks help from Su-wan, but he soonturns this occasion into a battle of the sexes by daring Su-wan to dance infront of a crowd if he succeeds in his task.

My Tutor Friend explores quite conventional devices, such as the use ofparental figures, class difference, or ‘‘false couples’’ to delay the a couple’s


union, unlike Art Museum by the Zoo or My Sassy Girl, in which the block-ages to a romantic union are internal to the characters (character flaws) orexternal but not fully developed. It is true that there are parental figures inboth My Sassy Girl and My Tutor Friend, with their narrative function moreprominent in the latter than in the former. Both parents of Jeon’s characterin My Sassy Girl disapprove of Gyeon-u, but they do not function as a realobstacle to the union of the two. Their roles are rather subsidiary, becausethe real cause of the break-up between Jeon’s character and Gyeon-u is theguilt she feels in relation to her deceased boyfriend rather than her parents’disapproval. On the other hand, Ji-hun’s father in My Tutor Friend bothblocks and facilitates the romantic union between Ji-hun and Su-wan. If Ji-hun cannot meet his father’s demand, Ji-hun and Su-wan will not be given achance to become a couple; at the same time, in order for Ji-hun to stay inthe country as he wishes, he needs help from Su-wan.

Perhaps the most difficult obstacle to overcome in Ji-hun and Su-wan’sunion is the conflicting class ideology between the two. The romantic con-flict between them is, to a certain extent, a displacement of the class conflictbetween two families. Su-wan’s father lost his job during an economic de-pression, and her family now owns a small restaurant that specializes inchicken dishes. Sometimes Su-wan herself delivers the food. On the otherhand, Ji-hun’s family is wealthy, although by rather dubious means. In hisprayer at the dinner table, Ji-hun’s father thanks all the famous gangsters inmodern Korean history, and he keeps his henchmen around him in hisoffice. Su-wan is personally offended not so much by Ji-hun’s bad behavioras his vanity and his disrespect for her. It is when Ji-hun throws a couplehundred dollars at Su-wan for a taxi ride that Su-wan finally explodes. Su-wan’s perception of Ji-hun as a rich, spoiled high school kid blinds her fromseeing him for who he truly is and accepting his feelings for her. While theyare skydiving, Ji-hun confesses that he has feelings for Su-wan, but shepretends that she cannot hear him. A few scenes later, in an amusementpark, Su-wan and Ji-hun run into a friend of Su-wan’s who suspects that theyare in a relationship. Su-wan strongly denies such a possibility, telling herfriend that she wouldn’t date a high school student. Ji-hun accuses Su-wanof snobbishness and claims she is no different from Ho-gyeong, a girl who isafter Ji-hun for his money. Neither Ho-gyeong nor Su-wan is able to see aperson for what he or she is; they see only what he or she has.

Although less potent than class conflict, the false couples in My Tutor

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Friend do add another layer to narrative conflict. Ho-gyeong, who desires Ji-hun, is more or less a female version of Ji-hun. A wealthy spoiled high schoolgirl as hot-tempered as Ji-hun, Ho-gyeong buys Ji-hun expensive gifts suchas Calvin Klein perfume and a Bulgari watch. Si-gyeong, the object of Su-wan’s affection, is a mirror image of Su-wan, and the opposite of Ji-hun. He,like Su-wan, is innocent, compassionate, and generous; but unlike Ji-hun heis short and effeminate. The viewer is soon cued to suspect that Ji-hun andSu-wan are involved with the wrong people. Ji-hun does not enjoy Ho-gyeong’s company. When they are singing karaoke songs together they areconstantly interrupted for one reason or another—first by the malfunction-ing machine, then by the police. Because of his devotion to God, Si-gyeongmust give up Su-wan. The presence of these blocking characters is less anarrative device than a way of presenting a wide spectrum of gender—frommasculine to effeminate to androgynous to feminine.

Ji-hun and Su-wan are nearly at the opposite ends of the gender spectrum,but Su-wan is wiser and more knowledgeable than Ji-hun. ‘‘Education,’’which may be taken as a metaphor for a relationship in romantic comedy,has a literal role in MyTutor Friend in the form of ‘‘tutoring.’’ However, whatJi-hun learns from Su-wan is not so much knowledge as independence, asense of fun, sincerity, and compassion for other people. Having lost the betwith Ji-hun on whether he could earn more than 50 percent in his midtermexam, Su-wan dances in front of a crowd at her college to the female singerPark Ji-yoon’s song ‘‘Seong-in-sik.’’ While the lyric says ‘‘I’m no longer a girl,’’Su-wan at first appears to be embarrassed, but soon she enjoys making aspectacle of herself (figure 4.1). When Ho-gyeong cries hopelessly like a childafter Ji-hun chooses Su-wan over her, Su-wan consoles her.

Unlike the other heroines examined so far, whose eccentricities are tem-pered toward the end of the film, Su-wan retains her personality and agency.In the final fight scene, despite the fact that Su-wan is physically helpless andweaker than most of the other characters in the scene, she manages torescue Ji-hun. Ji-hun falls to the ground after fighting with a gang boss.Anxiously observing the fight between the two men from afar, Su-wan getsup, swiftly jumps over the bodies on the ground, and kicks the boss frombehind in the groin, stopping the seemingly endless fight. In the next shot,we see Su-wan driving away on her red scooter with Ji-hun on the back seat,reflecting the reversal in the power relationship between the two.

The romantic union in this film implies neither marriage nor a socio-


Figure 4.1 Su-wan enjoys the attention from the enthusiastic crowd.(My Tutor Friend, Kim Kyeong-hyeong, 2003)

economic change for Su-wan. The last scene of the film indicates that Su-wan will maintain her freedom as a college student for a while longer. In Ji-hun’s room, Su-wan is seated in the same position as she was earlier inthe film when she taught Ji-hun; now she teaches another student, Sae-hun,Ji-hun’s brother. The union of Ji-hun and Su-wan provides her with anotherjob—according to Su-wan’s mother early in the film, ‘‘enough money to payfor her tuition’’—and Ji-hun’s role remains merely as a helper in taminganother rebellious student.

Katherine Rowe, in The Unruly Woman, claims that the unruliness offemale protagonists in the comedic genre may be associated not only withovert sexuality—as with Lady Lou (played by Mae West) in She Done HimWrong—but also with virginity—as with Ellen in It Happened One Night.≤Ω

While melodrama explores the sacrifice and suffering associated with mater-nity and motherhood, the comedic genre explores the liminal freedom as-signed to the female virgin. Rowe argues that female virginity does not signifya prohibition against sex: but it is, rather, a shelter from maternity and ameans to obtain freedom.≥≠ The playfulness of the comic heroine in romanticor screwball comedy is partly attributable to the fact that she has no children.

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Such status frees a female protagonist from having familial responsibility andprovides the heroine with room for at least limited freedom.

However, it is not virginity per se that endows the heroine with freedom.All the female characters examined in this section are in transition fromadolescence to mature womanhood—they are not girls, and yet not women—but their agency and freedom also depend upon other factors, such asfinancial independence. Moreover, there is no indication that the union of acouple in the film implies the loss of female virginity. If so, virginity—aseeming virtue for an unmarried woman in Korea—connotes rather dif-ferent things for each heroine. In Art Museum by the Zoo—the film thattalks about virginity most explicitly among the three films—Chun-hui has ajob, if not a high-paying job, and manages to live by herself. Her apartmentprovides her with a protective harbor for her fantasies and illusions of love.Despite the fact that Chun-hui is twenty-six years old, she still daydreamsabout In-gong, who she does not even dare speak with. Her fantasy crum-bles only with Cheol-su’s intrusion into both her private space and herimagination. On the other hand, Jeon lives with her parents and is beingpressured to marry. Her mother constantly sends her on blind dates andattempts to find her a good candidate for a husband. In the last scene, both‘‘she’’ and Gyeon-u are dressed up to meet Gyeon-u’s aunt. Perhaps thewhole film simply traces the two ‘‘growing up’’ together. However, it isuncertain whether this union will allow Jeon’s character to retain her eccen-tric self or force her to take on an adult self; also uncertain is to what extentthis union will allow her to prolong her freedom. Su-wan, who makes justenough money to pay her college tuition, is well aware of the financialburdens her family faces. However, such a financial burden does not makeher feel ashamed—unlike many heroines of melodrama; instead, it becomesthe source of her energy, maturity, and sincerity. As indicated in the lastscene, Su-wan will retain her independence and freedom, although to alimited extent, by tutoring a student and maintaining her eccentricity.

The apparent similarity of the eccentric heroines in these romantic come-dies may disguise a contradiction embedded in gender roles. Although Jeon’scharacter in My Sassy Girl appears to be the most eccentric female pro-tagonist—to the point that she beats her boyfriend!—the film fails to sustainher rebellious behavior. In contrast, My Tutor Friend, despite its employ-ment of all the conventional devices of romantic comedy, presents Su-wan asan independent and sincere female character who can assert herself as well askick a man’s butt—without becoming masculinized.


Until Chance Brings Us Back Together

In My Sassy Girl, Jeon and Gyeon-u bury letters addressed to each otherunder a tree and promise to meet and read the letters two years later. Jeondoes not show up. A year later than the time she was supposed to meetGyeon-u, she visits the spot and runs into an old man. In her conversationwith the old man, Jeon says she believes that Gyeon-u and she would havebumped into each other by chance if they were destined to be together. Theold man responds, ‘‘Fate means building a bridge of chance for someone youlove.’’ His meaning is that fate will bring people together, but only when theymake an effort. That is, fate or destiny is not random chance: it is a rewardgiven to people who aspire to achieve the objects of their desire.

The ending of MySassyGirl explores the romantic conception that chancewill bring together two people who are meant to be together. The plotstructure of the film reinforces such an idea. Instead of following a lineartrajectory, the film starts from the fact that the promise made by the twolovers is broken: it shows Gyeon-u waiting for Jeon’s character to show up.The film then cuts to the present, in which Gyeon-u answers a call from hisaunt on his cell phone while he is having his passport photo taken. After ashort flashback to his childhood, we see him drinking with his friends and,again, answering his cell phone. This time the phone call is from his mother,asking him to visit and console his aunt, whose son passed away a year earlier.Toward the end of the film, on his way to his aunt, Gyeon-u just misses thesubway train that carries Jeon’s character. Jeon’s character arrives to meetGyeon-u’s aunt at a restaurant before Gyeon-u does. The two finally meet,and discover that Gyeon-u is a cousin of her deceased boyfriend. Gyeon-u’saunt says that she has been trying to introduce the two for a long time. Thefilm completes its circle, inviting the viewer to think back to the beginning ofthe film, when Gyeon-u answers the phone call from his aunt. Despitespending three years apart because of their lack of conviction, they are stillmeant to be together.

Incorporating ‘‘chance’’ in a romantic comedy fulfills various functions.First, it appeals to the common perception, cultivated in soap operas andtelevision dramas, that a romantic relationship inevitably faces obstaclesand that a romance between two lovers can be fulfilled only with the help ofsomething like fate, chance, or luck. But an incorporation of chance canprovide episodic film narratives with unity, and, more importantly, can givethe appearance of necessity to narrative resolution in the absence of strict

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causality. That is, chance provides the viewer with a justification for theresolution of a narrative conflict.

Reliance on chance becomes more salient and is sometimes a major themein romantic dramas about ‘‘love across the borders of time and space.’’≥∞ Thenarrative presents a couple who do not meet face to face because of spatialdistance or a temporal barrier until their paths finally intersect near the endof film. As Derek Elley of Variety notes, Korean cinema at the turn of thecentury has obsessively dealt with such love stories.≥≤ In The Contact, theproducer of a nighttime music program on a radio station and a telemarketerchat via the Internet and meet only at the end of the film. Ditto (Kim Jeong-kwon, 2000) shows a couple communicating between different time periods,1979 and 2000 in this case. In Il Mare (Lee Hyun-seung, 2000), Seong-hyeonand Eun-ju occupy different times—they are two years apart—and corre-spond by letters that they leave in a mysterious mailbox that seems to existoutside time. Asako in Ruby Shoes features two protagonists, living in Seouland Tokyo respectively, who meet on an Internet porn site and eventually runinto each other by chance at an airport in Alaska. Bungee Jumping of TheirOwn (Kim Dae-seung, 2001) deals with a heterosexual love that is laterreincarnated in a homosexual relationship. Failan (Song Hae-sung, 2001)depicts a hoodlum who learns too late that the only real love he ever expe-rienced was with a wife he never met and only married for green-cardpurposes.

David Martin-Jones observes that the experiment with temporality incontemporary Korean films provides a cinematic device with which to re-flect on recent history and to negotiate imposed gender roles.≥≥ Martin-Jones considers this aesthetic strategy comparable to an international trendof parallel narratives such as Blind Chance (Krzysztof Kieslowski, 1987),Groundhog Day (Harold Ramis, 1993), and Run Lola Run (Tom Tykwer,1998), and more conventional Hollywood films such as Sleepless in Seattle(Nora Ephron, 1993).≥∂ This trend, I contend, can be traced back to Kieslow-ski’s The Double Life of Véronique (1991) and films by ‘‘art cinema-minded’’Asian directors such as Iwai Shunji’s Love Letter (1995) and Wong Kar-wai’sChungking Express (1994) and Fallen Angels (1995).

Although the number of imports has declined of late, European cinemaused to provide an attractive alternative to Hollywood. In 1992, for example,four French films, including The Lover (Jean-Jacques Annaud, 1991), Indo-chine (Régis Wargnier, 1992), Lovers on the Pont Neuf (Leos Carax, 1991),and Manon of the Spring (Claude Berri, 1986), were among the twenty films


that garnered over two hundred thousand admissions in Seoul.≥∑ In 1997European films accounted for 20 percent of imported films, and earned a10 percent market share in Korea.≥∏ Kieslowski’s The Double Life receivedlimited theatrical release in 1991 in Seoul in art-house theaters. But the two-week retrospective of the French New Wave (Mar. 3–16, 2006), sponsoredby kofic and the French embassy, is telling. The film catalog includesnot only films directed by French directors such as Robert Bresson, LouisMalle, Jean-Luc Godard, and François Truffaut, but also The Double Lifeof Véronique and Kieslowki’s trilogy—Blue (1993), White (1994), and Red(1994). By virtue of the settings and actors used, this Polish director, alongwith Leos Carax, represented the European art cinema of the 1990s and theskewed ‘‘Frenchness’’ for the Korean audience. Iwai Shunji’s Love Letter, theJapanese release of which dates back to 1995, was released theatrically inKorea in 1999, one year after Korea’s ban on Japanese cinema was lifted.Love Letter was ranked among the top ten films at the Korean box office,along with Hollywood blockbusters such as The Mummy, The Matrix, andStar Wars: The Phantom Menace.≥π The regional popularity of Love Letter,which was unquestionably influenced by The Double Life of Véronique, mayhave provided some incentives to Korean producers to fund romantic dra-mas with narrative sophistication and subtlety.

Darrell Davis and Emily Yeh locate closer aesthetic affinity between ro-mance films in East Asia and J-dorama (Japanese television drama) than theEuropean counterpart.≥∫ It is not my intention here to establish or con-test the strict causal history between the two categories, but I am moreinterested in exploring aesthetic exchanges taking place in the region.There might be a similarity in terms of visual aesthetics and perhaps anostalgic tone, as Davis and Yeh claim, but it is hard to find within J-doramathe narrative experimentation manifest in both Japanese and Korean ro-mance films.

In recent years, narrative structures have been developed that facilitatethe presence of more than two protagonists or storylines. Films such asMagnolia (Paul Thomas Anderson, 1999) and Love Actually (Richard Curtis,2003) demonstrate such a possibility. With the success of Love Actually inthe domestic market, Korean films such as Sad Movie (Kwon Jong-kwan,2005) and My Lovely Week (Min Kyu-dong, 2005) adopted a similar narra-tive pattern. Family Ties (Kim Tae-yong, 2006) is a tripartite story. The firsttwo parts present two dysfunctional families on separate narrative paths,while the last part ties the two family narratives together. The expansion of

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narrative via multiple plot lines is worthy of further discussion in and ofitself, but here I will simply examine the dual parallel narrative structuresmanifested both in European and Japanese cinema and in contemporaryKorean romantic dramas.

Both The Double Life of Véronique and Love Letter feature two femaleprotagonists who look alike, live in two different places, and who have twodifferent fates awaiting them. The Double Life of Véronique traces the lives oftwo classical music singers—Weronika in Poland and Véronique in France.In Love Letter, Watanabe Hiroko, whose fiancé died in a mountain-climbingaccident, sends a letter to his old address in Otaru. Fujii Itsuki, a femalelibrarian in Otaru whose name is the same as Hiroko’s deceased fiancé’s,receives the letter from Hiroko and begins responding. As the film unfolds,however, the viewer observes these two women going through oppositeprocesses: Hiroko in Kobe aims to forget her loved one and move on withher life, while the female Itsuki in Otaru learns, in retrospect, about the maleItsuki’s innocent love for her.

As much as these two films have in common—such as the reliance on twolook-a-like female protagonists—the narrative structures of these films di-verge considerably. The Double Life follows what can be called an additive orlinear parallel structure—that is, the presentation of one story after another.For instance, after the death of Weronika is announced in the concert hall,the film cuts to show Véronique in France on the same day. On the otherhand, Love Letter follows what may be called an interactive or simultaneousparallel structure—that is, the presentation of two plot lines simultaneouslyby crosscutting between them. In Love Letter, two—in fact, three—storiesare interwoven and presented simultaneously: the story of Hiroko, who stillmourns her fiancé’s death; anecdotes about Ituski’s acquaintance with themale Itsuki unfolding in flashbacks; and Ituski’s present life with her family.Hong Kong director Wong Kar-wai’s two companion pieces—ChungkingExpress (1994) and Fallen Angels (1995)—also follow an additive and aninteractive parallel pattern, respectively, although they do not feature theidentical twin–like heroines as found in The Double Life and Love Letter.

How then does contemporary Korean romantic drama utilize or appro-priate parallel narrative structure? Whereas in the films discussed above—The Double Life, Love Letter, Chungking Express, and Fallen Angels—thespatiotemporal gap between two parallel plot lines is a by-product of theincorporation of two independent plot lines, the spatiotemporal gap in con-temporary Korean romantic drama is what motivates the protagonists to


interact. Spatial distance and temporal barriers become more narrativizedand function as an obstacle to the union of a romantic couple. Both ofWong’s films, The Double Life and Love Letter, portray heterosexual ro-mance and love, but the romance between the protagonists is containedwithin each plot: it does not cross separate plots. In contrast, in The Con-tact, Il Mare, and Asako in Ruby Shoes, a romantic interest grows be-tween two characters who are involved in two separate plots. Instead ofdepicting how a relationship evolves—a couple meet, fight, break up andthen return to each other—these films end where other romantic dramasusually begin. To borrow U-in’s last line in Asako in Ruby Shoes, ‘‘This is howour story begins.’’

One can postulate some of the reasons that contemporary romanticdrama utilizes spatial distance or temporal barriers as the main obstaclesthat keep a couple apart. Perhaps parental disapproval and class difference—the conventional blocking devices in Korean melodrama and contemporaryKorean tv series—have become less important to a younger generation’sromantic involvements. (Or perhaps they still do matter, but only in relationto marriage). Another reason might be rooted in the changing experience ofspace and time in contemporary society. The development of communica-tions technology, such as cellular phones and the Internet, facilitates com-munication across space and even across national boundaries. But suchcommunication still falls short of emotionally connecting two people. I willexamine some narrative devices that link parallel plot lines, with a focus onthe role of ‘‘chance’’ or ‘‘coincidence.’’

In parallel narrative structures, since interactions among characters arelimited, two plot lines are often linked by means of parallel motifs andthe doubling of characters. For instance, in The Double Life of Véronique,both Weronika and Véronique have special bonds with their fathers. Bothare singers, and the two share some similar habits. Both Weronika andVéronique use their rings to comb their lower eyelashes. We once see Wero-nika play with a string that binds a book of musical scores while she issinging. Véronique receives a string in the mail from an unknown man,which is his way of helping her locate him. In Chungking Express, both maleprotagonists are referred to by their id numbers: 223 and 633. The two arespatially linked by the fact that they go to the same midnight snack corner,called Midnight Express. Chungking Express is filled with an almost in-exhaustible list of motifs shared by the two stories.≥Ω

Characters also often find themselves in similar situations that motivate

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them to interact or share their knowledge. For instance, in Il Mare bothSeong-hyeon and Eun-ju are recuperating from their previous relationships.Seong-hyeon is angry at his father’s abandonment of him when he wasseven, and Eun-ju resents the fact that her boyfriend succumbs to lonelinessand chooses another woman over her. Similarly, Dong-hyeon and Su-hyeonin The Contact were emotionally wounded by their unfulfilled romanticrelationships with Yeong-hye and Gi-cheol, respectively. Both U-in and Ayain Asako in Ruby Shoes seek to escape the banality of everyday life. Ayaworks at a gym and for an Internet porn site to earn enough money to travelon her birthday. Asako (Aya’s nickname on her porn site) becomes thedisplaced object of U-in’s desire as well as the remedy for his loneliness. U-inis intrigued by the Web site ‘‘Asako in Ruby Shoes’’ precisely because Asakoresembles Mi-a, who U-in is attracted to. Asako serves U-in as a substitutefor Mi-a, and she provides an outlet for his sexual frustration. As U-in’sniece puts it when she spots him looking at a porn site, ‘‘Asako is a doll thatshows up on the computer screen to console U-in whenever he is lonely.’’

However, situational parallelism and motif parallelism are not mutuallyexclusive. Situational parallels in the films examined in this section comple-ment and are constituted by parallel motifs. In The Contact, there exists anundeniable similarity between Dong-hyeon and Gi-cheol in terms of theirlooks (their similar hairstyles) and their personalities (their indecisiveness).Su-hyeon suffers from dry eyes and needs to apply eye drops to relieve thepain, while an employee at the convenience store that Dong-hyeon oftenvisits also applies eye drops, but for an infection. In Asako in Ruby Shoes,Asako and Mi-a are visually doubled by their hairstyle and color. U-in evenbuys Mi-a a pair of ruby shoes that look exactly like Aya’s. The ‘‘doll’’ motif isreinforced by an extreme long shot of Aya floating in a gigantic outdoorswimming pool at the gym, an act that gets Aya fired. This image is latermirrored in a shot of a Barbie doll floating in the middle of U-in’s bathtub.

The main function of ‘‘chance’’ in a parallel narrative structure is, then, toprovide points at which two plots—or storylines—come together momen-tarily in the absence of both strict causality and the lack of direct inter-actions or communication among the characters. However, a linear parallelstructure tends to utilize few convergent points. In both The Double Life andChungking Express there is only one convergent point, or possibly two, inwhich the characters encounter each other. In The Double Life, Weronika,in Poland, sees Véronique on a tour bus taking photos. Toward the end ofthe film, Véronique learns of the existence of her double, Weronika, by


means of the photographs of Weronika that Véronique herself accidentallytook during her trip to Eastern Europe. But this is a moment of revelationrather than a convergent point. In Chungking, a shift from a story aboutOffice 223 to that of Faye takes place when he runs into her, predicting in thevoiceover that she will fall in love in six hours. There is an interestingconvergent point in the first story. We see Faye exiting a store holding ahuge Garfield while Brigitte Lin is waiting outside the store. This secondconvergent point seems to reverse the temporal order, since at this pointFaye hasn’t yet met Officer 633. Or this second convergent point can beapproached as a mere introduction of Faye, who will soon appear in thesecond story. For we see all three characters of the second story—the flightattendant with whom Officer 633 has a relationship, Officer 633, and Faye—in the first story. The flight attendant is waiting for a taxi at the airport,while Brigitte Lin’s character takes Indians to the airport; Officer 633 iswaiting outside a subway while Cop 233 runs up an escalator in despairwhen he finds out that May will not be returning to him.

Despite the fact that Love Letter exemplifies an interactive parallel struc-ture, there is only one convergent point in the film. Hiroko visits Otaru withher boyfriend Akiba to solve the mystery of the responses to her letters. Onthe street, a taxi carrying Itsuki passes Hiroko and Akiba. When the twoactually take the same taxi in succession, the driver is perplexed by thestriking similarity between Itsuki and Hiroko. In the next shot, Hiroko, whilesaying good-bye to Akiba’s friend in town, sees Itsuki pass by on her bicycle.

An interactive parallel structure, especially when it is employed to block aromantic couple from being united, tends to contain multiple convergentpoints. More importantly, the two plot lines must converge in order to bringthe couple together at the end of the film. The Contact begins with the twoprotagonists’ accidental encounter. In the film’s opening shot, the cameratracks fast toward the facade of a theater from which we see Su-hyeonexiting. She is stopped by the pouring rain. Soon after, we see a crowd exitingthe theater, among whom is Dong-hyeon. Su-hyeon and Dong-hyeon areseen in the same frame, and Su-hyeon glances at Dong-hyeon, observinghow he is handling the bad weather. Dong-hyeon covers his head with hisbag and starts running in the rain. Su-hyeon does the same. This scene ispartially repeated later in the film during an Internet correspondence be-tween Dong-hyeon and Su-hyeon as they discuss the frustrations of going tosee a movie alone.

In the course of the film, Dong-hyeon and Su-hyeon pass each other

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twice without being aware of it. Su-hyeon visits a used record store on thesecond floor of a building. She is looking for an album by the Velvet Under-ground, a band that Dong-hyeon played on the radio one night and to whichSu-hyeon has been attached ever since. As Su-hyeon exits the store withouthaving found the album, Dong-hyeon enters the building. The two bumpinto each other on the narrow staircase. The moment is repeated twice, thesecond time in slow motion. Now the circle that links the three characters—Dong-hyeon, Yeong-hye, and Su-hyeon—begins to reach completion. Atthe beginning of the film there is a crosscutting sequence between Su-hyeonand Yeong-hye with both of them driving, as the Velvet Underground’s ‘‘PaleBlue Eyes’’ is playing on the radio. Yeong-hye speeds up, and the image ofthese two women driving in opposite directions onscreen creates suspensethat the two might crash. Yeong-hye’s car crosses the center line and collideswith an oncoming vehicle. Su-hyeon barely misses the accident, and shelater tells Dong-hyeon her reason for liking the music: when she witnessedthe car accident she felt she had just escaped danger. The circle connect-ing these three characters will be completed later, after Dong-hyeon visitsYeong-hye at the hospital.

The next point of convergence occurs when Dong-hyeon and Su-hyeontake the same subway train. We see Dong-hyeon being interviewed by animmigration officer at the Australian embassy, and then Su-hyeon walkingdown a flight of stairs to a subway station. In a voiceover, Dong-hyeonexplains to Su-hyeon what happened between Dong-hyeon and Yeong-hye.Su-hyeon enters a train car that Dong-hyeon is riding in and takes a seatopposite him. Su-hyeon gets off the train before Dong-hyeon does. WhenSu-hyeon visits the radio station, she learns that Dong-hyeon already hasquit his job.

Another convergent point, one that does not carry as much narrativesignificance, involves Dong-hyeon and Su-hyeon witnessing a man on thesubway who claims to be practicing his public-speaking skills in order to fixhis stutter. He says he is doing so because he wishes to make friends nowthat he has someone to love. Both Dong-hyeon and Su-hyeon project them-selves onto this stranger: a man obviously trying to overcome his short-comings and reach out to people instead of withdrawing into solipsism.Dong-hyeon and Su-hyeon need to overcome the kind of fear and despairthat the stranger may have suffered through. At the end of the film we returnto the same location, where Su-hyeon painfully waits for Dong-hyeon. Thetwo finally meet after Dong-hyeon’s agonizing deliberation.


In Asako in Ruby Shoes there is no direct convergent point at the level ofplot—although there is one at the level of story—until Aya and U-in finallymeet at the airport in Alaska. There only exist a few ‘‘imaginary’’ or ‘‘indirect’’convergent points. During U-in’s brother-in-law and niece’s visit to U-in’shouse, the three watch a tv interview with Rie—a friend of Aya from thegym. U-in’s brother-in-law quickly changes to a channel similar to Discov-ery. But during the brief moment of Rie’s interview, we see Aya standing inthe background. Furthermore, while U-in and his co-worker are hiding asthey attempt to catch a stray cat, U-in momentarily imagines himself in asuit standing in front of Mi-a in a kimono, possibly representing his fantasyinvolving both Mi-a and Asako. Lastly, U-in passes Aya in the subway. U-inis seated in a train and glances at the ads posted on the wall (figure 4.2). Inone of the ads, Kim Min-hee—the actress who plays Mi-a—is smiling (figure4.3). (It is unclear whether the film makes an extrafictional reference to theactress herself, or whether Mi-a in fact becomes a model in the fictionalworld.) U-in gets up as his destination approaches. As he exits, he bumpsinto Aya in regular clothes entering the train (figure 4.4), and they appear torecognize each other (figure 4.5, 4.6). The film then cuts to Aya seated in thesubway, but now they are in Japan, which indicates that U-in did not actuallysee Aya entering the subway in Seoul. It may have taken place in his imagi-nation, or perhaps it was a hallucination. Or is this cinematic premonition?But the parallel moments linking the two plots mark the important deci-sions reached by both U-in and Aya: their decisions to escape the banalitythat constrains and smothers them. In the next scene, we see U-in recordingan outgoing message for his answering machine, indicating he’s preparing toleave his place, while Aya packs for her birthday trip. But the most signifi-cant truth awaits when Aya is clearing up her desk. She finds photos of hertrip to Korea, in which she and her friends posed with a Korean man whoturns out to be U-in. The fact that these two have met earlier provides theminimal narrative link necessary for them to meet in the airport in Alaska.

All the convergent points in Asako in Ruby Shoes are mediated or imag-ined—either via tv or in U-in’s imagination or fantasy. This can be partlyascribed to the nature of the Internet—especially porn sites—where theinteraction between participants is asymmetrical. The voyeur creates fan-tasies and pretends to interact with what is shown on the computer screen.Such an illusion is well exposed in one scene, in which Asako acts as if sheresponds to U-in’s requests. Asako slowly gets up from the couch and comes

Figure 4.2 U-in glancing at the wall of a subway train.(Asako in Ruby Shoes, E J-Yong, 2000)

Figure 4.3 An advertisement features actress Kim Min-hee.(Asako in Ruby Shoes, E J-Yong, 2000)

Figure 4.4 An imaginary encounter between U-in and Aya.(Asako in Ruby Shoes, E J-Yong, 2000)

Figure 4.5 U-in turning around in pain.(Asako in Ruby Shoes, E J-Yong, 2000)

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Figure 4.6 Aya glancing back at U-in.(Asako in Ruby Shoes, E J-Yong, 2000)

forward to the computer screen as U-in asks her to. Then the film cuts to thestudio: Asako is merely responding to the instructions of the director behindthe camera.

Chung Hye-seung and David Scott Diffrient point out that in contempo-rary Korean cinema, male anxiety over loss of masculinity in the face of theeconomic crisis is manifest in the depiction of Korean women as threatening—as in My Wife Is a Gangster and My Sassy Girl—or the absence of a Ko-rean female character altogether (Asako in Ruby Shoes). Instead, the tradi-tional values associated with femininity are projected onto ethnic minorities(Failan) or ethnic ‘‘others’’ (Asako in Ruby Shoes).∂≠ However, this film un-derscores the illusion of such interactions by disclosing the mechanism thatfeeds into such a fantasy. U-in is represented not as romantic but as pa-thetic, which makes the Korean title of the film, Sunaebo (‘‘a story of purelove’’), ironic.

Unlike The Contact or Asako, in which spatial distance keeps the pro-tagonists apart until their eventual meeting, in Il Mare temporal barrierskeep the protagonists from being united. The film begins in the present,with Eun-ju moving out of a minimalist-style house called ‘‘Il Mare.’’ Afterthe credits, the film flashes back to Seong-hyeon moving into the same


house. Eun-ju, who is a voice actor, and Seong-hyeon, who is a recent collegedropout who had majored in architecture, correspond by letter after Seong-hyeon receives Eun-ju’s Christmas card. In the card, Eun-ju asks Seong-hyeon to forward her mail to her new address.

The two protagonists meet four times throughout the film before theirlast rendezvous. The first time, Eun-ju, in 2000, asks Seong-hyeon to findthe tape recorder that Eun-ju had left on the bench at a subway station in1998. Seong-hyeon arrives at the subway station to meet her, but he missesEun-ju by a second and ends up returning the recorder to her by leaving it inthe mystery mailbox. The second time, Seong-hyeon revisits the subwaystation and sits next to Eun-ju. He even tries the earplugs that Eun-ju gavehim as a gift. Eun-ju in 1998, however, is unable to recognize him, and shelaughs at his rather comical look. At the third meeting, Seong-hyeon stopsEun-ju to talk with her in front of a subway train, but she leaves the spot withher boyfriend, Ji-hun. Finally, Seong-hyeon, on his way to persuade Eun-ju’sboyfriend, Ji-hun, not to go abroad alone, is hit by a car. Eun-ju, inside a café,drops her glass at the sight of the accident. Until the moment he dies, Seong-hyeon is looking in Eun-ju’s direction, as if he’s lamenting the fact that hecouldn’t be of any help to her and that he is unable to alter the future thatawaits her.

These four encounters, unlike those in the other films examined in thissection, are not coincidences. Eun-ju informs Seong-hyeon where he canfind her tape recorder and when and where she usually takes the subwaytrain home. Also, Eun-ju desperately asks Seong-hyeon for help in persuad-ing her boyfriend not to leave. What is interesting about this structure isthat the temporal gap between these two protagonists creates disparity intheir ranges of knowledge as well as in the range of knowledge of the viewers.In the present, Eun-ju has more knowledge concerning what will happen toSeong-hyeon—for example, she finds out that his father will pass away in1998—but she cannot act to rectify the situation. In the past, Seong-hyeonhas agency, but no foreknowledge. The frequency of the (failed) encountersbetween Seung-hun and Eun-ju not only represents Seong-hyeon’s desire tomeet Eun-ju in person but also shows the ‘‘structural’’ impossibility of theirmeeting in the past, because of the difference in their ranges of knowledge,which prohibits the two characters from being connected; Eun-ju is noteven able to recognize Seong-hyeon.

Later in the film, Eun-ju learns that Seong-hyeon died in an accident onhis way to help her, and she hurries back to Il Mare to leave a note for him. She

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begs him not to come to the café. Then the film returns to the beginning sce-nario, in which Eun-ju is moving out. Eun-ju writes the same Christmas cardfor a prospective tenant, asking if he or she can forward the mail for her. Atthe beginning of the film, a mover approached Eun-ju and asked whether thebox left outside the house is the last one. This time Seong-hyeon approachesEun-ju and tells her that she won’t believe the story he is about to tell.

The three couples in The Contact, Asako in Ruby Shoes, and Il Mare runinto each other on or near a subway. The employment of such a ‘‘vehicle’’motif accentuates the notion that modern communication technologies,however convenient, are incapable of assisting people in reaching out to oneanother on an emotional level. Cellular phones or the Internet can instantlyconnect people, but as a means of communication, or as a means of obtain-ing love, they are still too indirect and incomplete. Perhaps the idea here isthat love cannot transcend space or time.

The contemporary Korean romantic drama examined here provides analternative to more conventional Korean melodramas. Their moody por-trayals of their protagonists’ desire to put an end to their isolation andalienation might be one of the reasons they appeal to a young audience. TheContact was one of the top grossing films in 1997, and Il Mare attractedaudiences both at home and in Hong Kong. Slowly paced parallel narrativesadequately represent the difficulty of obtaining romantic love, despite thedevelopment of all sorts of communication technologies. Parallel narrativedevices employed in these dramas can be traced back to a trend within thefestival circuit in the 1990s, in which filmmakers consciously attempted todepart from mainstream Hollywood’s linear dual-focus structure by loosen-ing causality and instead employing coincidences or chance to link charac-ters or separate plotlines. But the Korean directors popularized such con-ventions for commercial purposes, and their sophistication appealed to arange of audiences. It is interesting to note that it was Il Mare (not a Koreanblockbuster film) that was the first Korean film to be remade into a Holly-wood picture: The Lake House. By grabbing the attention of Hollywoodbuyers with this love story that spans space and time through inventivestorytelling, Korean producers and filmmakers have thereby secured anancillary market.

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5 Once Upon a Time in High School

Teen Pics

As David Desser observes, the turn toward youth culture—‘‘youth audiences consuming and appreciating the youth films of youngdirectors’’—propelled new styles of filmmaking in the Korean film industryand attracted audiences both at home and around the world. But morespecifically, I must add, there was the appearance of the high school in filmafter film. The high school has become a place of peer pressure and socialostracism—the Whispering Corridors series (Park Ki-hyeong et al., 1998–2005), Spirit of Jeet Kune Do (a.k.a. Once Upon a Time in High School, Yu Ha,2004), and Art of Fighting (Shin Han-sol, 2006); authoritative oppression—Beat (Kim Sung-su, 1997), Volcano High (Kim Tae-gyun, 2001), Friend(Kwak Kyung-taek, 2001), and the My Boss My Hero series (Yun Je-gyun,Kim Dong-won, 2001, 2006); first love/romance—Classic (Kwak Jae-young,2003), Romance of Their Own (Kim Tae-gyun, 2004), He Was Cool (LeeHwan-gyeong, 2004), A Millionaire’s First Love (Kim Tae-gyun, 2006), andMy Little Bride (Kim Ho-joon, 2004); adolescent sexuality and identity—Wet Dreams (Jung Cho-shin, 2002), The Aggressives (Jeong Jae-eun, 2005),and Flying Boys (Byun Young-joo, 2004); heist—Make It Big (Jo Ui-seok,2002); and juvenile delinquency—Timeless Bottomless BadMovie (Jang Sun-woo, 1998) and Tears (Im Sang-soo, 2000). Not all of these films are strictlyso-called ‘‘teen pics.’’ In films such as Beat and Friend, high school remainsperipheral in terms of screen time allotted, although high school ‘‘experi-ence’’ provides a backstory for character relations and motivations.

The presence of high school in so many popular Korean films indicatesa growing youth market. The population of high school students has in-creased over the last thirty years. Enrollment in high school for those be-tween the ages of fifteen and seventeen rose from 19.9 percent in 1960 to88.7 percent in 1994, with the number of high school students increasingfrom 273,000 to over 2 million.∞ University enrollment also expanded rap-idly as well, from 90,000 in 1960 to 1.15 million in 1994. According to KimLinsu, ‘‘The returns on education were greater and more direct in Korea

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than in societies in which upward mobility depended more on vested socialinterests; hence the private demand for education was greater in Korea.’’≤

However, the Korean government was so preoccupied with short-term pro-duction and export targets that it neglected to upgrade the quality of educa-tion. Government subsidies accounted for only one third of the total expen-diture in education, with the remainder being borne by the private sectorand parents, reflecting the high commitment to education within Koreansociety.≥ The responsibility for a child’s education often falls on the mother,who in the modern era has been portrayed as one who bribes the child’shomeroom teacher in order to secure favoritism at school.∂ Most Koreanstudents undergo ‘‘examination hell’’ from kindergarten on to win a compet-itive entrance examination at an upper-level school. Students are requiredto study long hours after the regular curriculum—often ten to twelve hoursa day.

Tensions among students escalate, as their current student status is inpart indicative of not only the present but also the future. After graduatingfrom middle school, students must make a choice, depending upon whetherthey intend to pursue post–high school education: students apply for eithervocational/tech school—where they are trained for office managerial jobsand manual-labor jobs in addition to studying a high school curriculum—orhigh school, the curriculum of which is exclusively geared toward prepara-tion for college. Reasons to enroll in vocational schools vary—some areafraid that they won’t be able to afford college tuitions, while others areunable to pass the entrance exam. In the Korean society, where social mobil-ity is less permissive than in the United States, conflicts among studentsforeshadow class and moral conflicts that they will soon experience aftergraduation. Take Care of My Cat (Jeong Jae-eun, 2001), which depicts thedeteriorating friendships among five female adolescents after graduatingfrom the same vocational school, accurately portrays some of the limits andconstraints in pursuing their career, regardless of ambition and capability.

For many viewers—both teenage and adult—high school remains an im-portant cultural site, one that is not only a center of deplorable practices butalso a locus of nostalgia. In Korea, the high school years are further markedby their visibility. Except for a brief window between 1983 and 1990, inwhich the school uniform requirement was temporarily lifted,∑ middle andhigh school students have been mandated to wear school uniforms, deter-ring them from easily passing into the adult realm. High school films set inthe past thus enjoy crossgenerational appeal by virtue of apparent simi-


larities between generations, such as school uniforms and other regulationsthat continued to persist over a few decades. Comedies such as My BossMy Hero and She’s On Duty, exploit such potential by featuring the adultprotagonist—the mobster middleman and a female cop, respectively—dis-guised as high school students.

In Korean cinema, high school has proved to be a popular setting foryouth-oriented films since the mid-1960s, if not earlier, in such films asYalgaejeon (1965). In the ’70s, a few series rose to popularity. Seok Rae-myeong’s Yalgae series—Yalgae, A Joker in High School (1976) and Pranksterof Girls’ High School (Yeogo-yalgae, 1977)—continued until the early 1980s,following the characters within the series as they developed an increasinglypressing need to graduate from high school. 1982’s Wild Scoundrels of Col-lege (Daehak Yalgae, Cho Heun-pa), casts Lee Seung-hyeon, the same pro-tagonist from the first installment of the Yalgae series, and depicts thechanging dynamic between the character Seung-hyeon, who is still in highschool, and his friends, who are now in college. The Yalgae series deals withthe pressure to enter college and curiosity about adolescent sexuality in botha comical and didactic manner. Another series piggybacking the then-youngstars Lee Deok-hwa and Lim Yeo-jin also garnered a following.

High school in contemporary Korean cinema, however, functions as morethan a mere backdrop for teenage protagonists to interact with their peers.High school is, first and foremost, the site of oppression and repressionwhere narrative conflicts await various generic solutions. Timothy Sharytraces a set of cycles in youth films, especially those prevalent in 1980s and1990s Hollywood: school films, juvenile delinquent films, youth horror films,teen science fiction films, and teen romance/sex.∏ These categories do notencompass all the cycles and trends of youth-oriented films in Hollywood orin Korea; furthermore, these categories often overlap. However, this typol-ogy provides us a comparative framework to examine the representation ofhigh school as an institution, as well as different high school environments,subcultures, and values, manifested in Hollywood and Korean teen films.This chapter examines a few emerging trends in youth-oriented films incontemporary Korean cinema, especially the ‘‘high-schooler’’—which in-cludes delinquents inside and outside of high school, teen horror films, andhigh school romance. How does the Korean film industry cater to the tastesof teenage viewers? How do teen pics offer solutions—symbolic or didactic—to the pressing issues facing contemporary teenage viewers? To what extentdo teen pics manifest and influence a subculture or even a counterculture?

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Inside and Outside of High School

One of the defining characteristics of ‘‘school films,’’ according to Shary,can be found in their ensemble casts of nerds, rebels, delinquents, populargirls (or boys), and jocks.π Each character is distinguished via a deplorableor attractive trait: the nerd, which is a less prominent character in Koreanteen pics, may excel in academics but is socially awkward and isolated; therebel, the epitome of which is Jim Stark (James Dean) in Rebel Without aCause (Nicholas Ray, 1955), is an angst-ridden nonconformist; the delin-quent fights and commits crimes; the popular girl (or boy) is the one every-one knows and wants to be; and the jock is an athlete dedicated to a givensport. During the high school years covered in Friend, an unlikely friendshipdevelops between Sang-taek—a nerd—and Jun-seok, who is a delinquent/rebel. Beat revolves around the unattainable romance between rebel/delinquent Min and model student Ro-mi. In Spin Kick, Min-gyu is a jockwho must team up with delinquents led by Yeong-gaek in order to win thegroup competition in a Taekwondo tournament. During their training, bothMin-gyu and Yeong-gaek fall for popular girl Su-bin. In Spirit of Jeet KuneDo, Hyeon-su is a newly transferred student who completes a circle of nerd-jock-popular-delinquent-rebel transformation. In the beginning of the film,we see that Hyeon-su is the only student who could solve a math questionwhen asked by his homeroom teacher, and he excels during a basketballgame, which earns him acceptance and friendship from U-sik. Hyeon-suand U-sik hang out at adult-only nightclubs. Hyeon-su shows his sensitiveside to Eun-ju, the object of his crush, by demonstrating how to decoratepostcards so as to be chosen by a radio host. However, after his friendshipwith U-sik deteriorates, Hyeon-su masters Jeet Kune Do in order to fightbully Jong-hun.

Films such as Volcano High and Dasepo Naughty Girls, which boastgeneric hybridity, base their major plotlines on teen pic stereotypes. VolcanoHigh, a combination of martial arts film, comedy, and teen pic, is set in thevirtual universe with what looks to be early twentieth-century costumes andarchitecture. It’s a movie in which both teachers and students search for the‘‘Secret Manuscript,’’ through which one can master the martial arts skillsneeded to rule the school. This film revolves around the popular Chae-i(a.k.a. Icy Jade), the elite Hak-rim (a.k.a. Elegant Crane), the delinquent-turned-rebel Gyeong-su and delinquent Jang Ryang (a.k.a. Dark Ox), and theheads of other athletic clubs such as the judo and rugby teams. Dasepo


Naughty Girls (E J-yong, 2006) parodies the stereotypes in high school films:there is the popular kid Anthony, the one-eyed Cyclops (who literally hasone eye), and ‘‘Poor Girl’’ (the only virgin in her class) who carries ‘‘Poverty’’(shaped like the Pillsbury doughboy) on her back. The film emphasizes thefact that transformation from one social type to another can be based onsimple random chance.

Shary claims that the goal of adolescent protagonists in school films is toget recognition either from peers or teachers (or both) by cultivating traits—good looks, money, intelligence, athletic skills, and toughness—that willearn them acceptance.∫ The fact that the protagonists in both Volcano Highand Spirit of Jeet Kune Do are new transfer students may lead the filmnarratives to revolve around their socializing process in a new environ-ment. However, unlike Hollywood school films where social acceptability isthe key, neither Gyeong-su nor Hyeon-su is eager to be accepted by theirpeers or teachers. Both are ‘‘reluctant’’ rebels. Gyeong-su hopes to keep outof trouble, since it is his last chance to graduate, after having been ex-pelled eight times from other schools for vandalism and female harassment.Hyeon-su does bond with U-sik after Hyeon-su helps win a basketball gameagainst Jong-hun’s team; but Hyeon-su lacks direction until he sets out toavenge U-sik, who drops out of school after he’s defeated by Jong-hun, andturns to Jeet Kune Do for self-protection.

What motivates these protagonists to act on their anger is resistance toconformity, regardless of whether the film relies on fantasy—as in VolcanoHigh and Dasepo Naughty Girls—or gritty realism as in Spirit of Jeet KuneDo and Gangster High. Gyeong-su in Volcano High hopes to remain indif-ferent to the tug of war among the athletic teams: kendo, weightlifting,rugby, and judo clubs. When the five best fighters are enlisted by the viceprincipal to discipline the rebels, Gyeong-su finally revolts against schoolauthorities. In Dasepo Naughty Girls, students at Useless High also becomesuspicious of the principal, as students become nerds after their individualmeetings with him. Students learn that the principal has been possessed byan imoogi with Medusa’s hairdo. They attack her with male students’ sexualpower: ‘‘yang force.’’ The conflict between students and teachers in thesetwo films is a backdrop for stylistic exploration and experiment. But thesefilms not only acknowledge it as a prevalent narrative trope exploited inmany Korean youth films but also poke fun at uniformity and conformityimposed in high school and in Korean society at large. Commenting on thelight social critique in Dasepo Naughty Girls, Derek Elley offers, ‘‘Film’s

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underlying message is tolerance towards those who are different, and overallthe movie sends up Korean’s obsession with social conformity.’’Ω

Spirit of Jeet Kune Do appears to concern conflict among students insteadof one between students and teachers.∞≠ However, the rivalry between U-sikand Jong-hun in the film is actually a displacement of power struggle be-tween students and teachers. Taking down Jong-hun, who bullies his peerswith the implicit sanction from school authorities, means taking on theschool system. After the brutal battle with Jong-hun on the rooftop, Hyeon-su’s outcry against the Korean education system is clear: it neglects and evenfosters violence as a means to discipline and control students. What Hyeon-su did not realize until the end of film, however, is that his Jeet Kune Dotraining may have empowered him, but it also turns him into the kind ofperson he detests. During the training sequence, the viewer not only wit-nesses Hyeon-su’s fighting skills gradually improving but also his emulationof the menacing look that Jong-hun often makes to intimidate his oppo-nents. The film ends with Hyeon-su’s realization that self-esteem, whichhe sought to gain through Jeet Kune Do, provides a false sense of empower-ment that leads him to near self-destruction. Hyeon-su’s father quietly asksHyeon-su whether Bruce Lee, whom Hyeon-su worships, entered the col-lege, insinuating that Hyeon-su’s action was not in the true spirit of Jeet KuneDo. This scene is followed by Hyeon-su learning that he has passed the pre-liminary exam to earn a high school diploma.

Male protagonists in high school films often turn to violence as a meansto self-defense and empowerment—for example, Jeet Kune Do in Spirit ofJeet Kune Do, gang violence in Gangster High (Park Ki-hyeong, 2006) andmagical palm-power waves in Volcano High, respectively—although thesefilms justify such a turn rather differently. Hyeon-su is able to gain inde-pendence only outside the institution after he is expelled. On the otherhand, Gyeong-su becomes the popular boy after he defeats the leader of five‘‘super’’ fighters. During the end credit sequence, we see Gyeong-su busilytaking up a challenge from Ryang as well as joining in all the extracurricularactivities. Each ending may be generically motivated but Volcano High cer-tainly lacks the critical/reflexive dimension palpable in Spirit of Jeet KuneDo. Instead, it is preoccupied with leaving open the possibility for a se-quel, with the introduction of a new transfer student—a female version ofGyeong-su. However, the sequel never materialized.

It is interesting to observe that teen pics directed by women filmmakersseek alternate solutions to the dramatic conflicts in high school films. Byun


Young-joo, who started her career by directing the documentary The Mur-muring (1995), turns to fiction with Ardor (2002). In her second feature,Flying Boys (2004), each character finds an emotional outlet in a balletclass at a local community center. In The Aggressives (Jeong Jae-eun, 2005),So-yo spends far more time practicing in-line skating than studying andfinds a temporary alternate family with in-line skater Mo-gi and his girl-friend Han-ju.

Shary distinguishes teen delinquent films from high school films by pay-ing attention to the shift of the major setting to outside the school. Youthdelinquent films range from dance-themed delinquent films, such as Foot-loose (1984) and Dirty Dancing (1987), to beach films from the 1960s; andthere are the youth crime dramas such as Boyz N the Hood (1991).∞∞ FlyingBoys and The Aggressives can be compared to dance and surf films, in whichone discovers direction, peace, and maturity by belonging to a group formedvia a leisure activity outside the school setting.

Min-jae in Flying Boys is a senior in high school and has a crush on Su-jin, a girl who lives in the same apartment complex. Min-jae takes a balletclass to be with his two buddies—Dong-wan and Chang-seob; while Su-jin’smother forces her to take the class out of concern for her lack of femininity.A certain distance can be detected underneath Min-jae’s casual relationshipwith his father. Min-jae resents his father’s neglect that led to the death ofhis mother and feels frustrated by his father’s high expectations for him.Min-jae leaves home after a confrontation with his father on New Year’sDay, and stays at the ballet studio while he’s juggling a few manual jobs toearn money. For Min-jae and his friends, the ballet studio becomes a refugeas well as space for fun, communication, understanding, and trust—withballet instructor Jeong-suk and video-rental-shop owner Do-il serving astheir surrogate parents.

Although the ballet studio functions as a surrogate home, it is merely atransitional space between home and the public sphere (high school), asadolescence is a transitional period from childhood to adulthood. The balletperformance—the finale of the film—momentarily replaces the incompletefamily of each character with an ideal one. In the performance, Do-il and theold delivery lady (‘‘Yogurt Lady’’) become the King and the Queen withChinese-food delivery boy Jong-seok as a Prince. Jeong-suk protects thissurrogate family from an intruder, Dong-wan’s father, when he comes on-stage to drag his son out of the performance. Ballet teacher Jeong-suk kicksDong-wan’s father off the stage. However, the day after the performance,

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Min-jae returns home and reconciles with his father. All the characters,including Min-jae and Su-jin, learn to live and deal with the flaws of theirrespective family as well as themselves. In Flying Boys, family is the place toreturn to, although it is as vulnerable as adolescence; and family members,although as imperfect as the protagonists themselves, are those one needs toaccept rather than reject. Self-identity is presented as something that mustbe formed through relations such as familial love, friendship, heterosexualor homosexual love, or trust. The Aggressives, however, does not seem togrant a significant role to family—real or surrogate—as a means to find one’sown identity.

The Aggressives is the second feature film directed by Jeong Jae-eun, sig-naling Jeong’s attempt to align herself with commercially viable filmmakingafter the box-office disaster of her critically acclaimed Take Care of My Cat(35,000 admissions). The Aggressives, however, earned a meager 50,000 ad-missions.∞≤ Despite apparent disparities between The Aggressives and TakeCare of My Cat in tone and gender dynamic, one can find a thematic con-tinuity between the two. In director Jeong’s world, friendship cannot survive,although each film expresses different reasons for this. The conflict amongfive protagonists in Take Care of My Cat partially resides in the contradic-tions embedded in social institutions—there are so few options available forthe underprivileged after graduating from a vocational school. In TheAggres-sives, conflicts originate from within the protagonists themselves.

Gap-ba is the leader of an in-line skating group and works as a managerof a skating rink. He sometimes finds jobs for the group—doing stunts in atv commercial or performing in an opening show at a shopping mall. Whenhis parents flee the country unable to pay back their debt, So-yo is left homealone. So-yo grows attached to Mo-gi—the most free-spirited among themembers of his group—and Mo-gi’s girlfriend Han-ju, who films their skat-ing with her video camera. In-line skating replaces So-yo’s school activities,and Mo-gi and Han-ju replace So-yo’s parents. However, this surrogatefamily, unlike the one seen in Flying Boys, crumbles: it is as vulnerable as theskaters without proper protection. Throughout the film, we witness So-yoenduring numerous falls until he finally ‘‘gets it.’’ Unlike the ballet perfor-mance in Flying Boys, the last show that So-yo and others put on is barelysuccessful: Mo-gi does not participate; So-yo makes mistakes in his jump,although he handles it rather humorously; and Gap-ba must quit skating toserve his military duty.

The film ends with So-yo entering an international in-line skating com-


petition, which Mo-gi wasn’t able to complete a few years back. Self-identityof the protagonist in this film is formed via self-reflection and even isolation,rather than through forming an alternate kinship through shared interestsor concerns. Gap-ba wants to transform the negative image associated within-line skaters by proving to the adult world that they are serious and trust-worthy. On the other hand, Mo-gi gives up skating when the skating andexpectations imposed by his peers begin to suffocate him. Still, the filmleaves So-yo’s motivation to enter the competition rather ambiguous. Afterthe introduction of So-yo at the competition, the camera cuts to show Mo-gi’s skates in the lost and found of a subway station: Mo-gi had left these inthe subway train, signaling that he is giving up skating. Does it mean thatMo-gi will live his dream through So-yo? Whatever the case, Mo-gi hasneither dreams nor ambition.

Min-jae and So-yo are hardly rebels, nor are they delinquents in thenarrow sense of the term. Rather, these films examine a possibility in whichtroubled youths, due to family circumstances or otherwise, solve their di-lemmas outside the school setting—either within a family or an alternatefamily. Flying Boys affirms such a possibility, while The Aggressives doesn’t.

A Cinema of Girlhood

The Whispering Corridors Series

Youth-oriented horror film adds another cycle to Korean teen pics. ParkKi-hyeong’s surprise hit Whispering Corridors (1998), a horror film set ina girls’ high school, helped initiate the most recent horror cycle in theKorean film industry. Highly successful at the box office, Whispering Cor-ridors ranked third among domestically produced films for the year, fol-lowing The Letter and A Promise.∞≥ Four sequels have followed so far—Memento Mori (Kim Tae-yong, Min Kyu-dong, 1999), Wishing Stairs (YunJae-yeon, 2003), Voice (Choe Ik-hwan, 2005), and Blood Pledge (Lee Jong-yong, 2009). The commercial success of the recent Korean horror cycledemonstrates the case of a niche marketing strategy successfully adopted bythe Korean film industry, as it continued a process of conglomeration thathad begun in the late 1980s. More importantly, these films’ attempts toappeal to adolescents and portray their social circumstances not only bringto the fore the consequences of the Korean education system but also seem-ingly authorize a culture of adolescent sensibility.

The emergence of this horror cycle in Korea has not been an isolated

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phenomenon. The attention given to the horror genre and its revival in gen-eral occurred in tandem with a growing popularity in horror cinema bothwithin the region and worldwide. However, the cultural and aesthetic signif-icance of this distinctly Korean horror cinema should be located within botha changing mediascape and the film policies that propelled the restructuringof the Korean cinema industry.

The rising dominance of conglomerations in the Korean film industryhas lead to a demand for commercially oriented filmmaking. Horror cinema,with its relatively low production costs, offered a viable option for indepen-dent companies such as Cine 2000, the production house for the WhisperingCorridors series. In an interview, Lee Chun-yeon, the production head of thecompany, explains that each installment of the series has been directed by afirst-time director with casts of relatively unknown or new actresses.∞∂ Whis-pering Corridors cost only $600,000 to make and completed its shooting inonly twenty-eight days.∞∑ In so doing, Cine 2000 lowered its productioncosts while targeting its product to a younger generation of audiences.

The increasing number of multiplex theatres and the revival of midnightscreenings have also contributed to the popularity of the horror genre. Thefirst chain of multiplexes, cgv—a co-venture between Korean conglomer-ate cj Entertainment, Hong Kong’s Golden Harvest, and Australia’s VillageRoadshow—opened with an eleven-screen theater in April 1998.∞∏ The suc-cess of cgv triggered the emergence of multiplexes, not only in Seoul, butnationwide as well. Between 1999 and 2000 alone, the number of moviescreens rose by 42 percent, while the number of individual theatres actuallydropped by 33 percent.∞π Whispering Corridors was released in May 1998,shortly after the multiplex boom started within the Korean film industry,securing eight screens at cgv 11 alone.

The box-office success of Whispering Corridors, along with The SoulGuardians (Park Kwang-chun, 1998) and the horror comedy AQuiet Family(Kim Ji-woon, 1998), offered production companies an incentive to createsequels and the subsequent horror cycles. Memento Mori (Kim Tae-yong,Min Kyu-dong, 1999), the second installment of the Whispering Corridorsseries, was applauded for showcasing a nuanced character psychology with akeen feminine sensitivity, although it proved merely a lukewarm box-officedraw.∞∫ Ring (Kim Dong-bin, 1999), the Korean remake of the Japanese filmRingu (1998) appeared in the summer of 1999, six months before the theatri-cal release of the original in Korea.∞Ω Until 2004, when the Korean filmmarket completely abolished its long-standing regulation of Japanese im-


ports, Korean film policies had limited the theatrical release of Japanesefilms to only those that had won awards at any of the seventy or so inter-national film festivals. And the showing of the original Ringu was delayeduntil 1999, after the film had won the Golden Raven award at the BrusselsInternational Festival of Fantasy Film.≤≠ The most successful horror filmin the Korean domestic market in 1999, however, was The Sixth Sense (M.Night Shyamalan), which placed fifth at the domestic box office for the year(see Appendix 1).≤∞ After the critical attention given to horror films such asSorum (Yun Jong-chan, 2001), as well as sporadic box-office successes suchas the 2.6 million admissions of Ahn Byeong-gi’s Phone (2002), an attempt toaesthetically elevate the horror genre was witnessed in Kim Ji-woon’s A Taleof Two Sisters (2003).≤≤ Co-produced by Oh Ki-min and the productioncompany B.O.M., A Tale of Two Sisters replaced the raw aesthetics of low-budget horror cinema with a meticulous use of mise-en-scène. The film waswelcomed by Korean audiences and broke the all-time box-office record forKorean horror cinema with 3 million admissions.≤≥

The emergence of the horror cycle in Korea may be a consequence ofglobalization affecting the Korean film industry and a by-product of theregionalization of screen culture. However, one of the specificities of Koreanhorror cinema can be found in its foregrounding of a sonyeo (girls’) sen-sibility. ‘‘Sensibility,’’ I would argue, provides a conceptual alternative to‘‘sexuality,’’ on which many of the previous approaches to the horror genrehave been based. ‘‘Sensibility’’ is a more inclusive term than ‘‘sexuality,’’encompassing both emotional predilections and psychological and behav-ioral dispositions and tendencies. It is often conceived of as a collective traitassociated with a particular demographic or subculture. Sensibility may bean innate disposition to a certain extent, but it can also be cultivated andsometimes exploited by a cultural industry. Wu Cuncun, in her discussion ofhomoerotic literature in the late Quing dynasty, aptly points out that thevalue of sexual behavior and practices within a specific historical contextcannot be properly assessed without looking into the sensibility surroundingthem, which is supported and fed by social fashion.≤∂ Underneath the sonyeosensibility manifest in Korean horror films, therefore, one must uncover acollective fantasy: a form of female bonding and sexual performance thatmay or may not be socially sanctioned. Production and marketing strategiesappeal more to sensibility than to sexuality, as in the case of the Koreanhorror cycle. A focus on sensibility, then, provides us with a way to analyzeany links or disparities between production strategies within the industry

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and actual audience reception of their products. Audiences can share asimilar sensibility beyond a specific demographic group and push beyondthe cultures and national boundaries from which they initially originated. Ashared sensibility, then, can become the starting point for an understandingand appreciation of a subculture; sensibility can also help us to explainaudience engagement with characters beyond gender-bound identification,as is often construed within a psychoanalytic approach.≤∑

By focusing on the Whispering Corridors series, I examine the industrial,ideological, and aesthetic significance of the sonyeo sensibility to the Koreanhorror cycle of the late 1990s and early 2000s. How is the sonyeo sensibilityculturally specific? What are some of the reasons that ghost stories arerecited among teenagers in Korea? How is such discourse encoded into thehorror cycle? How is adolescent female sensibility shaped and trampled byKorean institutions such as the family and the educational system? Howdoes the excessive decorative impulse, a symptom of the sonyeo sensibility,function to foreground the lack of (or changes in) private space in theWhispering Corridors series and A Tale of Two Sisters?

Oh Ki-min, the producer of the first two installments of the WhisperingCorridors series—Whispering Corridors and Memento Mori—along with ATale of Two Sisters, hopes to depict female adolescent psychology as: ‘‘neuro-sis, imperfection, vulnerability, and mystery.’’≤∏ Oh underscores the need toappeal to female adolescent sensitivity and sensibility in the horror genre, byreference to sonyeo-jueui, a term coined by Oh himself. It literally means‘‘girls’’ and ‘‘-ism’’ in Korean and can be roughly translated as a ‘‘cinema ofgirlhood’’—a cinema that targets female teenage audiences by dealing withproblems pertinent to their lives and by evoking an overall mood rather thanstirring emotions. It has become a staple of the Korean horror genre, coun-terbalancing trends toward more male-oriented genres. If adolescent maleprotagonist–centered films, such as Beat (Kim Sung-su, 1997), Friend (KwakKyung-taek, 2001), and Spirit of Jeet Kune Do (Yu Ha, 2004), tend to under-score masculinity and portray the pursuit of and suffering from a distortedego ideal, the films produced by Oh, including Take Care of My Cat (JeongJae-eun, 2001), counterbalance such a trend by featuring female protagonistsand disclosing the subtle psychology of these characters.

One of the peculiarities of the Whispering Corridors series is that thesefilms are set in all-girl high schools. In the last decade, high school hasserved as a major setting for both Korean and Japanese cinema as well astelevision drama series across genres: Battle Royale (Fukasaku Kinji, 2000),


All About Lily Chou Chou (Iwai Shunji, 2001), and Suicide Club (Sono Sion,2002). The high school years might bear more weight in rigid societies suchas Japan and Korea, where social latitude and flexibility are still not fullygranted. But one may speculate on the reasons for selecting such locationsfor the Korean horror genre on both realistic and generic grounds. Studentsin Korea are encouraged by school officials to stay and study in school untillate at night. Such a policy provides a prime location and time for therecitation of ghost stories. Within such ghost talk, the school becomes a siteassociated with the uncanny and dread—a place that both distances anddraws students. Memento Mori begins with Hyo-sin’s description of theprevious six suicides committed in her school, and it is when students areabout to leave the building after studying into the night that Hyo-sin’s ghostlocks the school’s doors, preventing both students and teachers from leavingthe building. Voice (Choe Ik-hwan, 2005), the fourth installment of theseries, begins with a scene of students being dismissed at night.

In addition, junior high and high school coeducation is less commonthan either all-boy or all-girl high schools. Beneath such gender segregationcan still be found the Confucian ideology that distinctive social and gendernorms need to be taught to boys and girls. On the wall of one classroom inWhispering Corridors, we see a portrait of Shinsaimdang (1504–1551), ahistorical figure who is widely taught in all-girl schools as the emblem ofideal womanhood in Korea. Toward the end of the film, the camera cutsback to the portrait, this time covered with blood tears shed by the ghost Jin-ju as she finally decides to leave the school. Such a scene may indicate thatthis rather outdated and vacuous cultural icon has lost its significance forcontemporary Korean adolescents. Also palpable under the current educa-tion system is the attempt to suppress adolescent sexuality at the institu-tional level by prohibiting direct encounters between opposite sexes in thelearning environment. Teen courtship is allowed only outside the institu-tion. In the Whispering Corridors series, sexuality is often replaced by exclu-sive friendships among the same sex, sometimes more explicitly imbuedwith homosexuality.

An all-girl high school would generically make for a more appropriate set-ting than an all-boy high school for the adoption of the ghost-story formula.Narrative conflicts set in all-boy high schools are often resolved by recourseto physical violence, as seen in Spirit of Jeet Kune Do. In an all-girl highschool, by contrast, students are more likely to endure or internalize con-flicts with their teachers and peers, rather than confronting them or re-

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solving them in physical terms. In such an environment, the supernatural,fantastic elements of horror cinema can appeal to teenagers by providingsymbolic solutions to teen problems—thus serving as an entertaining fan-tasy to teenage audiences. In Whispering Corridors, Ji-o has to endure Mr.Oh’s sexual harassment as well as physical abuse. It is the ghost Jin-ju thatmurders him out of loyalty to Ji-o after he beats Ji-o over one of her paintings.

Both traditional and contemporary Korean horror films employ theghost-revenge plot, but the latter departs from the former in terms of themotivation for revenge. In the horror cinema of the 1960s and 1970s, athreat to heterosexual union or family drives the narrative, triggering femalerivalry and consequent death: two or more women share an object of desire,and one kills the other to take her place. The female protagonist often killsherself out of fear of being raped by a villain or is murdered when she isfalsely accused of being an inadequate wife. The ghost of the female victimthen, in revenge, haunts her nemesis. In A Bloodthirsty Killer (a.k.a. Sali-nma, Lee Yong-min, 1965), the wife is accused by her mother-in-law and hercousin of being unfaithful. When the wife is drugged and about to be rapedby a painter (who collaborates with the two women) the wife kills herself,and her ghost takes revenge on them. A variation of this cycle can be foundin the film in The Public Cemetery of Wol-ha (a.k.a. The Public CemeteryUnder the Moon, Kwon Cheol-hwi, 1967), in which a dead mother haunts astepmother in order to protect her child. The title character Wol-ha be-comes a gisaeng, comparable to a Japanese geisha, out of financial need inorder to support her fiancé and her brother, both of whom are imprisoned.She is finally married to her fiancé when he is released from jail. Wol-ha,however, gets accused of having an affair and is poisoned by her mother-in-law and the lustful nanny. As Wol-ha’s son is also about to be murdered, theghost of Wol-ha returns to protect her son.

In the Whispering Corridors series, on the other hand, what needs to beprotected is friendship, not kinship. A threatened friendship causes theghosts to exercise their supernatural powers. In Whispering Corridors, Jin-juhas been killed in an accident, but she resents the fact that her friend Eun-yeong did not defend their friendship from other schoolgirls. The ghost killsMs. Park just as she is about to discover that the ghost of Jin-ju had beenattending school under other aliases for nine years. Such a discovery wouldendanger Jin-ju’s newly developed friendship with Ji-o. In Memento Mori,Hyo-sin commits suicide when her friendship with Si-eun comes to a deadend. Wishing Stairs (Yun Jae-yeon, 2003) portrays a friendship between Jin-


seong and So-hui that turns into a rivalry. So-hui suffers injuries to her legsin an accident, which ultimately causes her to commit suicide. Her spirithaunts and punishes several characters, including Jin-seong. A threatenedfriendship, again, becomes the reason for a ghost to murder Cho-a in Voice.The Whispering Corridors series also deals with the violated family relation-ship, especially between parents and children. Although parents often re-main off-screen in the first three installments, in the last installment, Voice,there is a surprise revelation that Yeong-eon hoped for the death of hermother, who had been ill and hospitalized for a long time.

One may find an explanation for such a shift in terms of changing familyrelationships in contemporary Korean society. Friendship may be seen as aform of displacement from heterosexual or homosexual union in that theserelationships demand ‘‘exclusivity’’ from a partner. This friendship can beshared by only the two people involved; thus the relationship cannot includeanother, and neither person involved can be replaced. This idea of friendshipis embodied in the relationship between Si-eun and Hyo-sin in MementoMori or between So-hui and Jin-seong in Wishing Stairs. Such an exclusiverelationship is portrayed as the key to enduring the hardships during thehigh school years and is characterized by metaphorical extremities in the lifeor death of a character. The sheer amount of time high school studentsspend with their peers and the pressures they face from their parents toattend prestigious colleges or to have successful careers make students valuefriendship over family. Exclusivity is further secured by communicationmethods inaccessible to others: Si-eun and Hyo-sin in MementoMori keep asecret diary and read each other’s mind via telepathy, while Seon-min inVoice can hear the voice of her deceased friend Yeong-eun.

Situating the school as the prime location for plot development in theWhispering Corridors series has several narrative consequences. First, stu-dents are entirely removed from home, and the conventional divide betweenpublic and private space has broken down. Both the school and the homebecome sites of oppression and cause psychological burdens. The ‘‘private’’spaces for students in these films continue to be found within the publicsphere, often merely in the places neglected by or hidden from school au-thorities: at a piano, or in a basement, storage room, or rooftop. Jin-ju and Ji-o find their own space in an abandoned building believed to be haunted.Hyo-sin and Si-eun hang out on the rooftop. But these ‘‘private’’ spaces aresoon invaded or become haunted, as both Hye-ju’s basement art studio andJin-seong’s dorm room in Wishing Stairs are haunted by So-hui’s ghost.

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Voice is the only film in which we have a glimpse of characters’ homes, butYeong-eon’s crummy apartment is shown as an abandoned, soulless placerather than a place exuding comfort and love.

Second, private space or lack thereof is replaced by and reduced to ele-ments of the mise-en-scène, especially a character’s decorative impulse, asmanifested in her personal belongings. When Ji-o has a glimpse of Jin-ju’sdiary, she finds it filled with girlie comic-book characters—with big eyes andlong curly hair—except the supposed portrait of Ji-o. In Memento Mori, theprecredit sequence is intercut between a scene of Hyo-sin writing in anddecorating her diary and a scene showing Hyo-sin and Si-eun clad in theirschool uniforms and sinking in a swimming pool with their legs tied to-gether. Hyo-sin’s affection for and obsession with Si-eun is manifest in theexcessive decorating of their exchange diary, while the imaginary swimmingscene foreshadows the tragic ending to their relationship. As Min-a tracesthe trajectory of the relationship between Hyo-sin and Si-eun, she discoversthe piano, the bottom of which is filled with Hyo-sin’s presents for Si-eunand memorabilia (figure 5.1, 5.2). In Wishing Stairs, the drawings in Hye-ju’sdiary not only show her being ostracized by her peers but also represent herbelief in the myth that the stairs near the dorm would fulfill her dear wish tobe thin.

How is it, then, that the sonyeo sensibility represented transforms thegeneric norms of the horror genre? Female ghosts in the Whispering Cor-ridors series may be regarded as monsters in terms of Noël Carroll’s defini-tion: ghosts are supernatural, conceptually hybrid entities that threaten thecommunity.≤π Characters are portrayed as ‘‘aberrant’’ in that they challengethe norms. In a flashback in Memento Mori, the viewer learns that Hyo-sinbecame ostracized by her classmates after reciting her poem negating thebinary oppositions between existence and nonexistence and truth and lies.Hyo-sin earns praise from her literature teacher and becomes the object ofother students’ jealousy. When Hyo-sin has a beer with Mr. Goh, she alsoquestions categorical imperatives such as ‘‘You shall not kill people.’’ Shedenies the absoluteness of such a dictum by recourse to a situational ground,claiming that one simply does not know unless one has firsthand knowledgeof such a situation.

Hyo-sin’s sexuality—homosexuality or bisexuality—further isolates herfrom her peers, and her kiss with Si-eun in public is indeed a suicidal act thatliterally leads to her suicide within the plot. Despite Hyo-sin’s deviance fromor violation of social norms, she is portrayed as a victim rather than a threat.

Figure 5.1 The white piano evokes a usual horror mood.(Memento Mori, Kim Tae-yong, Min Kyu-dong, 1999)

Figure 5.2 Memorabilia-filled piano manifests the decorative impulse of theteenage protagonist. (Memento Mori, Kim Tae-yong, Min Kyu-dong, 1999)

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Homosexuality is portrayed more as an act of resistance to conformity thanas a sign of monstrosity. Andrew Grossman and Jooran Lee aptly note thatthe ghostly nature of homosexuality in Memento Mori ‘‘remains a methodintensifying eros rather than stigmatizing it.’’≤∫ Furthermore, Hyo-sin’s affairwith the male teacher helps underscore the fact that teachers are the victimsof the same system as students. Her sexual relationship with him should notbe attributed to her attraction to him nor her curiosity about him; rather, itresides in her sympathy for him. In one scene in an empty classroom, we seeHyo-sin stroking Mr. Goh’s hair, underscoring the reversed relationshipbetween the two: Hyo-sin acts like a care-giver rather than a student/lover.

The real monstrosity resides in the school itself and, more specifically,the Korean education system, which deprives students of individual free-doms and happiness. In the first installment, So-yeong claims that her goalis to enter the top university in the country. Higher education loses itspurpose; it is not a means to find and develop one’s dreams but becomes anend in itself. One way to survive within such a system is passivity: remaining‘‘unnoticed’’ as the ghost Jin-ju wishes. She was not even recognized by herown teachers and was able to remain in school for nine years as a ghost. Thefirst two installments suggest that the deplorable traits of teachers partlyresult from the system itself, as indicated by Ji-o’s didactic speech about herportrait of Ms. Park. Such an idea is visually reinforced when another stu-dent, Jeong-suk, commits suicide. Ms. Park and Jeong-suk, both of whomeventually die hanging from the same bridge, are visually linked via similarcamera movements and shot compositions (figure 5.3 and 5.4). When Ji-ofirst finds Ms. Park’s body, Ji-o puts her hands on Jin-ju’s face to keep Jin-jufrom seeing Ms. Park. There is a montage of student reactions, including Ji-oand Jin-ju and two other students. When the camera cuts back to Ji-o andJin-ju and then tilts up, we see Jeong-suk by the window witnessing Ms.Park’s death. Later in the film, there is a shot of Jeong-suk’s body hanging ina similar manner, when her body is found by another student at night. Theestablishing shot renders Jeong-suk’s body comparable to Ms. Park’s, andthe probing camera moves up from her legs to reveal her face. The mal-adjustment experienced by newly employed teachers such as Eun-yeong andMr. Goh in the first and the second installment, respectively, further under-scores the fact that both teachers and students are victims of the sameeducation system.

Even for those characters with apparent agency, such as Hyo-sin in thesecond installment or Jin-seong in the third, their agency is not sustained


Figure 5.3 Ms. Park hanging from the overpass.(Whispering Corridors, Park Ki-hyeong, 1998)

at the level of both narrative and style. Character actions are not seen intheir entirety, their integrity being constantly interrupted by the camera orthe looks of classmates. For instance, after Si-eun and Hyo-sin decide to ‘‘gopublic,’’ we see Si-eun and Hyo-sin holding hands. A teacher slaps Si-eun’sface, and Hyo-sin storms out of the classroom with her diary. The cam-era arcs around the classroom, underscoring the uniformity of classmates’stunned reactions, and awaits Hyo-sin’s entrance through the backdoor.Then the camera zooms in on Si-eun as Hyo-sin runs toward her. Instead ofusing a 360-degree arcing camera shot, which is often used to shoot kissesbetween lovers, the kiss between Si-eun and Hyo-sin is disrupted as Si-euntries to push Hyo-sin away until the two are broken apart by a classmatewith the teacher’s help. But their kiss is also disrupted stylistically, shiftingbetween extreme long shots and close-ups of their faces. The kiss here is nota token of affection; it is an act of resistance. This exemplifies Hyo-sin’srefusal to be assimilated with her classmates. A less elaborate case is foundin the scene where both Jin-seong and So-hui skip practice to attend a musicconcert, but only Jin-seong gets punished and humiliated by her teacher in

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Figure 5.4 Jeong-suk’s suicide visually parallels Ms. Park’s death.(Whispering Corridors, Park Ki-hyeong, 1998)

front of her peers. We see a close-up of Jin-seong’s feet heading towardscreen left (figure 5.5), followed by a close-up of her face looking in theopposite direction (figure 5.6). The visual punctuation here indicates Jin-seong’s anger and frustration about unfairness and favoritism. Furthermore,her disintegrated body conveys her conflicting desires, torn between hercherished friendship with So-hui and her wish to win the competition.

The incorporation of the ghost-story formula is not unique to Koreanhorror cinema. However, the Whispering Corridors series successfully en-codes the horrific and traumatic high school experiences specific to Koreanstudents by selectively adopting horror iconography and conventions. Me-mento Mori was less successful at the box office than the other installments—even though it was critically acclaimed both at home and abroad. Reasonsfor this comparative failure can be found in the film’s imbalance between theelements it incorporates from coming-of-age movies and horror cinema.Unlike the first and the fourth installments, which follow a ‘‘whodunit’’ plotstructure, the film foregrounds the emotional trajectory of the two protago-nists over the course of the plot’s development. In the beginning of the film,


Figure 5.5 Jin-seong’s truncated feet.(Whishing Stairs, Yun Jae-yun, 2003)

Memento Mori imitates conventional horror-film style by providing theviewer with false cues through disjointed camera and figure movements,with the camera constantly passing by Si-eun practicing on the track. Inhorror films, such a style often misleads the viewer to suspect the presenceof a ghost or a stalker. As the camera cuts to an interior shot of the class-room to introduce Ji-won and Yeon-an, the unstable camera temporarilyconfirms the viewer’s hunch—which is then instantly undercut when Ji-wonis shown operating a camcorder. The film, however, fails to sustain bothstylistic and narrative suspense after Hyo-sin’s death. Hyo-sin’s ghostly pres-ence is clearly marked by her reincarnation into a red bird or a shift in colortone. The film is more preoccupied in building up to the emotional climax ofthe film, while the need to resolve narrative conflicts is nearly absent. Thefilm’s climax is neither the confrontation between the ghost of Hyo-sin andthe people who bullied her nor the revelation of how Hyo-sin died. Rather, itcoincides with the lowest point of the emotional trajectory between Hyo-sinand Si-eun: Si-eun once again rejects Hyo-sin, who then seeks reconcilia-tion. Noël Carroll writes that the two emotional overtones of horror filmsare fear and disgust.≤Ω But the emotional overtone of Memento Mori isneither fear nor disgust: it is sadness.

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Figure 5.6 Jin-seong sheds tears out of frustration.(Wishing Stairs, Yun Jae-yun, 2003)

These films show a Korean high school system solely dedicated to stu-dent preparation for college admission, thus blocks students from cultivat-ing a sensibility of their own. Within such a system, the sonyeo sensibility iscompletely stifled, and friendship becomes unsustainable in the narrative.An evocation of horror imbued with sadness is further pursued in such filmsas A Tale of Two Sisters, the third feature by Kim Ji-woon. The original titleof the film, Janghwa, Hongryeon, references a Korean folktale with the sametitle, which shares only a vague resemblance to Kim’s film in that the nar-rative conflict arises from the familial relationship between a stepmotherand two daughters. The ages of the two protagonists—the overbearing Su-mi and naive Su-yeon—are left unspecified; but the setting is in a countryhouse far from school, and the trauma that propels the narrative is hardlythe hardship of high school life. But A Tale of Two Sisters shares an impor-tant aesthetic strategy employed in Memento Mori in addition to its evoca-tion of sadness: the externalization of character psychology. As Hyo-sin’sobsession with Si-eun is manifested through her decorative impulse—thesecret diary and the piano filled with small gifts and memorabilia—Su-mi’sneuroses and psychoses are externalized via the juxtaposition of a bucolicexterior and a gothic interior.


The emergence of teen horror might be contingent upon various factors—changing mediascapes in the Korean film industry, the rise of new inde-pendent production companies, niche marketing, and growing multiplexes.Yet it provides an outlet for dramatizing some of the conflicts familiar toKorean female adolescents and succeeds in appealing to female sensitivity,which has been neglected in many mainstream genres.

‘‘Impossible’’ Romance of Their Own

One of the dilemmas of youth-oriented films, according to Shary, is thatthey address young audiences, yet the images of youth have always beentraditionally filtered through adult perspectives.≥≠ Most teen pics are createdby generations removed from their target audience, with filmmakers relyingon the experiences of their own youth—Spirit of Jeet Kune Do—or strugglingto anticipate teenage tastes. There have been attempts to incorporate a teenperspective, including Jang Sun-woo’s Timeless Bottomless Bad Movie, bycasting nonprofessional actors and allowing them to write their own script.

The Korean film industry found a more convenient way to appeal toyoung audiences’ sensibilities: the Internet. In July 2004 two Korean teenpics, He Was Cool (Lee Hwan-gyeong) and Romance of Their Own (KimTae-gyun), were released simultaneously. Both were adaptations of serialnovels from the same teenage author, named Guiyeoni (a.k.a. Gwiyeoni),whose work has increasingly gained popularity on the Internet. Both filmstell a similar story, though in differing tones, about the love interests of anaverage teenage girl—Ye-won and Han-gyeong, respectively—as she is pur-sued by a handsome boy in the neighborhood. These two stories—Guiyeonidoes not refer to her works as ‘‘novels’’ but rather as ‘‘stories’’—were origi-nally posted on a Web site called Humor-nara, and on her current fan site,called Gui-sa-mo, in 2001 and 2002, respectively. She usually posts one (upto three installments) per day, which in two to four months will become acomplete ‘‘story.’’ All of her work is subsequently published in book form.Romance of Their Own, one of the two film adaptations of her stories,attracted an audience of over 2 million, a figure comparable to the Koreanadmissions for Hollywood blockbusters such as Harry Potter or Troy.≥∞ Mer-chandizing followed suit, piggybacking on the popularity of the stories andcharacters.

The Guiyeoni syndrome is one of the many instances of synergy createdbetween different media co-opting and targeting the same niche market. But

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the reception of Guiyeoni’s work and the films is polarized; it is eitherdismissed as merely an indulgence in girls’ fantasy or granted value as asubcultural phenomenon. Nevertheless, an examination of the relationshipbetween Guiyeoni’s stories and their film adaptations is necessary to evalu-ate their respective subcultural value. How does the film medium incorpo-rate or replace the aesthetics of Internet novels? How do these media differin terms of placing the turning points within stories? In what way are theendings in both media happy endings under an erasure that appeals to bothwish fulfillment and its impossibility? In what respect do these two filmsextend or distort teenage fantasy?

Guiyeoni’s stories are told from a first-person perspective and written inshort sentences, most of which consist of dialogue interspersed with briefdescriptions of character actions. Her writings are notorious for her exces-sive use of emoticons (such as - -, - -; ] [, -o-), which earned currencyamong not only teenagers but also many Internet and mobile phone users.Guiyeoni constantly replaces the descriptions of character psychology orreactions with emoticons. Emoticons employed in the electronic text, likeGuiyeoni’s stories, render a formal gap that may be bridged by the filmmedium, but with embedded limitations. Both HeWas Cool and Romance ofTheir Own mimic the functions of emoticons via an animated text messageor the insert of the text message itself on the upper-right-hand corner of thescreen. In one scene, Ye-won is strangled by an animated text message sentby Eun-seong and his friends.

But the apparent similarity between the two media ends there. Emoti-cons/text messages in the films serve a different purpose from those in theoriginal story. In Guiyeoni’s writings, emoticons punctuate dialogue: some-times momentarily disrupting the flow of conversation, as when they areused in the middle of the sentences, or sometimes bracketing and under-lining the dialogue when emoticons are added to the beginning and the endof sentences. On the other hand, in films they merely function as a visualiza-tion of the message that female protagonists send or receive. Neither film,however, pursues this strategy further. Rather it is a gesture or allusion tothe well-known characteristic of the original stories.

Further textual differences are to be found in the narratives due to themodes of production and consumption of the two media. Guiyeoni and herreaders form an exclusive community in which only members have access toher stories. Within this cybercommunity, readers are able to partake in


shaping the trajectory of a story. In her interview with film critic JeongSeong-il, Guiyeoni claims that she, in fact, changed the portion allotted forTae-seong in Romance of Their Own as the character gained more popularityamong her readers.≥≤ Guiyeoni responds to reader feedback by expandingTae-seong’s plotline and saving him from surgery he needs halfway throughthe story. But the interaction between her and her readers goes beyond this.Guiyeoni builds up the reader’s expectations and then cruelly violates them.After all, she did kill Tae-seong’s character mercilessly at the end of herstory! It is play engaged in by both Guiyeoni and her readers.

Film structure lacks a feedback loop comparable to that of Internet serialsand Korean television series, which sometimes change the plot considerablyin accordance with viewer feedback. Film is a unified whole with a definitebeginning and ending, with no room for such interactions as those Guiyeoniestablished with her Internet audiences. A comparison of how the turningpoint is placed and handled in Romance of Their Own—both the story andthe film—will further underscore the divergent aesthetics manifested inthese two media. Both the story and the film align the viewer with Tae-seong, who keeps a secret from the rest of the characters. Early on, au-diences are informed through a flashback that Tae-seong is Han-gyeong’shalf-brother, a son that Han-gyeong’s deceased father had with anotherwoman. Although Han-gyeong discovers the truth in different ways in thetwo media—in the story by eavesdropping on a conversation between hermother and stepfather and in the film by seeing an old photo of Tae-seongwith her father and herself—the moment of revelation is conjoined with amelodramatic twist. Tae-seong gets into a motorcycle accident on his way toconfirm with Han-gyeong that they are siblings.

The two media also employ different aesthetics. Guiyoeni’s story adoptsthe aesthetics of soap operas, in which the moment of revelation is con-stantly delayed. Guiyeoni writes over twenty installments leading up to thepoint when Tae-seong needs a potentially dangerous surgery after the acci-dent. Furthermore, the accident and the upcoming surgery increases theconflict between Han-gyeong and her boyfriend, Hae-won, as she decidesnot to reveal the truth until after Tae-seong’s surgery. In the next coupleof installments, Guiyeoni adds a family melodrama as Tae-seong is to be(re)united with his grandmother and aunt, who didn’t know of his existence.To make things worse, Han-gyeong declares she will move out of her par-ents’ place to live with Tae-seong. Although the film contains most of theinformation mentioned in condensed form (an event per shot), it omits Tae-

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seong’s surgery. Instead, the scene sets up why Tae-seong needs heart sur-gery: he receives the operation toward the end of the film and dies fromsurgery-related complications. At this juncture, however, the fact that Tae-seong and Han-gyeong are siblings seems to reinforce the apparent resolu-tion of a triangular relationship among the three adolescents seen earlier, asHan-gyeong chooses Hae-won over Tae-seong.

How, then, do these films adapt and transform the original stories? Dothey merely follow the overall narrative trajectory and appropriate wittydialogue? Film critic Jeong claims that if He Was Cool renders the originalstory too cute, Romance of Their Own turns it into a gritty story. If theformer dilutes the sexuality and sexual fantasy palpable in the original story,the latter turns the story into a ‘‘macho action fantasy.’’≥≥ In He Was Cool,after the misunderstanding between Ye-won and Eun-seong is resolved, thestory jumps five years into the future, when the two live together. The film,however, presents their union as a fairytale ending: Ye-won’s wish comestrue as she is reunited with her boyfriend on the first day of snowfall.

Male protagonists in both of Guiyeoni’s stories are portrayed as reb-els, whose virility is expressed through visceral (gang) fights. Interestingly,both films open with fight scenes. In Romance of Their Own, Kim Tae-gyun,who previously directed Volcano High, turns the fight scenes into enjoyablespectacles. The film starts with a gang fight led by two male protagonists.Throughout the film, fights become the basis for the bonding between thetwo male leads. Kim adds another fight toward the end of the film that isabsent in the original story. The scene takes place after we see Han-gyeongbreak up with her boyfriend and confront Tae-seong about his involvementin their breakup. This nearly four-minute fight scene is excessive and pro-vides the viewer with one last spectacle to enjoy. But how does the insertionof fight scenes turn this film into a ‘‘male’’ fantasy?

As both critics and audiences note, Guiyeoni’s stories are blatant fan-tasies. The distribution and consumption of these stories may have liftedfrom the then-teenage author a burden of imposing verisimilitude. ThusGuiyeoni is less constrained by the norms and conventions of literature.However, as Elizabeth Cowie observes, fantasy is characterized not by theachievement of desired objects, but by ‘‘the arranging and setting out ofdesire.’’≥∂ The ending of both stories—regardless of whether it is happy as inHe Was Cool or tragic as in Romance of Their Own—points to the wish/desire that structures and shapes romantic fantasy but simultaneously un-derscores the impossibility of such wish fulfillment. Although these two


films can be interpreted in terms of ‘‘originary’’ fantasy—seduction fantasyor oedipal scenario—which is not pursued here, one can question whetherthis fantasy belongs to a specific demographic group and gender—i.e., teen-age girls—and to what extent these films and their narrative structure in-hibit teenagers and even adults from entering into that fantasy.

According to Jeong, the fantasy world of Guiyeoni is destroyed whenadults, including the directors of both films, pretend to understand herworld. He argues that her stories aim to be a failure in communicating withadults. She creates a fantasy world constructed against the adult world anddesigned to exclude adults. One must, however, consider to what extent wecan attribute the origin of this fantasy to the author (and her readers) andexclusively to teenagers. Her fantasy on masculinity in original stories ispartially derived from the representations of male characters in contempo-rary Korean cinema. She claims that she wanted to create masculine heroesbecause of her belief that masculinity is valued in men by men.≥∑ Certainlysuch a belief may be attributed to the dominant representation of mas-culinity in other films—gangster cinema or many contemporary Koreanfilms set in high school—which is all fed into her own fantasy. In addition,the narrative devices she employs in Romance of Their Own, such as the useof an incestuous relationship as the ultimate blockage to the union of acouple is borrowed from the recurring tropes and conventions in contem-porary Korean tv drama series. In that regard, this teenage fantasy is al-ready contaminated by the conventions and genres of the adult realm.

Instead of viewing these two films, as Jeong claims, to be merely capitalis-tic exploitations of teenage female fantasy (certainly they are geared towardprofits, piggybacked on the popularity of the original stories), one can viewthem as aesthetic bribes, which are better fitted into generic formats thanthe originals and thus enable or facilitate the adult audiences to enter intothis familiar orchestration of desires. One can follow a reverse order inbecoming exposed to and experiencing the Guiyeoni syndrome: startingfrom the films, buying the novels, and reading the original stories posted onthe net. Certainly there exist unbridgeable gaps among these forms, and onecan relish such differences. However, the reason one can enjoy all theseforms may be found in the presence of fantasy that can be shared andexperienced by diverging sets of audiences regardless of gender or age.

Korean adolescents’ high school experience is transformed into variousforms in youth-oriented films: high school films, delinquent films, horror,and romance. Some focus on the recurring issues that have a crossgenera-

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tional appeal—such as conflicts between teachers and students—while oth-ers cater to the interests and sensibilities of a specific audience group, suchas female teenage audiences. Despite the generic variants, rigid hierarchy inhigh school—which can be viewed as a microcosm of Korean society—anduse of physical punishment as a means to discipline students help film-makers render high school as a site of unfulfilled desires and wishes, ratherthan a place of dreams and ambitions.

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6 Not Just Metteurs-en-Scène?

‘‘High-Quality’’ Films

In the early 2000s the term ‘‘well-made’’ started to circulatewithin the Korean film industry, as well as in critical discourse, to designatea production trend. Bong Joon-ho’s sophomore feature, Memories of Mur-der (2003), signals the beginning of this trend, followed by E J-yong’s UntoldScandal and Kim Ji-woon’s A Tale of Two Sisters, both of which were alsoreleased in 2003. This slightly awkward term expresses both filmmakers’dissatisfaction with the heavily commercialized Korean film industry andtheir effort to bridge the gap between the economics and aesthetics of acommercially driven industry. The success of lowbrow gangster comedy—such as My Wife is a Gangster (Jo Jin-gyu, 2001), Hi! Dharma! (Park Cheol-kwan, 2001) and Marrying the Mafia (Jeong Heung-sun, 2002)—and thebox-office failure of many blockbuster films, such as Jang Sun-woo’s TheResurrection of the Match Girl (2002), Yesterday (Jeon Yun-su, 2002), Tube(Baek Wun-hak, 2003), and Natural City (Min Byeong-cheon, 2003), gaverise to an anxiety in the Korean film industry: a middle ground needed to befound between high-budget blockbusters and low-budget comedy.

The term ‘‘well made,’’ however, carries unwanted connotations that someof the previous commercially successful films did not deserve such warmreceptions. The industry’s attempt to reconcile commercial sensibility andaesthetic quality of a film—though it fosters a mistaken equation betweenaesthetic value and popularity of a film—manifests an attempt to defy the oldconception about commercial cinema: that it exists primarily for entertain-ment value. With this vague term, the Korean film industry and the criticaldiscourse surrounding it promote mid-budget, less spectacle-driven filmswith original subject matter and artistic value, urging the audience to appre-ciate aesthetic achievements of Korean cinema. This trend paid off with thecommercial success of such films as Welcome to Dongmakgol ($49.2 million,Park Kwang-hyun, 2005)∞ and the costume drama King and the Clown ($83million, Lee Jun-ik, 2005).≤

This chapter examines the discourse of ‘‘well-made’’ commercial films in

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the Korean film industry. What constitutes so-called well-made commercialfilms? What are the evaluative criteria for well-made films? How do thesefilms achieve aesthetic refinement? What are some of the reasons to fore-ground the mise-en-scène in well-made commercial cinema? How is mise-en-scène configured in the films considered to be well made?

English-language trade journals such as The Hollywood Reporter trans-late this trend of well-made cinema to ‘‘high-quality’’ commercial films,which do not have much currency in Hollywood as an explicit productiontrend.≥ ‘‘High quality’’ may be a better term in delineating what well-madefilms attempt to differentiate themselves from: ‘‘high-concept’’ films. High-concept film is a production/marketing strategy that was initiated in Holly-wood in the 1970s. According to Justin Wyatt, a high-concept film is easilygraspable by a concept or an image; it revolves around a simple plot that canbe summed up in one or two sentences, features stars with identifiablepersonas, and boasts a high-tech look.∂ Top Gun (Tony Scott, 1986), one ofthe prime examples that Wyatt references, relies on Tom Cruise’s star per-sona and a generic storyline—a young pilot falls in love with a beautifulblonde instructor—aptly manifested in the movie poster featuring TomCruise posing with Kelly McGillis.∑ High-concept films are often adver-tised through other tie-ins—music videos, soundtracks, and merchandising.Montage sequences that resemble music videos are planted within a film,which can be easily extracted for promoting the original soundtrack, orthere might be a music video released before the film to pique the viewer’scuriosity. Gihoek yeonghwa, a Korean term comparable to ‘‘high concept,’’emerged as a new production/marketing strategy in Korea with the successof TheMarriage Story (Kim Ui-seok, 1992) and blossomed with the ‘‘fish outof water’’ gangster comedy cycle that included MyWife Is a Gangster (Jo Jin-gyu, 2001), Hi! Dharma! (Park Cheol-kwan, 2001), and Marrying the Mafia(Jeong Heung-sun, 2002). Romantic dramas such as The Contact (1997),Romance of Their Own (Kim Tae-gyun, 2004), and AMillionaire’s First Love(Kim Tae-gyun, 2006) are instances of crossfertilization in which soundtrackand music video became an integral part in the film’s success.

If the category of well-made commercial filmmaking refers to films thatearned both critical acclaim and commercial success, many precedents canbe found before the release of Memories of Murder, including Christmas inAugust (Hur Jin-ho, 1998), JSA (Park Chan-wook, 2000), and The WayHome (Lee Jeong-hyang, 2002). The significance of Memories of Murder isthat it provides a model to follow for midsize production companies. Since


the box-office success of Memories of Murder, which grossed $31 million inKorea,∏ ‘‘well made’’ has become a term for use both in production andmarketing strategy. Within the concept of a well-made film, unlike films of‘‘high production value,’’ is embedded an evaluative judgment: if ‘‘high pro-duction value’’ signifies the production cost that may or may not affecta film’s aesthetic value, the former connotes a certain level of quality—commanding that it is ‘‘worth seeing.’’ Perhaps well-made commercial cin-ema models itself after so-called independent production companies such asNew Line Cinema, Miramax, and Focus, which target a segment of au-diences whose tastes lie somewhere between art-house and mainstreamfare. Both Korean well-made cinema and Hollywood independent films fo-cus on themes, character relationships, and social relevance: themes thathad long been associated with European art cinema.π

Both the Korean film industry and local critics further appealed to theviewer’s ‘‘sophisticated’’ taste in commending the public’s appreciation ofwell-made films. FILM 2.0, a weekly South Korean film magazine, claimsthat ‘‘Oldboy follows the footstep of Memories of Murder, and once againproves that well-made cinema also succeeds in attracting audiences at thebox office.’’∫ Here it is assumed that the aesthetic merits of the film earnedthe audiences’ approval. The headline of a forum that appears in anotherfilm magazine, Cine 21, also reads, ‘‘Audiences started to become moreselective. ‘Well-made’ hit the bull’s eye.’’Ω Such a discourse indicates theKorean film industry’s aspiration toward creating a film culture in which awide range of films can reach and be appreciated by a general audience.

The industry request for the Korean government to implement a screenquota (or ‘‘minority quota’’) for art-house cinema was only partially granted,with government subsidies allotted for ‘‘art theaters’’—theaters that dedicateat least 219 days to presenting art-house films.∞≠ By 2003 ten art-housetheaters had emerged nationwide, forming an association called ArtplusCinema Network. However, some exhibitors were concerned about the dif-ficulty in screening Korean art cinema. There were conflicts inherent inabiding by double-quota standards—one screen quota allotted for Koreancinema and one for ‘‘art cinema’’—and there was the ambiguous questionof what exactly constituted art cinema.∞∞ Well-made cinema is, then, theKorean film industry’s attempts to diversify the products within the main-stream venues.

However, there appear to be closer affinities between the distribution andmarketing strategies of well-made films and those of high-concept films—at


least within the Korean context. ‘‘High-quality’’ films produced by Holly-wood independents receive limited theatrical releases compared to main-stream movies. Well-made films, on the contrary, enjoy saturated booking,comparable to that of Korean blockbusters, and sometimes rely on moremoderate distribution. As the commercial viability of well-made films hasincreased, Welcome to Dongmakgol—another well-made film praised by lo-cal critics—opened on 450 screens in its first week.∞≤ Korean blockbusterssuch as Silmido and Taegukgi were released on 450 and 512 screens, respec-tively.∞≥ On the other hand, King and the Clown, which held the all-time box-office record ($12.3 million in admissions) before Bong’s blockbuster TheHost (2006) came along, is an example of a word-of-mouth hit.∞∂ It wasshown on 250 screens during the opening week; as the film created a buzz,its screens then increased to between 350 and 390.∞∑

Similar to high-concept films, the majority of well-made films are basedon presold property. Memories of Murder, Welcome to Dongmakgol, andKing and the Clown are adaptations of plays. Untold Scandal moves the clas-sic French novel Dangerous Liaisons to eighteenth-century Joseon (Chosun)Dynasty Korea. The audiences’ appreciation of the film is predicated in partupon their familiarity with the original novel or previous cinematic adapta-tions—e.g., Dangerous Liaisons (Stephen Frears, 1988) or Valmont (MilosForman, 1989).

Well-made films are marketed with a simple catchphrase or one-lineconcept that can encapsulate the plot structure, star, genre, and film style.Memories of Murder was marketed as ‘‘Se7en [David Fincher, 1995] set in arural town in South Korea.’’∞∏ Untold Scandal beckons viewer curiosity bycasting Bae Yong-joon against his popular image. In his debut film, Bae playsJo-won, a scholar who promises to seduce Lady Suk in exchange for his lovefor Lady Jo. Janghwa Hongryeon, the Korean title of A Tale of Two Sisters,references a Korean folktale about two sisters mistreated by a domineeringstepmother, a story with which most Korean audiences are familiar. Kim Ji-woon’s next film, A Bittersweet Life (2005), is described as ‘‘Melville meetsKill Bill,’’ which encapsulates the mood and style of Melville’s cinema as wellas the level of violence depicted in the Tarantino film.

The marketing strategy of the films mentioned above reinforces the local-global (and East-West) rhetoric employed in promoting Korean blockbust-ers as a brand. Korean blockbusters concerned with depicting national his-tory and Korean experience do so by appropriating the conventions andmarketing strategies of Hollywood cinema. Hollywood or other national


cinema’s influence in marketing Korean well-made films not only provides apoint of reference to help convey a sense of the film’s content but alsobecomes the point of departure for its cultural specificity.

Memories of Murder’s appeal is its 1980s cultural references, using nos-talgia and irony to appeal to viewers—a common motif in films of the 386Generation directors. The film is based on real-life events in which tenwomen were raped and murdered in a small town, south of Seoul, between1986 and 1991. Set in the mid-1980s, local cop Park and his sidekick Joaccuse the wrong suspects. Detective Seo from Seoul is assigned to assist inthe case. In the first half of the film, tension between the local cops and theSeoul detective escalates, with the former relying on ‘‘keen’’ eyes (and evenshamanism) while the latter focuses on ‘‘facts.’’ The incompetence of thelocal cops makes for a comic tone in the beginning. However, as the filmprogresses, both the local cops and the big-city detective grow attached tothe case as it becomes increasingly personal for them.

The film indirectly references the political situation and atmosphere ofthe 1980s, hinting at the incompetence of the Korean military governmentthen in power. In one scene, a local police chief requests supplementalpolice to track down a suspect on a rainy day; but he is unable to recruitanyone, since other forces are assigned to suppress student demonstrationsin the city nearby. In addition, the local cops constantly mistreat the sus-pects, forcing them to give false testimony. When the sidekick Jo, who iswarned by his chief after beating up one of the suspects, drinks at a restau-rant, the television news reports the actual case of a cop accused of sexuallyharassing a female activist in 1986. Some of the customers at the restaurant,most of whom seem to be college students, yell: ‘‘Cut off the dick of such abastard.’’ Jo, enraged, destroys the tv set.

The conventions of Hollywood crime/detective films are adopted inMemories of Murder only to transform the conventions. Bong’s decisionto work on an unsolved mystery provides him with room to experiment.As David Bordwell points out, crime/detective films often consist of twostorylines: crime fabula and investigation fabula.∞π As the investigation un-folds, the viewer is able to construct a coherent story of ‘‘whodunit.’’ Crime/detective films often create a gap between knowledge of the crime andthe investigation process, which then stimulates the viewer’s curiosity andcreates suspense. This gap between the crime and investigation is closed asthe investigation comes to an end. However, in Memories of Murder, narra-tive enigma goes unsolved, unlike in the majority of Hollywood crime/


detective films. As Derek Elley aptly observes, the film ‘‘has focused on theinvestigators rather than the crimes, and on the effect of the crimes ratherthan their inherent thrills.’’∞∫ Gwang-ho, who is the first suspect and waspresent at one of the crime scenes, is unable to testify, as he is killed acciden-tally by an oncoming train. To make things worse, the dna test result fromthe fbi—the only hope the cops have to convict the suspect—turns out tobe inconclusive. Classic Hollywood films such as The Big Sleep (HowardHawks, 1946), much like Memories of Murder, foregrounds the investiga-tion fabula over crime fabula, but the construction of a coherent story is notimpossible.∞Ω Consider contemporary Hollywood crime films, such as Se7enor Memento. In the former, the crime fabula is dissolved, rather than re-solved, as John Doe turns himself in; while in the latter, although the storyunfolds backward, the viewer is able to comprehend the story by the end.

The lack of narrative closure is partly due to the fact that the actual crimethe film is based on was never solved. But this lack of closure does not stemfrom the same narrative ambiguity or indeterminacy as in The Usual Sus-pects (Bryan Singer, 1995) or Mulholland Dr. (David Lynch, 2001).≤≠ Rather,it is attributed to the utter lack of evidence within the diegetic world. Not tomention that the killer’s motivation is never disclosed; most of the scantyevidence that exists is ultimately insignificant. Halfway through the film, oneof the original clues—that all the victims were wearing red clothes and weremurdered on a rainy day—is undermined. A woman who was attacked whilebringing an umbrella to her husband swaps her red raincoat for a black one,right before she leaves the house. In addition, during the film’s final crime,when a middle-school girl is murdered, we don’t see raindrops. It is rainingthe next morning when the body is found. Likewise, the reliability of otherevidence—the song ‘‘Uulhan pyeonji’’ (A Gloomy Letter) playing on theradio each time a crime occurs and the distinguishing characteristic of thekiller’s hand—is tenuous.

As Bong claims, the entire film can be seen as a search for faces, exceptthat the viewer never gets to see the killer’s face.≤∞ The film starts and endswith a close-up of a boy and of Park, respectively, with the local cops includ-ing Park and the viewer painstakingly looking for the killer. The killer’s faceremains off screen except when the viewer has a glimpse of his face duringone of the crime scenes. In the three onscreen crime scenes—one of which isthe flashback shown when testimony of a victim is being recorded—we seeonly the killer’s gaze and a shot of his truncated body such as his hand, whichis described by one victim ‘‘delicate just like a woman’s hand.’’ The final


crime scene starts with a panning shot showing the killer with his back to thecamera and then a clear view of his hand. The moment of the killer’s hesita-tion is rendered via panning between two women: a middle-school girl, andGwak, who is on her way to visit a patient. The film ends with Park staringinto the camera. Now a middle-aged businessman, Park returns to the crimescene from an earlier sequence and looks inside the sewer. A girl passing byinforms Park about the visit by another man, who claims he was reminiscingabout things he had done in his past. Park blankly stares at the camera, as ifhe’s still searching for the face of the killer in the audience.≤≤

One of the achievements of Memories of Murder can be found in the factthat the killer is left unspecified. As Washitani Hana points out, the killer’sanonymity makes the memories of the killings ‘‘collective’’ rather than ‘‘indi-vidual.’’≤≥ This is well contrasted with Lee Chang-dong’s Peppermint Candy(1999), in which an individualized antihero, Yeong-ho, embodies the entiremodern history from 1980 until 1997 (from the Gwang-ju uprising to imf).Memories of Murder also diverges from Hollywood crime/detective filmssuch as The Silence of the Lambs (1990) in which antihero Dr. HannibalLecter is charismatic and intelligent despite being a murderous cannibal.≤∂

In Memories of Murder, neither the detectives nor the killer is heroicized,with only helpless townspeople in fear.

E J-yong’s Untold Scandal effortlessly adapts the classic French novelDangerous Liaisons to eighteenth-century Korea. The film garnered 2.2 mil-lion admissions (earning roughly $11 million, twice its negative cost withinthe first ten days after its release). Untold Scandal is faithful to the Frenchoriginal in terms of narrative structure with slight changes necessary toadhere to the eighteenth-century Korean setting. Jo-won is an accomplishedscholar and martial artist who rejects the restrictions of public office for alife of sensuous pleasure. The love of Jo-won’s life, however, has been hiscousin Lady Jo, who is on the surface a model Confucian wife well versed inthe classics; but underneath she is a ruthless manipulator with a string oflovers. Jo-won bargains with Lady Jo that in exchange for her love, he wouldnot only deflower a soon-to-be-concubine of Lady Jo’s husband but alsosleep with Lady Suk—a widow incapable of being seduced.

An interesting twist is added to Untold Scandal by having Jo-won paintchunhwado as a hobby. Chunhwado is a euphemism for obscene paint-ing, the literal translation of which is the painting of ‘‘spring’’ and ‘‘flower.’’Chunhwado depicts undressed women or a couple making love, represent-ing a folk/counterculture that makes a satire of the strictness and pretension


of Confucian heritage in Joseon society. The irony manifested in the no-bility’s lifestyle both in the Joseon Dynasty and France may not be as great asit appears.

Lady Suk’s Catholicism also adds an interesting complexity to the film.Roman Catholicism, which came to Korea in the seventeenth century, wasbanned during the Joseon Dynasty, and more than eight thousand Catholicswere executed up until the mid-nineteenth century. Jo-won donates moneyfor and later participates in the secret gatherings of the Catholics in order tobe able to approach Lady Suk. In Dangerous Liaisons, Madame de Tourvel’sreligious beliefs lead her to believe in the Vicomte de Valmont’s apparentreformation, however superficial it is. It is also principally her religiousbeliefs that work to restrain her from consummating her love with de Val-mont, despite their mutual attraction. In contrast to this, Lady Suk’s motiva-tion to find virtue in Jo-won may come from her religious egalitarian belief—Jo-won, after all, points out Lady Suk’s inconsistency in not making anyeffort to see good in him, even though she is so open and generous tolaypeople at church gatherings. However, her wish to cherish chastity comesfrom the Confucian morals imposed upon her. It is worth pointing out thatin the film Lady Suk is accused of committing adultery, a rumor spread byLady Jo out of jealousy. Such an accusation underscores the self-denial ofthe Joseon Dynasty: adultery/promiscuity and Catholicism are considered‘‘Western’’ and ‘‘immoral,’’ despite the fact that adultery and promiscuityresult from the social contradictions within the Joseon Dynasty itself.

Subsequent costume dramas such as Blood Rain allegorically cast ambiv-alence on rationality, while Forbidden Quest, directed by Kim Dae-woo(screenwriter of Untold Scandal) cleverly alludes to contemporary con-sumer culture and the sex industry by focusing on an aristocrat’s curiosityfor forbidden sexual practices. In these films, beautiful costumes and elabo-rate use of mise-en-scène provide a backdrop against which contemporaryanxiety and desires are detected and orchestrated. In this regard, these filmsdiverge from heritage films directed by Im Kwon-taek, which lament thefading traditional art forms and urge the viewer to appreciate and preservecultural heritage and traditions.

Loosely based on a Korean folktale, ATale of Two Sisters appropriates theelements and iconography of horror cinema of differing national origins:the gothic horror films of classical and contemporary Hollywood—Carrie(Brian De Palma, 1976), The Sixth Sense (M. Night Shyamalan, 1999), andThe Others (Alejandro Amenabar, 2001)—and Japanese films such as Ringu


Figure 6.1 The cramped mise-en-scène of a local restaurant.(Memories of Murder, Bong Joon-ho, 2003)

(Nakata Hideo, 1998), and Audition (Miike Takashi, 1999). Picked up by uk-based distributor Tartan, A Tale of Two Sisters is labeled as ‘‘Asia Extreme’’along with Oldboy and other extreme cinema from Asia. Some of the narra-tive elements and mise-en-scène of gothic horror appear in A Tale of TwoSisters: doubling of characters, haunted houses, windows, stairways, and aforbidden/locked place the protagonist has no direct access to (displaced asa locked closet in A Tale of Two Sisters). The ending of the film is reminis-cent of a twist ending found in many contemporary Hollywood horror films,but it offers many more plot twists before the narrative closure: the revela-tion of Su-yeon’s identity, Su-mi’s split identity, and the stepmother’s dis-covery of a ghost in the house—while Su-mi’s suppressed trauma unfoldswithin a flashback.

Local critics underscore aesthetic refinement as the major denominatorof well-made commercial films. With increasing production value, the Ko-rean film industry became more conscious of film style, especially pro-duction design. By foregrounding mise-en-scène, the Korean film indus-try seeks an alternate aesthetic to replace the spectacle-driven blockbusterstyle. With less than half the budget of blockbusters, well-made films fore-


Figure 6.2 Gang-ho tumbles out of small attic.(Memories of Murder, Bong Joon-ho, 2003)

ground artistic merit rather than explosions, physicality, and chases. Knownin the industry as making innovative use of mise-en-scène are productiondesigners such as Ryu Seong-hee, who worked on No Blood No Tears (RyuSeung-wan, 2002), Memories of Murder, Oldboy (Park Chan-wook, 2003)and A Bittersweet Life; Jo Geun-hyeon, the production designer of A Taleof Two Sisters; and Min Eon-ok, who worked on such films as Blood Rainand television dramas such as Goong (a.k.a. Princess Hours aired on mbcJan. 11–Mar. 30, 2006).≤∑ Production companies such as B.O.M. brandedtheir products with carefully conceived, elaborate use of mise-en-scène. Towhat extent can we think of Bong, Lee, and Kim as metteurs-en-scène? Onwhat grounds can we categorize Memories of Murder, Untold Scandal, andA Tale of Two Sisters as mise-en-scène-oriented films? How does mise-en-scène in each film function differently?

Bong paces his film slowly—with an average shot length of ten seconds—and painstakingly captures the tactility of poverty-stricken neighborhoodsin a rural area of South Korea in the 1980s: the inn, in which Park and Gwakpassionlessly make love, the attic of Baek’s restaurant (figure 6.1), fromwhich Kwong-ho tumbles (figure 6.2), and the shabby house behind the


Figure 6.3 A small room in which an entire family lives.(Memories of Murder, Bong Joon-ho, 2003)

school, where the female victim reluctantly gives her testimony. In additionto Bong’s meticulous details, what is of aesthetic interest is the way mise-en-scène prompts a shift in tone within a scene or even within a shot. Whatappears to be the principal action instantly becomes subsidiary, turningitself into a pre-text for the revelation of an unexpected event.

In one scene, Detective Jo visits the house of Jo Byeong-sun, the secondsuspect. The scene opens with close-ups of some vacation photos and of afamily photo with insects crawling on it. They are followed by a shot of aclaustrophobic room covered with discolored, stained wallpaper with a rollof toilet paper hanging nearby and a cross is seen in the upper right-handcorner in the background. Near the cross, Jo’s wife is seen coughing. Andtwo kids are playing with toys on a gaudy blanket (figure 6.3). However, Bongdoes not let the viewer probe the mise-en-scène as art-house films usually do.Jo finds paper cards—a kind of origami that Korean children make and playwith—made of magazine paper, the back of which show the torso of a nakedwoman (figure 6.4). As Jo asks the boy where he found such a piece of paper,the camera cuts to show a square container in which magazines are stored,the shape of which mirrors that of the folded paper just seen (figure 6.5).

Figure 6.4 Jo finds a paper card the children play with.(Memories of Murder, Bong Joon-ho, 2003)

Figure 6.5 A container in which porn magazines are stored.(Memories of Murder, Bong Joon-ho, 2003)


The little family melodrama unfolding within the scene—from the happymoments captured in the photos to the current miserable living conditionswith the mother suffering from an illness—is abruptly undercut by such arevelation.

Mise-en-scène is carefully orchestrated for tonal shifts in longer se-quences as well. A fine example of this can be found in the chase sceneinvolving Jo. After the opening sequence, in which the screen is filled withgolden rice stalks, the film shifts to a monochromatic palette in which shotsare often accented by small patches of primary colors: a blue plastic trashcan, the blue shirt of a Chinese-food deliveryman at the police station, thered clothes of the female victim, and the red shirt on a scarecrow. The colorred also becomes an essential clue to capturing the second suspect. Park andJo return to one of the crime scenes and follow the instructions given by afemale shaman on how to catch the killer. The two are startled by the sightof a man walking toward them: it is Detective Seo, so they hide behind atomb. Detective Seo himself also hides when he sees Jo, the second suspect.When the suspect pulls down his pants to masturbate, he’s seen in a red, lacywoman’s undergarment. The chase begins as the suspect flees at the soundof Jo approaching. After a long chase, the three cops lose the suspect andarrive at a quarry. The banner at the entrance of the quarry reads, ‘‘Let’sspeed up the work process to build a strong nation.’’ Against the humon-gous, abstract shape of grayish-white limestone, a large crowd is working thenightshift, and most of these men wear black uniforms. As the percussivemusic continues to signal both the end of the scene nearing and the increas-ing exigency of the chase, the camera frames Park to show him in close-upagainst excessive backlighting. When the camera cuts to a man bending tolift a rock from a carriage, his red underwear boldly sticks out of his pants.Against this monochromatic industrial landscape, the suspect is visuallymarked by the color of his undergarment: red. Park orders Jo to line up fiveor six workers, and from these he picks out the suspect, pretending that herelied on his intuition—as he calls it, his ‘‘keen’’ eyes. The spectacle of thissequence—comparable to a scene in Stray Dog (Kurosawa Akira, 1949) inwhich Detective Murakami (Mifune Toshiro) searches for a suspect at thetrain station by the color of the suspect’s linen suit—is undercut by ananticlimatic revelation of the red undergarment. The significance of thechase has shifted, since the viewer is now aligned with Park. The range ofviewer’s knowledge exceeds that of both Jo and Seo. The scene is no longer


about the struggle to apprehend a fleeing suspect, but rather about thecontinuing rivalry between Park and Seo.

In a long two-minute take, Bong cues the viewer to what appears to be themost urgent event, which is soon deflated by the clumsy local police. Parkarrives at the crime scene. He circles the killer’s footprint left in the mud asevidence and then walks over to have a chat with his boss; the two then walktoward the female body found in the field. The camera movement is moti-vated by Park, framed in a medium-long shot. Bong directs the viewer’s at-tention either by figure movements or characters’ glances within the scene.When Park begins shouting to his chief, who is seen within a crowd in the farbackground, the chief tumbles down the hill (so does a forensic specialistwhen he arrives later in the scene), which helps the viewer identify himamong the crowd. The exact location of the body is hinted at by the glances ofa few bystanders at screen right, but as Park and his boss walk toward screenright, the body is revealed, and the camera arcs around the boy to reframeboth Park and the Chief. Park starts to wave his right hand to stop a tractor onthe hill, with his eyes still on the dead body, which is now off-screen. He runsup the hill in vain and finds that the tractor has erased the footprint that hehad circled. The scene’s focal point changes from the second victim’s body tothe local police, who cannot even preserve the crucial footprint found at themurder scene; consider the stark presentation of the body here compared tothe state other victims are found in. A similar long take occurs inside the localpolice station. In the scene, the camera follows multiple characters, startingfrom a local cop dressed as a victim, to Park, and then to Seo, who isconvinced that Kwang-ho is not the real murderer.

Unlike Bong’s film in which mise-en-scène prepares the way for an unex-pected course of action to happen, in Untold Scandal beautiful decor grabsthe viewer’s attention first. Intrigues unfold within confined spaces—eachcharacter’s room, the boat, the carriage with a red interior, and the smallspace behind the screen—that accentuate each character’s repressed sexualdesire and even lust. Character traits and the character development arereflected not only in decor but also in the changing colors of costumes. LadySuk, for instance, is first seen in a black costume attending a secret Catholicmass. As her love interest with Jo-won develops, her costume takes more ofwarm hue, such as with pinkish lavender she is seen wearing when she takesa stroll with Jo-won by the beach.

Chunhwado also serves as an important motif. Jo-won works on a paint-


ing either before or after a sexual encounter with a woman. The camerazooms out of the painting to show Jo-won drawing a lady in the nude, whilea family ritual takes place in another part of the house. Jo-won, as an artist,lacks aesthetic distance from his subject, which is an approach associatedwith bourgeois art. His art collapses the distinction between the subject andthe object, with himself being both the subject and the object of the paint-ing. However, his love affair with Lady Suk does not inspire the same style ofart. Instead, he draws a portrait of her and sends it to her as a present. Thefilm fails to provide an alternate ideological framework to think of ‘‘pure’’love, or any kind of love, thus succumbing to the generic convention of atragic love affair.

The defining characteristic of E’s artistic accomplishment is his staging ofcharacters within a confined space. Traditional Korean culture and architec-tural design constrain Lee from staging characters more freely: once charac-ters are seated, they become almost immobile. Such constraints probablymotivated E to make more frequent cuts during dialogue-driven scenes, inorder to build visual rhythm. This is in part why the average shot length ofUntold Scandal (8.4 seconds) is shorter than Memories of Murder.

More importantly, the spatial relationship between the two primary char-acters—Lady Jo and Jo-won—can be seen in different permutations through-out the film, even at the expense of the traditional Korean seating arrange-ment between men and women. For example, when Jo-won is summoned toLady Jo’s room after his meal with Lady Jo’s husband, the two are first seenfrom outside the house, framed within a set of sliding doors. Lady Jo’s roomis shaped like a rectangle and boasts a few sets of sliding doors that lead tothe main section of the room. There are two additional sets of sliding doorswithin the main section: one set faces the garden outside, while the otherleads to an adjacent room. When the camera cuts to an interior shot of theroom, Lady Jo is seen in the center against the screen divider, while Jo-won isseated to her right with his back to a second set of sliding doors. The colorof her jacket perfectly matches the color of the screen—a combination ofdark purple and lavender. Lady Jo suggests they help each other to pursuetheir goal: seduction and revenge. During Jo-won’s second visit to Lady Jo’sroom, the master shot frames the two within an aperture, this time filmingthem through the main sliding doors that lead to the main section of theroom. Lady Jo and Jo-won are seated next to each another, both facing thecamera; Lady Jo’s orange costume reflects the color of pomegranate embroi-


dered on the screen. This unusual seating arrangement lets the charactersinconspicuously slide in and out in the same frame, pivoted on a close-up ofgreen grapes.

As the confrontation between Lady Jo and Jo-won increases, the spatialrelationship between the two characters changes accordingly. After monthsof carrying on his love affair with Lady Suk, Jo-won finally visits Lady Jo toclaim his prize. She refuses to meet him, because she believes he loves LadySuk. Jo-won hears the rumor about Lady Suk’s adultery and becomes infuri-ated. He sneaks into Lady Jo’s room only to find it empty. He opens thesliding door, which surprisingly leads to Lady Jo’s bedroom, and again hefinds an empty room. When he is about to leave, Jo-won catches sight ofLady Jo making love with In-ho behind the screen. The next day, Jo-wonpays another visit to Lady Jo. Now the two sit facing each other across a littletea table, while the camera is placed at a 90-degree angle from the axis ofaction. This establishing shot continues the stylistic permutations whileviolating the 180-degree rule. The camera crosses the 180-degree line whenshowing Lady Jo, as she urges Jo-won to leave Lady Suk, in shot/reverseshot. (The camera could have been placed on the other side of the table, butthe 180-degree rule would have still been violated as Lady Jo exits to theadjacent room.) After their brief conversation, Lady Jo leaves the room, andJo-won remains seated facing the purplish screen.

During the last encounter between Lady Jo and Jo-won, Lady Jo is shownin the foreground arranging flowers in a vase, with Jo-won seated in themiddle-ground left. Lady Jo rises to put the vase on a dresser and sits next toJo-won. As the animosity becomes more palpable, the two face oppositedirections—with Jo-won facing the screen and Lady Jo looking toward themain entrance to her room. As Jo-won announces the end of their agree-ment and rises from his seat, Lady Jo’s body tilts slightly left as she loses herbalance. However, she does not move—mirroring the last shot of Jo-wonduring their last meeting, except that she faces the camera this time. Otherstylistic techniques used here are shot/reverse shot and camera distance toreveal character relationships and convey subtle changes in facial expres-sions. However, different staging in each encounter between Lady Jo and Jo-won not only tracks the trajectory of their relationship—from being friends,to flirtation, betrayal, and ultimately confrontation—but also allows for dif-ferent stylistic permutations, despite the violations of traditional Koreanrules on proper conduct.


The eighteenth-century Korean custom that prohibited men and womenfrom facing one another or from exchanging glances, on the other hand,works in E’s favor when he creates a discrepancy between the viewer’s andcharacters’ knowledge of what is happening in the film. Jo-won’s heart isoften worn on his sleeve, but his intentions are revealed only to the viewer(or to everyone except Lady Suk). When Jo-won sneaks into Lady Suk’sroom one night, he laments that Lady Suk prefers to return to her home-town and risk death from a deadly disease that’s spreading, rather than staynear him and correspond via letters. As he turns away from her, the smirk onhis face is visible only to the viewer.

A mood-driven horror film, ATale of Two Sisters amplifies its ‘‘sad’’ moodthrough mise-en-scène and music. A Tale of Two Sisters replaces adoles-cents’ decorative impulses, manifested through the secret diary in MementoMori, with the externalized character interiority. Su-mi’s neuroses and psy-choses are conveyed through domestic interiors: wallpapers, antique furni-ture, and the tone of each space. Many critics acknowledge the stylish mise-en-scène of this film, but they do not fully elaborate how mise-en-scènefunctions other than to create conflicting mood cues and evoke emotions:horror and sadness.

Home, the site of inerasable, painful memories, is not rendered as ho-mogenous space throughout A Tale of Two Sisters. Each room is visuallymarked by different patterns of wallpaper and differing color tones. Al-though some of the long takes and establishing shots in each room allow theviewer to become familiar with the general layout of the house, space is stillfragmented and sometimes confusing due to spatial information being with-held from the viewer. For instance, in Su-yeon’s room a new space is dis-closed in accordance with the occupant of the space. In the beginning of thefilm, only space in the vicinity of Su-yeon’s bed and the closet are activated,and there is no full view of the room. The same portion of the space is usedwhen the stepmother locks Su-yeon in the closet, accusing Su-yeon of killingher bird. It is only when the father comes upstairs to confront Su-mi for herneurotic behavior that Su-yeon’s room is fully revealed. The two sisters areseated side by side on a bench by the window, a space which had not beenestablished earlier in the film. Consider also the scene in which Su-mi startsto panic one morning. Su-mi finds her father’s note saying that he has goneout to run errands. She finds a white bag smudged with blood. Thinking thatSu-yeon is near, Su-mi runs frantically around the house. The space now


turns from the familiar to the unfamiliar, appearing like a maze. The bag isdislocated a few times while Su-mi is looking for a pair of scissors. The roomwith a medicine cabinet is a space that has yet to be fully established, with itsspatial relation to the rest of the house unclear. This spatial unfamiliarityunderscores the psychological confusion of Su-mi and renders spatial con-fusion in the viewer.

One of the aesthetic strategies in A Tale of Two Sisters is to blend charac-ters into mise-en-scène. Shallow space, created via the camera positionperpendicular to the axis of action, and the lack of strong backlight thatoften separates figure from background, renders the image flat. Consider thefirst dining sequence in the beginning of the film. After the establishing shotof the family at the dining room table with the father’s back to the camera,the camera cuts between the stepmother and the two sisters, Su-mi and Su-yeon, both of whom appear to blend into the background—specifically, thecupboard and the back wall. When characters are staged in depth, they oftenwalk in and out of the light, which has the effect of absorbing them into thespace rather than setting them apart from mise-en-scène. When the step-mother first greets Su-mi and Su-yeon, for instance, she walks from the farbackground toward the foreground, coming in and out of the light. A similarshot is used when Su-mi comes downstairs in the middle of the night to findthe tv set on in the library.

Moreover, in some of the most impressive shots, mise-en-scène awaitsthe entrance of a character. It is not mise-en-scène that coheres around thecharacter, but rather characters that complete mise-en-scène. After thestepmother’s brother and his wife leave, the stepmother suspects there mustbe someone in the house. After the father leaves the bedroom to inspect thehouse, the stepmother is seen facing the red closet doors—which seem tocover the entire wall—with her back to the camera. Her shiny blue night-gown creates a stark contrast to the red background and renders the spaceflat. After a cutaway to the father in the kitchen, which has more depth, wesee the stepmother walk from screen left to right, relocating against the wallof a different color: magenta (figure 6.6). It is interesting that both beforeand after she enters the frame, the camera briefly shows only the abstractpatterns on the wall, as if it awaits the character’s action: stasis charged withrepressed energy (figure 6.7). Now, the camera cuts to the red closet again,waiting for the stepmother to move into the frame. She paces left and right,punctuated by an empty moment. A similar shot occurs when the father

Figure 6.6 The stepmother paces back and forth, shot against thedecorative wall. (A Tale of Two Sisters, Kim Ji-woon, 2003)

Figure 6.7 An empty moment awaits the entrance of a character.(A Tale of Two Sisters, Kim Ji-woon, 2003)


comes back home to find Su-mi collapsed in the hallway. He brings medi-cine for Su-mi, and before he enters the library where he left her, there is ashot of a bare wall, from which he slowly enters the frame.

Bong, Lee, and Kim explore mise-en-scène within the generic norms orconstraints—sometimes excessively so. However, their aesthetics appear tobe too diverse to suggest they all share a style. This may be partly due to thefact that mise-en-scène is such a vast category to define. The emphasis onmise-en-scène or production design in well-made films, however, should beelaborated on in order to appreciate its distinct merits within each film,rather than as a term merely suggesting a film’s polished look. Furthermore,as the film culture in Korea matures, film style should be appreciated notonly for its visuality but also for its craftsmanship. It is absurd to draw asharp divide between mise-en-scène-based cinema and spectacle-orientedcinema, since mise-en-scène provides as much spectacle as an explosion or afistfight; a well-edited fight scene can and should be appreciated as much asa meticulously drawn mise-en-scène.

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7 Riding the New Wave

After the commercial and critical success of his film JSA(2000), to the surprise of many, Park Chan-wook launched the Vengeancetrilogy, which is imbued with excessive violence and gory images. Oldboy, itssecond installment, however, earned Park the Grand Prix at the Cannes FilmFestival in 2002. Park is one of the few Korean directors, along with BongJoon-ho and Kim Ji-woon, whose films appeal to audiences both at homeand abroad. Associated with ‘‘Asia Extreme,’’ a marketing term created by ukdistributor Metro Tartan that refers to a group of Asian films with slickvisual style and excessive violence, Park’s films attracted a cult following atfilm festivals. Fans attending a midnight screening of Sympathy for LadyVengeance (2005) were thrilled as Park approached the podium to introducehis film; and U.S. independent filmmaker Eli Roth claims that his film Hostel(2005) was indebted to Park’s work.

Festival-driven films by Park Chan-wook, Kim Ki-duk, Hong Sang-soo,and Im Sang-soo provide necessary counterpoint to films produced by theheavily commercialized Korean film industry. It is interesting to observe,however, that the nationalistic undercurrents in commercially successfulKorean cinema have become attenuated as Korean cinema reaches inter-national art-house audiences. The strategy adopted by these directors de-parts from both that of veteran director Im Kwon-taek and those of theKorean New Wave directors of the 1980s and ’90s. Im, after working forover two decades as a commercial director, dedicated himself to bringingaudiences’ attention to Korea’s cultural and religious heritage as manifestedin films such as The Surrogate Mother (1987) and Aje Aje Bara Aje (a.k.a.Come, Come, Upward, Come, 1989). He briefly flirted with commercialfilmmaking in the early 1990s, with The General’s Son series (1990–1992).But with Sopyonje (1993) Im continues to create heritage films, lamentingthe degradation of Korean traditional performance art pansori by tellinga heartfelt story about a blind pansori singer Songhwa. His subsequentpieces—Chunhyang, an adaptation of pansori Chunhyang, and Chihwason,

Riding the New Wave 165

a film about nineteenth-century painter Jang Seung-eop—were warmly re-ceived at Cannes.

In critical literature, the Korean New Wave—not to be confused with Ko-rean Wave (hallyu), a term referring to the increasing popularity of Koreanpop-culture products such as tv drama series and music in the East Asianregion—is associated with the films of directors such as Jang Sun-woo, ParkKwang-su, and Lee Myung-se. These directors debuted in the late 1980s,prior to the Korean film industry fully transforming itself in response to thedirect distribution of Hollywood major studios. The Korean New Waveemerged and bridged two diverging film practices: one epitomized by Im’sheritage/cultural films and the 386 Generation directors’ pursuit of com-mercially viable cinema. Kim Kyung-hyun characterizes the Korean NewWave oeuvre as a ‘‘cinema of post-trauma,’’ which concerns the crisis ofmasculinity resulting from enduring three decades of military dictatorship.∞

In the latter half of the 1990s, a ‘‘second new wave’’ of directors emerged:Lee Chang-dong (b. 1954), Kim Ki-duk (b. 1960), Hong Sang-soo (b. 1960),and Im Sang-soo (b. 1962), among others. Except for Lee, all of these direc-tors were born in the 1960s. That they are less prone to make genre filmsbrings these directors closer to the New Wave directors of the 1980s such asPark Kwang-su and Jang Sun-woo rather than the directors of their genera-tion such as Kang Je-gyu, Kim Sung-su, and Kwak Kyeong-taek. A novelist-turned-filmmaker, Lee Chang-dong started his film career as an assistantdirector to Park Kwang-su. Lee explored the consequences of rapid modern-ization and suburbanization in Korea in his directorial debut Green Fish(1997), the historical traumas of the 1980s in Peppermint Candy (1999),the lack of social consciousness about the disabled in Oasis (2002)—whichearned him the best director award at the Venice Film Festival—and reli-gious hypocrisy and the idea of ‘‘forgiveness’’ in Secret Sunshine (2007). Withhis 1996 debut, Crocodile, Kim Ki-duk’s thematic interests range from sex-ual perversion in The Isle (2000) and Bad Guy (2002) to the division of thecountry as found in Address Unknown (2001) and The Coast Guard (2002).He also looks at the relationship between spirituality and sexuality in Spring,Summer, Fall, Winter and Spring (2003) and Samaritan (2004). One com-mon thematic thread in Im Sang-soo’s films is the exploration of sexuality:female sexuality in Girls Night Out (1998), adolescent sexuality in Tears(2000), and the combination of the two in AGood Lawyer’s Wife (2003). Im’sThe President’s Last Bang (2005), on the other hand, depicts the last day ofPresident Park Chung-hee, leading up to his assassination. Among this sec-


ond generation of New Wave directors, Hong Sang-soo has demonstratedthe most rigor and consistency in film style. Hong has directed nine films sofar: The Day the Pig Fell into theWell (1996; The Pig hereafter), The Power ofKang-won Province (1998), Oh Soo-jung! Virgin Stripped Bare by Her Bach-elors (2000), A Turning Gate (2002), Woman is the Future of Man (2004),Tale of Cinema (2005), Woman on the Beach (2006), Night and Day (2008),and Like You Know It All (2009).

This chapter investigates the dynamic between the local and the globalconfigured in the First and Second New Wave directors’ oeuvre. Is there anythematic and/or stylistic continuity between these two factions? To whatextent does the Second New Wave diverge from the First New Wave at thelevel of theme and style? What are some of the intellectual and culturalmilieus that generated a shift in their aesthetic proclivity? How did theSecond Wave directors adapt to changing aesthetic norms and trends on thefilm-festival circuit?

Riding the New Wave

For many critics and film scholars in South Korea, the commercial flop ofJang Sun-woo’s The Resurrection of the Little Match Girl (2002, The MatchGirl hereafter) marked an important turning point within the Korean filmindustry. Jang was an internationally acclaimed Korean New Wave auteurwith films such as FromMe to You (1994); A Petal (1996); Timeless Bottom-less BadMovie (1997, BadMovie hereafter); and, Lies (1999), but his turn tocommercial filmmaking lead to box-office disaster. Despite its then-recordhigh production costs ($9.2 million) and its incorporation of videogameaesthetics that supposedly appeal to a younger audience, Jang’s The MatchGirl neither carried the sensibility necessary for a commercial success nordid it manifest the provocation of Jang’s previous films.≤

The Match Girl’s disappointing box-office draw not only generated anxi-ety among industry personnel regarding the prospect of Korean blockbusterfilms but also reflected the relationship between the Korean New Wave andindustrial demands from the mid-1990s onward. According to Kim Kyung-hyun, there is no longer room for the New Wave directors to explore acutesocial issues in their films given that the industry is controlled by a fewmedia conglomerates and that box-office returns are the only measurementdriving investment decisions. Kim further declares the year 2002 as markingthe end of the Korean New Wave. However, this apparent divide betweenNew Wave filmmaking and industry demands needs to be reexamined in


order to make a thorough assessment of the relationship between the Firstand Second New Wave, the latter of which emerged after commercial genrefilmmaking became the industry norm.

The New Wave directors born in the 1950s—Jang (b. 1952), Park (b. 1955)and Lee (b. 1957)—are slightly older than 386 Generation directors. Jangstudied anthropology at Seoul National University in the late 1970s andbecame a political activist in the 1980s. After serving a six-month sentencefor distributing leaflets reporting on the massacre in Gwang-ju, Jang beganwriting tv scripts. His first film, Seoul Jesus (1986), spent two years in thecensor’s office before its eventual and heavily reconfigured release.≥ Parkmajored in fine arts at Seoul National University, later joining the film clubYallasheong of Seoul National University. Park also founded Seoul FilmGroup, which provides a network for independent filmmakers with interestin representing student protests and labor movements. After studying film atthe esec film school in Paris, Park returned to Korea and served as anassistant director to Lee Chang-ho. He debuted in 1988 with Chil-su andMan-su. Lee completed a two-year course in filmmaking at Seoul Arts Col-lege. He joined the film industry as a scriptwriter and then later worked as anassistant director to Bae Chang-ho. Lee debuted the same year as Park withGagman.

The emergence of the Korean New Wave is often discussed in referenceto the mellowing political atmosphere in South Korea in 1987. Both Parkand Lee debuted a year after the so-called Spring of 1987 and, althoughJang co-directed Seoul Jesus with Seon-wu Hwan two years earlier in 1986,Jang’s second feature, The Age of Success, was also released in 1988. The1980s began with one of the most traumatic experiences in the history ofKorea: the Gwang-ju uprising. On May 17, 1980, months after presidentPark Chung-hee was assassinated, Chun declared martial law, closing uni-versities, dissolving the legislature, banning all political activity, and arrest-ing thousands of political leaders and dissidents. The most drastic resistanceto this military regime was found in Gwang-ju. Students and civilians roseup, demanding the repeal of martial law and the release of Kim Dae-jung,who was accused of mobilizing citizens against the military government. Itis hard to estimate the exact number of civilians injured and killed dur-ing the Gwang-ju uprising, but allegedly more than two thousand peoplewere killed.∂

In 1987 Chun Doo-hwan attempted to prolong the military regime bynominating Roh Tae-woo as his successor, but Chun’s decision gave rise to


public political dissent. Furthermore, in June of the same year, catalyzed bythe death of college student Yi Han-yeol during a police investigation, therewere massive protests led by college students. College students demanded amore democratic form of government, and were soon joined by workers aswell as average civilians. Roh announced a set of reformations, and althoughRoh won the presidential election that year—mainly due to the split of thevotes between two presidential candidates from the other opposing parties,Kim Dae-jung and Kim Young-sam—1987 marked a breakthrough in SouthKorea.

New Wave directors’ debuts coincided with the changing political atmo-sphere in the late 1980s. After his military coup in 1980, Chun had quicklymoved to assume control over the media by instituting the Media Consoli-dation Measure, eliminating one national television network, three nationalradio stations, four local newspapers, and more than 150 periodicals.∑ UnderChun’s regime, film censorship was severe; films with explicit political con-tent were discouraged for fear of undermining the legitimacy and authorityof Chun’s military regime. Although film censorship was still in place whenRoh came to power in 1987, toward the end of the year he eliminatedcensorship at the preproduction phase as a gesture of democratization.∏ Thebreakthrough films by New Wave directors—Age of Success, Chil-su andMan-su and Gagman—were all released the following year.

In his book The Remasculinization of Korean Cinema, Kim Kyung-hyunemphasizes the Korean New Wave’s preoccupation with a postmilitary-eragender crisis—especially the crisis of masculinity. The New Wave directors’films often feature male characters—either intellectual or working class—who are incapable of asserting their masculinity. For example, in Chil-suand Man-su, Park Kwang-su’s debut film, the two male protagonists, bothbillboard painters, never achieve their desired masculinity because of theirclass and family history. In Jang’s To You, From Me (1994), a strange rela-tionship develops between a factory worker, Ba-ji, and a writer. Ba-ji arrivesat the writer’s home and offers to help him to overcome writer’s block.However, when Ba-ji becomes a successful model, the writer becomes achauffeur for Ba-ji instead of pursuing his writing career.

According to Kim, the tension between the ‘‘masculine agencies andsocial problems (class contradiction, compressed modernization, and mili-tary rules) of the post-military era,’’ propels the narratives of the Korean NewWave films.π The sexual frustrations and sometimes the socioeconomicincompetence of male characters are symptomatic of the terror and trauma


triggered by the military regimes. What is unique about the Korean NewWave cinema, Kim claims, is that the protagonists are unable to achieveagency by either voluntary submission to authority (be it female sexuality orideology) or via an ironic downfall of the protagonist. For example, thewriter in Jang’s To You, From Me is unable to gain respect and notoriety.After Ba-ji becomes a famous model, she offers to support the writer so hecan continue his work. But the writer turns down the offer, expressing hisdisillusionment. Chil-su and Man-su, the protagonists in Park’s film withthe same title, are also unable to achieve their goals. Chil-su is from adysfunctional family: his father is an alcoholic and a houseboy in Dong-ducheon, an area near a U.S. military camp. Chil-su, however, wants to datea college girl, Ji-na, and fantasizes about going to the United States. Man-su,unable to find a stable job because of his Communist father, is disillusionedby the unlikely prospects of getting a respectable job. Chil-su and Man-su,intoxicated, finally voice their complaints from the top of the billboard theyhave been painting. Because of their brief public outcry, the two are mis-taken as protestors by the police. Man-su commits suicide by jumping offthe billboard, while Chil-su is arrested by the police and leaves the scenehandcuffed in a police car. The male protagonists in both Jang’s and Park’sfilms are neither able to assert their masculinity nor successfully integrateinto society.

‘‘A cinema of post-trauma’’ may adequately describe the Korean NewWave. However, this description limits the scope of the New Wave phenom-enon to social-problem films, especially films about the consequences ofmilitary dictatorship. Although some New Wave films deal explicitly withthe historical experiences of workers and of intellectuals under the militaryregime—including Park’s A Single Spark, Jang’s A Petal, and Lee Chang-dong’s Peppermint Candy (1999)—some do not neatly fall under such abanner. There appears to be a growing change even within the New Waveoeuvre. In Jang’s BadMovie, the adolescent misdemeanors are hardly symp-tomatic of the political disillusionment of either workers or intellectuals.Furthermore, Hong Sang-soo’s films, although they deal with male sexuality,do not fit the suggested political framework. The Day a Pig Fell in the Well(1996), Hong’s directorial debut, features a relationship between Hyo-seob,a writer/intellectual, and Min-je, who collects movie tickets at a third-runmovie theater, comparable to the relationship between Yeong-su and a fe-male factory worker in A Single Spark. However, unlike the latter, the formerrelationship is not based upon shared political ideals or beliefs. Rather, their


relationship can be described, at best, as parasitic or one of unfair exchange.Min-je aspires to become the wife of an intellectual, while Hyo-seob’s petti-ness is the only reason for him to stay with Min-je. The sexual frustrations ofthe male protagonists and the instability of heterosexual union in Hong’sfilms, including Oh! Soo-jung: The Virgin Stripped Bare by Bachelors (2000)and Turning Gate (2002), cannot be attributed to or originate from politicaltrauma. Hong’s deemphasizing of politics in favor of showing how empty,absurd, and mundane everyday life is, in fact, what sets him apart from otherNew Wave directors.

Critics further associate the Korean New Wave with ‘‘realism,’’ whichis an umbrella term often referring to a film’s style as well as its subjectmatter—a term that is both too inclusive and too exclusive. ‘‘Realism’’ isdefined rather negatively as a mode of storytelling opposite to the approachof Hollywood mainstream cinema. On the one hand, the term ‘‘realism’’refers to more than just the dissolution of Cold War ideology, which can befound in many films released after the civilian government was establishedin 1993. Such films include Taebaek Mountains (Im Kwon-taek, 1994) andSpring in My Home Town (Lee Kwang-mo, 1998). Taebaek Mountains de-picts the Korean War from the perspective of North Korea, and in Spring InMy Home Town events are seen from a child’s point of view.∫ But the term‘‘realism’’ also encompasses narrative structure in Korean New Wave films,including a lack of goal-oriented protagonists and sometimes a tragic orironic ending that prohibits protagonists from being reintegrated into soci-ety.Ω Stylistically, realism is associated with specific cinematic devices, suchas long takes and sometimes distant framing, as a conscious refusal to adoptHollywood continuity editing. Some critics boldly suggest that Korean NewWave directors explore a ‘‘Korean’’ film language.∞≠

Realism as construed above, however, not only blurs the distinction be-tween New Wave Cinema and more commercially driven films but alsoexcludes films that employ styles alternative to that of realism. The dissolu-tion of cold-war ideology is not a theme exclusive to the Korean New Wave.Such a tendency is also found in commercially successful films such as JSA(Park Chan-wook, 2000) and Welcome to Dongmakgol (Park Kwang-hyeon,2005). The spatial isolation of Dongmakgol provides space devoid of con-flicting ideologies between North and South, as Panmunjom in JSA fostersthe friendship between North and South Korean soldiers.

BadMovie, directed by Jang, borrows some of the stylistic devices associ-ated with so-called Direct Cinema, a documentary movement that emerged


in the United States in the 1960s. Yet Jang’s film deviates greatly from thesense of realism that Direct Cinema displays. The camera in Bad Movie isnot a fly on the wall passively observing profilmic events, but it anticipateswhat is about to occur. For example, we see awkward interviews of a motherand a daughter who complain about Yippeuni (a.k.a. Pretty): the motheraccuses Yippeuni of having a bad influence on her daughter. Yippeuni andthe rest of her gang decide to rob their house as revenge. We see Ddongjaru(a.k.a. Shortie) waiting on the street for the mother and the daughter to leavetheir house. However, when Yippeuni and Sae (a.k.a. Bird) break into thehouse by tearing down the window screen, the camera has already been setup inside the house waiting for them to enter.

Jang stages the most dramatic event toward the end of the film: the deathof a child. In the segment entitled ‘‘Death,’’ we witness the death of Do-yeong, a cute girl that the audience grows attached to. Jang carefully orches-trates this overt drama. We first see a medium shot of a homeless person(played by actor Gi Ju-bong) in the foreground center and Do-yeong sleep-ing on the floor, lying from middle-ground center toward middle-groundleft. The camera cuts to show another homeless person sitting on a stair,seen through shutters. In the next shot, the camera is moved farther back toshow the same man in the second shot. In this extreme long shot, we see oneshutter stretching from foreground right to background left, separating thespace diagonally. Another shutter is located from background left towardmiddle-ground right in the shot, dividing the space more or less horizon-tally. As the shutter in the middle ground slowly rolls up, the man seen in thesecond shot is seen through a cell of the shutter in the foreground. As thename of ‘‘Do-yeong’’ echoes throughout the station, the homeless people inthe vicinity turn to see what is happening. As the shutter in the foregroundslowly rolls up, the music starts. As soon as the shutter is completely up, thecamera quickly zooms in to show a man holding Do-yeong, as if the shuttersblock the view of this dramatic event.

The careful staging and aestheticization of the scene work against con-ventional notions of realism, emphasizing its artifice. The beautiful shotcomposition, electronic music, and trained voice-actor calling ‘‘Do-yeong,’’makes the viewer feel as if he or she is watching a well-staged drama. How-ever, Jang soon reverts to a realistic style by following a boy at the SeoulStation while shooting him in grainier images with a shaky camera. The boyis wandering around during rush hour, as if to indicate that the death of alittle girl does not affect the homeless’ routine at the Seoul Station.


Films directed by Lee Myung-se, a New Wave stylist working within genreconventions, are omitted in the discussion of the Korean New Wave. Yet, Leeis one of the most commercially successful filmmakers among the KoreanNew Wave directors and represents the New Wave’s attempt to renovatenarrative structure and style within commercial norms. Lee’s Nowhere toHide (1999) and Duelist (2005), for example, cannot be adequately assessedwithout a careful examination of his stylistic experiments. In the mesmeriz-ing train-chase sequence in Nowhere to Hide, Lee’s style reaches its zenith.Lee ingeniously stages a clash between Seong-min and his henchmen on theone hand and detective Wu and the cops on the other. The train’s narrowaisle creates problems in staging an extravagant fight. By blocking and reveal-ing characters one by one, Lee creates a sense of duration as well as chaos. Wesee the henchman with the knife in the middle ground while the rest of thecops wrestle with other henchmen in the background. Suddenly, a femalepassenger stands up, entering the frame from screen left. The camera cutsback to show her from behind and then cuts back to show her face, followedby a close-up of Kim screaming. In the next shot, we see the young woman inshock, with Kim pushing her toward screen left to protect her from beingstabbed. As Kim and the woman exit the frame, we see the henchman fallingafter attempting in vain to stab her. As the henchman falls to the floor, Seong-min, who was behind the henchman, is revealed. Seong-min gets up and triesto escape. We see a close-up of a cop pointing his gun at Seong-min. In thenext shot, we see a gas gun in close-up emitting gas that blurs Seong-min’sview. The camera cuts back to show Seong-min hit the cop in the head, jumpover his body, and move to the next train car. As Kim chases Seong-min to thenext train car, a new course of action begins. This sequence ends withdetective Wu losing Seong-min. However, the suspense of this chase and theconflicting interests of the two parties are aptly rendered by visual conflictand disarray, as figures function like sliding doors, blocking and revealingcharacters and props within this claustrophobic space.

Both attempts to assess the thematic/stylistic consistency of the KoreanNew Wave seem to be limiting. Perhaps a better way to approach the rela-tionship between the Korean New Wave and the conglomeration of theKorean film industry is to examine how shared political experiences and col-lective memory are registered and appropriated in accordance with differingaims and conventions. Certain themes, such as problems between North andSouth Korea and the preoccupation of the military regime with its legitimacy,are crossbred in both festival-driven films and commercially oriented films.


The Korean New Wave is a multifaceted phenomenon in which variouspaths have been taken. An active exchange and negotiation between NewWave directors and commercial cinema can be found in their selectiveadoption of the genre conventions of black comedy—e.g. Gagman, Age ofSuccess, and Out to the World (Yeo Kyun-dong, 1994). In addition, it shouldnot be ignored that some New Wave films materialized due to the emer-gence of new investors and financiers in the Korean film industry. Withhigh production costs due to corporate conglomerate and venture capitalistinvolvement in the film industry and the rise of major distributors such as cjEntertainment and Showbox, the Korean film industry has relied heavilyon commercial filmmaking, adapting its products to the audience’s con-stantly changing tastes. Nevertheless, conglomerates and venture capitalistsfinanced a wide range of films especially in the beginning stage of the filmindustry’s conglomeration, including social problem films, and historical/heritage films. For instance, Daewoo partially invested in films such as Jang’sTo You, FromMe (1994), and Park’s To the Starry Island (1993) in exchangefor the video rights to these films. Daewoo fully financed Park’s next film ASingle Spark (1996).∞∞ Mirae Asset, a venture capital firm, partially financedfilms such as Jang’s Lies (1999) and Im Kwon-taek’s Chunhyang (2001).∞≤

Saneun Capital—an investment firm established with government subsidies—was one of the investors of Park’s Uprising (1999).∞≥ One of the majorproduction/distribution companies, Cinema Service, financed and distrib-uted Lee’s Nowhere to Hide (1999).

Korean New Wave directors’ films are both thematically and stylisticallydiffuse, with diverging adaptability to the industry-wide changes of the 1990s.Park’s consistency, Jang’s versatility, and Lee’s commercial viability not onlyshow the multiple routes taken by New Wave directors since the mid-1990sbut also illuminate the interaction between a cinema critical of dominantideology and a commercial cinema appealing to the popular imagination.How then does the Second Wave distinguish itself from the First Wave?

Aesthetics of Cruelty

Park Chan-wook, Kim Ki-duk

The years 2002 and 2003 mark a turning point in many filmmakers’careers: Jang produced the blockbuster The Match Girl (although it failed atthe box office). Park Chan-wook declares to explore ‘‘B-film aesthetics’’ inthe first installment of his Vengeance trilogy Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance


(2002). Kim Ki-duk’s Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter, and Spring (2003), whichwas partially funded by German production company Pandora Film Produk-tion, made a sharp contrast to his more visceral films such as The Isle (2000),BadGuy (2001), and The Coast Guard (2002). In Turning Gate (2002), Hongabandoned the fixed-camera technique that had been his signature in earlierfilms. In addition, Lee Chang-dong was elected minister of culture in 2003.

These changes occurred not only because of further restructuring of theKorean film industry and politics but also because of the changing festivalmilieu. A quick look at the line-up of Asian cinema for screening at Cannesin 2004 exemplifies a few emerging trends. There could be found everythingfrom martial arts films such as Sword in the Moon (Lee Gwang-hun) andHouse of Flying Daggers (Zhang Yimou) to the Japanese anime feature Ghostin the Shell 2: Innocence, to festival favorite Wong Kar-wai’s 2046 and Park’svengeance film, Oldboy; and with the exception of returning veteran Wong,East Asian popular cinema attracted the most attention.∞∂ In the past, thefilm festival had functioned as the site for internationally acclaimed auteursto showcase their films for art-house audiences around the world. But thesituation had reversed of late. As David Chute from Variety notes, Asia’spopular culture—which was once thought to be too esoterically local in itssubject matter and style—travels well beyond the originating country or theregion. Such a change was in part triggered by the changing patterns ofmedia consumptions facilitated via the technological advancement of vhs,dvd, and the Internet. In the 1980s Japanese anime and Hong Kong heroicbloodshed action cinema began to appeal to audiences outside the diasporiccommunities in the United States. Since the late 1990s numerous Asianhorror films and comedies have been sold to Hollywood for remakes. Holly-wood remakes of Japanese horror films The Ring (2002) and The Ring Two(2005) earned $15 million and $36 million, respectively, on the openingweekend alone.∞∑ Another trend emerges: the ‘‘aesthetics of cruelty andviolence’’ is manifested in many Asian cinemas such as Miike Takashi’sAudition (1999), Fukasaku Kinji’s classic Battle Royale (2000), Kim Ki-duk’sThe Isle (2000), which are branded as ‘‘Asia Extreme’’ cinema by MetroTartan. Young audiences once reluctant to watch foreign films with subtitlesare now drawn to the surreal renderings of hyperviolent imagery and gore.What, then, is the significance of such films that travel across nationalboundaries and embody a form of youth culture?

In Park’s Vengeance Trilogy, references to the political situation of theKorean peninsula are few and far between. Interestingly, when such political


content appears, its aim seems not to be in the service of thematic emphasis,but instead it foregrounds Park’s own visual style and authorial marks. Acomparison between the first two installments of the trilogy, Sympathy forMr. Vengeance and Oldboy, will illustrate the gradual effacement of nationalhistory within the similar narrative tropes shared by these two films. Bothfilms revolve around conflicting relationships, pitting a brother-sister rela-tionship against a father-daughter relationship, and both films depict a webof revenge that is spun from the female deaths. The first film of the trilogy,Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance, features the protagonist Ryu—a deaf-mutefactory worker, whose sister is in need of a kidney transplant. Ryu is laid offfrom work and then loses his savings to conniving organ traffickers. Ryu andhis girlfriend kidnap the daughter of his former employer Park in order topay for Ryu’s sister’s operation. Ryu’s sister commits suicide after she dis-covers that her brother has kidnapped his former boss’s daughter to coverher surgery expenses. As if that isn’t bad enough, while Ryu is burying hissister, the daughter of his employer accidentally drowns. And so Ryu andPark each seek revenge: Ryu for the death of the sister and Park for the deathof his daughter.

Although Sympathy forMr. Vengeance is about personal revenge, the filmindirectly references the economic conditions of South Korea at the time. Atthe beginning of the film, we see a group of people including Ryu leave afactory in daylight, presumably after working the night shift. We also wit-ness another employee laid off by Park attempting hara-kiri outside of Park’shouse. Later in the film, we learn that this character has committed suicidealong with his entire family. Ryu’s girlfriend critiques capitalism throughoutthe film and insists that Ryu’s kidnapping of his former boss’s daughter isjustified behavior resulting from the country’s lack of proper health care.The girlfriend also distributes flyers on the street that read ‘‘dismantle con-glomerates’’ and ‘‘Drive out the U.S. troops.’’ Overtones of anticapitalismand anti-Americanism are present, although the rendering of such criti-cisms is oblique and rather comical.

The film’s surreal ending adds to the dark humor embedded in theoblique critique of capitalism. In the final scene, the factory owner Park isstabbed numerous times by members of a group called the RevolutionaryAnarchists Association (raa), the head of which is Ryu’s girlfriend. We hearher threatening Park from an earlier scene in which he is actually torturingher. Park’s efforts to read the flyer attached to a knife stuck in his chestrenders the scene rather ironic. He is not totally aware of why he is executed


by the raa. This anarchistic ending underscores the fact that there is noclear distinction between good and evil when it comes to personal revengefor the sake of loved ones. The factory owner Park, for example, acknowl-edges that Ryu is not a vicious person but asserts that he must kill him toavenge his daughter’s death. This may point to the absence of any ideologyto fight for or against anything, as witnessed in Park’s previous film JSA.Instead, there only exist basic human needs and desires, which contempo-rary Korean society appears to be violating.

Oldboy, the second film of the Vengeance series, is an adaptation of aJapanese manga by Tsuchiya Garon and Minegishi Nobuaki. Oldboy featuresthe character Oh Dae-su, who is locked in a room for fifteen years. He has noclue why he has been imprisoned and does not know who is responsible forhis imprisonment. When he is released after fifteen years, he seeks revenge;but he ultimately learns that the callous remarks he made during his highschool days led a female fellow student to find him and discover his past‘‘sin.’’ Park’s Oldboy, like the films of Kim Ki-duk, depicts a prevalence ofviolence and cruelty, along with primal sexual politics, all notable for beingdevoid of historical specificity concerning Korean society. Dae-su, eitherconveniently or inconveniently, is locked up for fifteen years, and thus theperiod when Korea underwent drastic changes in both its politics and econ-omy is skipped completely. In a split-screen scene, Dae-su is seen digging ahole to escape, while a brief summary of recent Korean history unfolds ontv (figure 7.1): the montage covers the 1996 conviction of former presidentChun Doo-hwan for the crimes committed during his 1979–1980 militarycoup to the 1997 election of Kim Dae-jung; from the 1997 Asian economiccrisis to the year 2000 summit conference between South Korean presidentKim Dae-jung and North Korean President Kim Jung-il; and from the WorldCup frenzy of 2002 to, finally, the election of the latest president, Roh Moo-hyun, in 2002. This is just a cherry picking of landmark historical eventspresented outside their historical context. Moreover, viewers don’t reallyneed to know about these events because they are presented as a montagesequence—we need only know that a substantial period of time has passed.

The theme of incest pervades the film: there is incest between the impris-oned Dae-su and his daughter and between the student who kills herself andher vengeful brother. Interestingly, incest is not dealt with as a socialor anthropological issue: the origins of these incestuous relationships orthe consequences of committing to such a relationship are not questioned:


Figure 7.1 Dae-su digs a hole, while a decade and a half of recentKorean history passes by. (Oldboy, Park Chang-wook, 2003)

incest merely becomes an epistemic issue as witnessed by Dae-su’s requestto the hypnotherapist. Oldboy is more about Dae-su’s transformation froman irresponsible womanizer, to a tortured prisoner, to a mad avenger, andfinally to a sacrificial father; it is also about Park’s transformation as a direc-tor—from a commercial director to a more art-house, festival-oriented di-rector.

The priority of Oldboy is more toward aesthetic refinement and experi-ment, rather than the portrayal of the ‘‘Korean’’ experience. In Oldboy, Parkfurther elaborates on experiments with a style he debuted in Sympathy forMr. Vengeance. Park adopts modernist aesthetics that foreground flat spaceinstead of depth, and there is an overt use of symmetric shot compositionsand of the unmotivated camera movements. Although Park is not an actiondirector, he experiments with action scenes. In a long take that lasts twominutes and forty seconds, Park stages a fight scene that underscores thegrueling duration of the fight itself and the protagonist Dae-su’s fatigue. Thetableau-style staging—in conjunction with the rather whimsical movementof characters—renders this gruesome fight rather humorous.

The primal sexuality and cruelty in Oldboy are recurring tropes, a conven-tion typical of art-house cinema—especially of Asia Extreme cinema, initi-ated with directors such as Miike. Kim Ki-duk explores similar tropes in theservice of his aesthetic preoccupations. Kim is one of the more controversial


Korean directors, and his films have had widely varying receptions both athome and abroad. Kim Ki-duk, a self-taught artist and screenwriter, startedas an independent filmmaker and amassed a cult following in Korea withsuch films as Crocodile (1996) and Wild Animals (1996). With his break-through film The Isle (2000), which competed at the Venice Film Festival in2001, Kim stirred the international film-festival circuit. Featuring prostitu-tion and sadomasochism, Kim’s films both attract and appall audiences, asTony Rayns notes, with sensationalism interspersed with sporadic visualbeauty.∞∏ The Isle is infused with gory images of torture and self-mutilation.In Address Unknown (2001), we see the male protagonist attempting to slicean offensive tattoo off the breast of his prostitute mother. In Bad Guy(2002), a female college student is brutalized and forced into prostitution.

But there is quite a departure from the Asia Extreme trend in Kim’s 2003film Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter and Spring (Spring, Summer hereafter),Korea’s biggest theatrical box-office hit in the United States.∞π In this film,Kim’s Asia Extreme aesthetics have been replaced by subdued meditation.Critics often pair Kim’s more recent films with earlier films of similar sub-ject matter and mise-en-scène in order to highlight a turning point in hiscareer. Spring, Summer is often compared with The Isle due to the similaruse of mise-en-scène and tone, while Kim’s 2004 follow-up to Spring, Sum-mer, the film Samaritan Girl, is linked to Bad Guy. In his review of Sa-maritan Girl, which won Kim Best Director at Venice, Derek Elley fromVariety captures the tonal shift found in films subsequent to Spring, Sum-mer. He writes, ‘‘[Samaritan Girl] contains many thematic elements ofKim’s earlier, angrier pics, especially Bad Guy (2001) but the potent materialis handled in a cooler, more transcendental way.’’∞∫ If Kim’s previous filmsare filled with primal passions and perversions, his later films are subliminal,foregrounding mood over overt emotions. Kim’s aesthetic transformationcan be traced by looking at his two previously discussed films—The Isle andSpring, Summer.

The Isle features a former police officer who murders his unfaithful girl-friend out of jealousy. He then rents a small fishing cabin situated on a smallisland in the middle of a river. A young woman who lives in a cottage onthe shore works by ferrying the fishermen to their cabins with her boatand supplies them with food and prostitutes including herself. This youngwoman intervenes in the man’s first and second attempts to commit suicide.As the film unfolds, the two develop a sadomasochistic relationship thatcan’t be broken apart.


Spring, Summer depicts the secluded life of an old monk and his disciple,while for each season in the film’s full title there is a corresponding sketchabout each stage of human development: childhood, adolescence, adult-hood, maturity, and back to childhood. Despite the differing dramatic tonebetween The Isle and this film, both films render space abstractly, effacingany specificity of the location. The opening sequences of both The Isle andSpring, Summer accentuate the spatial isolation and the mystic nature ofthe location. Stephen Holden of the New York Times was impressed bythe scenic beauty of The Isle: ‘‘As gory as the scenes of torture and self-mutilation may be, they are pitted against shimmering cinematography thatlends the setting the ethereal beauty of an Asian landscape painting.’’∞Ω Oneshould note, however, that this mystic space functions rather differently inthe two films. The scenic beauty in Spring, Summer is space for recuperationand repentance, whereas such tranquility in The Isle is mere stasis that issoon to be disrupted by brutal acts: rape, suicide, torture, and gunfire.

Both films include and allude to similar actions and deeds, includingcruelty toward animals and murder. In the first act of Spring, Summer, we seea mischievous boy tie rocks to a fish, a frog, and a snake. He chuckles whileobserving how much they suffer. Throughout The Isle, we see unkind actstoward fish, a frog, a dog, and a canary. And in both films, the male protago-nists murder their respective female lovers. What sets The Isle apart fromSpring, Summer is not necessarily the kinds of character actions, but ratherthe explicit portrayal of those actions. In The Isle, we see Asia Extreme parexcellence when the protagonist Hyun-sik attempts to kill himself for fear ofbeing arrested by the policemen. After Hyun-sik sees two policemen use afishing rod to drag out a dead crime suspect floating in the water, he attemptssuicide by swallowing several fishhooks. This masochistic action is mirroredlater in the film, when a young woman inserts fishhooks into her vagina.

How should we then assess the aesthetics of cruelty manifested in TheIsle? To what extent is this film political? Overt cruelty and sexuality haveoften been aesthetically justified because they are seen as a critique of bour-geois gentility or capitalism. Stephen Holden suggests, ‘‘On the social plane,the movie is a surreal evocation of the Darwinian struggle from domi-nance within Korea’s lower class. These characters lack any social gracesthat could be described as ordinary manners and are perpetually at one an-other’s throats.’’≤≠ However, the usual association of overt cruelty/violencewith social critique must be carefully reexamined. If there is any critique inthe film, it must be found in the changing gender dynamic in which the


aggressor becomes the victim of aggression. Earlier in the film, we see theprotagonist try to rape the young woman, but the young woman soon be-comes the aggressor in their relationship. To a certain extent, this filmalludes to the primal sexual politics manifested in such films as Oshima’s Inthe Realm of the Senses. Both films portray sexual politics outside of anyreference to social culture, be it Japanese or Korean. The primal sexuality inboth films is depicted within a surreal atmosphere that precludes historicalspecificity. However, there is an important distinction to be made betweenthese two films. At the end of Oshima’s film, it is revealed that the film was,in fact, based on actual historical events. This ‘‘reality check’’ of sorts shakesthe viewer’s impression of primal sexuality’s surreal nature. But in Kim’sfilms, this surreal effect is perpetuated throughout the entire film.

What, then, can we make of the palpable shift in aesthetics that tookplace between The Isle and Spring, Summer? Is Kim responding to criticismsby feminists and critics, domestic and abroad, of his tendency toward sensa-tionalism? Do his new international sources of funding have any impact onhis aesthetic decisions? It should be further noted that the notions of ‘‘primi-tivism’’ and ‘‘transcendentalism,’’ as manifested in these two films, are in facttwo sides of the same coin, and both satisfy the Western desire for ‘‘other-ness.’’ The primitivism manifested in The Isle lacks an acute criticism ofbourgeois society or capitalism, and it could be further argued that theapparent Asian-ness in Spring, Summer is merely generic. The cyclical na-ture of life and death (or growth and decay) as indicated in the film’s title aswell as the thwarted human desire portrayed in the film are mere pretext foraesthetic exploration. A scene in the ‘‘Fall’’ section shows the younger monkreturning to the old monk after he murders his wife. The old monk starts towrite calligraphy on the wooden floor of the temple/raft with the tail of acat, and the younger monk is ordered to carve out each Chinese character.Two policemen arrive to arrest the younger monk, but they have the pa-tience to wait for the younger monk to finish his job. They even collaborateto color each Chinese character. As astonishing as this scene might be, theway in which the young monk repents for his sin is merely a decoy for anaesthetic flourish. The Buddhist canons taught by the old monk in Spring,Summer are generally neither seriously contemplated nor sufficiently ex-plored; they are a mere evocation of generic Asian-ness.

Certainly the lack of specificity in The Isle and Spring, Summer—interms of national history, culture, and religion—should not be the exclu-sive grounds for any aesthetic judgments of these works. Furthermore, criti-


Figure 7.2 Doors open up to present the next act, ‘‘Summer.’’(Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter and Spring, Kim Ki-duk, 2003)

cism of these films for their lack of specificity does not presuppose theexistence of an authentic culture that these films neglect to foreground orfaithfully convey. In the film festival circuit, the aesthetic merits or demeritsof these films are ‘‘politically’’ justified by underscoring the ‘‘otherness’’ ofthese films, when there seems to exist only one undifferentiated, abstract‘‘other.’’ Derek Elley, in his review of Oldboy, also writes that the ‘‘sex under-pinnings of this sometimes David Lynch–like movie look almost untrans-latable in Hollywood’s increasingly conservative environment.’’≤∞

National cinemas, especially on the festival circuit, are construed as alter-native or counter to dominant film practices usually associated with Holly-wood. However, the film festival itself becomes both the site for filmmakersto compete for a specific audience and the site in which a national historycan be reimagined and reconfigured. What should be added to this observa-tion is another aspect of the film festival: its ‘‘performative’’ aspect. The filmfestival is an opportunity for filmmakers to cater to the demands of a specificaudience. Each season in Spring, Summer begins with a shot showing a gatenear the shore opening like a curtain to signal the beginning of each act in aplay (figure 7.2). Such a gesture toward ‘‘play,’’ in fact, foregrounds the per-


formative aspect of festival-driven films. Both commercially driven and fes-tival films in contemporary South Korean cinema respond and react toglobal industrial or aesthetic demands. Interestingly, Park’s and Kim’s filmsare proof that it is usually global aesthetic demands in the film festivalcircuits that efface the specificity of Korean cinema as a national cinema.

Multiple Paths, One Destiny

Hong Sang-soo

If Park and Kim create films in response to emerging Asia Extremetrends, the work of film-festival regular Hong Sang-soo can be assessed inlight of a different aesthetic thread: Asian Minimalism. Asian Minimalismhas become a defining characteristic of Taiwanese cinema of the 1980s and1990s, epitomized by Hou Hsiao-hsien’s Golden Lion Award–winning ACity of Sadness (1989).≤≤ Hou’s slowly paced, distanced observation of apersonal story, unfolding against the background of historical turmoil andtrauma, became a significant aesthetic trope shared by many East Asianfilmmakers in the region: Kitano Takeshi and Koreeda Hirokazu in Japan,Tsai Ming-liang in Taiwan, and Hong and Lee Kwang-mo in Korea.

Like Park Chan-wook’s Vengeance series and Kim Ki-duk’s later films,Hong’s films lack explicit historical references; instead, they foregroundthe absurdity in mundane everyday activities. Kim Kyung-hyun questionswhether the lack of political commitment in Hong’s films should itself beviewed as political.≤≥ That is, can the importation of deconstructionist aes-thetics—a product of the West, according to Kim—within Korean film bethought of as political? Kim argues that appropriation of Western aestheticsand an indifference to politics in Hong’s films are in and of themselves apolitical gesture. My interest in this section is to locate Hong’s films withinan art-cinema tradition that has developed in the festival milieu over the lasttwo decades—an area that Kim never fully explores. This approach, however,is not predicated on a Fredric Jameson–type historiography that correlatesaesthetic modes with modes of production: situating realism as the domi-nant aesthetic mode of the preindustrial era, aligning modernism with in-dustrialization, and associating postmodernism with late capitalism. Asmany have pointed out, it is problematic to apply such a teleological modelto third-world nations (and third-world cinema for that matter), where theindustrialization process has been (or is being) compressed within a nar-rower historical period. For such an application includes a possible erasure


of complexities bearing on the historical contexts in which a national cin-ema and an individual filmmaker’s oeuvre have developed.≤∂ Filmmakers doadopt and borrow other filmmakers’ styles or narrative structures but oftenwith different aims and intentions. By examining Hong’s narrative strategyand style, I will attempt to historicize his films and examine nuances andimplications in his use of art-cinema conventions.

Hong’s style aligns itself with Asian Minimalist style comparable to thatof Hou Hsiao-hsien and Tsai Ming-liang, particularly through Hong’s use oflong takes, which he increasingly employs in his later films. The average shotlength of Virgin Stripped Bare (57 seconds) and of Turning Gate (63 sec-onds) more than doubles the average take in his first two features (The Pig,25 sec.; Kangwan Province, 34 sec.). In Hou’s films, the average shot length(asl) ranges between 17 and 83 seconds, with The Sandwich Man (1983)having the shortest and The Puppet Master (1993) having the longest asl.≤∑

However, Hou’s shots are more distanced and contemplative than Hong’s.Extreme long shots of landscapes—Hou’s trademark—in The City of Sad-ness or The Puppet Master render an idyllic, organic view of the nation,deemphasizing people’s emotions and feelings caught in historical turmoil.

Despite the fact that his slowly paced narratives are similar to Hou’s,Hong’s subjects are more tightly framed than Hou’s. Hong’s characters areoften shot in medium to medium-long shots, and he relies more on editingthan elaborate staging for the narrative events to unfold. Unlike Hou, Hongdoes not shy away from using povs or close-ups. In Kangwon Province, weconstantly see pov shots of main characters. We see a close-up of Sang-gwon’s photo for his job application, as he stares at it with dissatisfaction.Even the scenic views of Seolak Mountain are framed from Sang-gwon’s orJae-hun’s povs. Throughout the film, Hong anthropomorphizes animals andinanimate objects to mirror the changing relationship between Sang-gwonand Ji-suk and do so via pov or close-ups. As people in the office next to hismove out, Sang-gwon receives two fish in a plastic container. As he places thecontainer near the window and uses a folded piece of paper to block the fishfrom direct exposure to the sun, the container is seen in a medium close-up.The film ends with a close-up revealing only one fish left in the container.During her trip to the Naksan Temple, while her friends visit a hot spring, wesee Ji-suk’s pov shots of two turtles swimming. The pair is seen in a mediumshot in which one turtle swims away from the other, which suggests Ji-suk’sprojection of her own break up with Sang-gown onto this peaceful scene. Inthe motel scene involving Sang-gwon and Ji-suk, the camera cuts away to a


close-up of Sang-gwon’s bag; Sang-gwon’s lonely bag foreshadows the out-come of this one last desperate meeting between the two.

Hong’s films are slowly paced via long takes and a static camera, but hisstyle does not call attention to itself as much as Hou’s or Tsai Ming-liang’s.Unlike Tsai Ming-liang, who employs minimal dialogue and a minimalistuse of mise-en-scène, Hong constantly draws the viewer’s attention to char-acters via dialogue. In Tsai Ming-liang’s film What Time Is It There? (2001),the viewer is invited to observe a giant gourami in an aquarium located inthe living room. Hsiao-kang, the protagonist of the film, suffers from insom-nia following the death of his father, and one night he throws a large bug intothe aquarium. The camera is fixed, and the viewer observes the entire pro-cess of the fish eating the bug—surely the best performance in the film!

In comparison to the characters in Tsai’s film, Hong’s characters are quiteloquacious, which adds a dry sense of humor to his films. In Hong’s films,conversations among characters are trivial or filled with non sequiturs, in-cluding Sang-gwon’s discussion with Jae-un, in Kangwon Province, regard-ing how many people one can fit in a mountain, how many mountains areneeded to contain the entire population of Korea, and how one can treat dryskin. The argument between Ji-suk and the policeman about the differencebetween ‘‘scary looking people’’ and ‘‘scared of people’’ is not only a miscom-munication—an indication of the incompatibility between the two—butalso invites the viewer to appreciate the wordplay taking place. Despite hisuse of long takes and a fixed camera, Hong’s preoccupation with charactersand language often will not allow for the kind of lassitude or languor foundin films by Hou or Tsai.

Local critics praise Hong’s films for their realistic depiction of life’s banal-ity as well as their unflattering portrayal of heterosexual relationships (asevidenced by his sex scenes). However, Hong’s use of sound complicatessuch classification. Throughout The Pig, the repetition of atonal music con-stantly evokes a surreal atmosphere with its unsettling and rootless tone. InVirgin Stripped Bare and Turning Gate, the quite unnatural or semiformaldelivery of dialogue—such as that of Jae-hun and Myeong-suk—extracts anysense of realism from the film. Moreover, Hong constantly ignores soundperspective in his films, which underscores the presence of characters at theexpense of fidelity. Hong stages characters so that they walk away with theirbacks to the camera, while the volume of their dialogue or singing remainsconstant. For example, as Seong-wu picks up Gyeong-su at the bus station inChuncheon, the two walk into the background of the frame with their backs


to the camera. While they continue their everyday conversation, concerningmatters such as weather and weight, we can clearly hear them. The consis-tent volume of their dialogue underscores Hong’s preoccupation with audi-tory details in his characters. While characters visually disappear into thescenery or background, sonically they are still close to us.

Although Hong’s style shares some of the characteristics of Asian Mini-malism in terms of pace and staging, one of his peculiar aesthetic proclivitiescan be found in his experiments with narrative structure. Hong’s films fea-ture anywhere from one to four or five protagonists, each of whom carriesone or more plotlines. Multiple plotlines are intertwined through space andchance encounter, and the storyline is partially repeated and remembered bymultiple characters with diverging perspectives. In his directorial debut, ThePig, Hong portrays the failed romantic relationships among five characters.Hyo-seob, a not-so-successful writer, is having an affair with Bo-gyeong,who is married to businessman Dong-wu. Hyo-seob also maintains anotherromantic relationship with Min-je, who works at a third-run movie theaterand is pined for by her co-worker, Min-su. The film is structured via foursegments featuring four main characters: Hyo-seob (37 min.), Dong-wu(20 min.), Min-je (25 min.) and Bo-gyeong (33 min.). This rather unusualpresence of multiple characters compared to Hong’s other films, which fea-ture one or two protagonists, can be attributed to the fact that the film scriptwas devised by four writers, each given one major character to develop.≤∏

As the film’s title suggests, the idea of chance and coincidence is preva-lent throughout: What are the chances of a pig falling into the well? Some ofthe characters never meet or are linked only by space. Although the narra-tive structure of The Pig revolves around five characters, some of them—especially the males—never directly interact. However, they are connectedspatially early on. In Hyo-seob’s segment, we see him encounter both Dong-wu and Min-su by accident. After Hyo-seob sleeps with Bo-gyeong in amotel room, he visits his publisher and tries in vain to obtain some advancemoney. Hyo-seob takes the same elevator as Bo-gyeong’s husband, Dong-wu, unbeknownst to either. Their awkwardness is emphasized as the cam-era cuts to show their facial expressions. Shortly after, Hyo-seob makes abig scene at a restaurant with a restaurant employee. He’s taken to the po-lice station and talks nonsense in front of a judge while defending himselfin court. On his way out, Hyo-seob loans some bail money to a strangerwhile Min-su passes by. Both of these cases, however, occur at narrativepoints where the relationships among these three male characters have not


been established for the audience. One can assess the significance (or lackthereof) of these encounters only retrospectively and probably only during arepeated viewing.

Hong connects his characters once more in Bo-gyeong’s dream sequence.After Bo-gyeong follows her husband to a clinic, she visits a friend who runsa pharmacy. There is an abrupt transition to the funeral of Bo-gyeong, wherewe see Hyo-seob and Min-je. Hyo-seob cynically tells Bo-gyeong’s husbandthat now they finally have met. Hyo-seob goes to Bo-gyeong’s room, lies nextto her and then caresses her. Shortly after, Bo-gyeong, who has only pre-tended to be dead, exits the room and greets everyone. The funeral is notclearly framed as a dream sequence until later, when there is a scene of Bo-gyeong waking up. Or perhaps the funeral foreshadows the deaths of Hyo-seob and Min-je. Nevertheless, this scene functions as an effective narrativedevice by linking the characters both spatially and temporally.

Hong’s later films often revolve around one or two protagonists, whoseconflicting attitudes, memories, and knowledge of themselves or past eventsunderscore their pettiness and insecurity. In his second feature, The Powerof Kangwon Province, we see the paths of two characters—Sang-gwon andJi-suk—intertwine during their respective trips to Gangwon Province. Sang-gwon, a college instructor, and Ji-suk, a college student, just ended theirextramarital affair and have decided to go their separate ways. Unbeknownstto them, Sang-gwon and Ji-suk are on the same train to Gangwon Province.Sang-gwon and Ji-suk never connect during their trip, other than throughan encounter with a female tourist. As Ji-suk finally meets Sang-gwon at thepark, followed by a passionless love scene at a motel room, their paths finallyconverge. After a brief affair with a policeman during her trip, Ji-suk has anabortion. Ji-suk informs Sang-gwon about her abortion, but Sang-gwon,drunk from a gathering with his future colleagues, bluntly requests Ji-suk toengage in oral sex.

In Turning Gate, Gyeong-su has love affairs with two different women intwo different cities: one with Myeong-suk in Chuncheon; the other withSeon-yeong in Gyeongju. Gyeong-su finds himself in two completely differ-ent romantic situations. In the first half of the film, Gyeong-su is roman-tically pursued by a dancer, Myeong-suk; while in the second, he himselfpursues a married woman, Seon-yeong. As with Hyo-seob in The Pig, whotreats Bo-gyeong and Min-je differently, the viewer witnesses Gyeong-su’scontrasting relationship with these two women: his frivolous treatment ofMyeong-suk and obsession with Seon-yeong. In the first story, although


Gyeong-su spends the night with Myeong-suk, when asked whether heloves her, he refuses to say yes. In the second story, Gyeong-su becomesmore assertive and aggressive. On his way to Busan to visit his parents,Gyeong-su encounters Seon-yeong on the train. Gyeong-su exits the train inGyeongju to follow Seon-yeong to her home, stalks her, and finally sleepswith her. Furthermore, Gyeong-su confesses that he loves Seon-yeong. Butunlike Hyo-seob, who never comes to terms with his inconsistency andhypocrisy, Gyeong-su realizes his when Seon-yeong’s attitude changes afterseeing a fortuneteller. The fortuneteller predicts that Seon-yeong’s husbandwill be very successful, while Gyeong-su will have three years’ bad luck. Thefortuneteller’s prediction makes Seon-yeong change her mind, and she de-cides to remain married to her husband, giving a Gyeong-su a bogus reasonto make him wait outside her home. But then Seon-yeong never returnsRemembering the folktale about the turning gate, Gyeong-su leaves Seon-yeong.

The two plots within Turning Gate converge momentarily with a chanceencounter. While Gyeong-su, Seong-wu, and Myeong-suk ride a paddleboaton the lake, they are approached by another boat carrying a middle-agedman and a young woman. The middle-aged man asks Gyeong-su and Seong-wu for a light. Later in the film, Gyeong-su informs Seon-yeong that hethinks he saw her husband with another woman on the lake. But the connec-tion made via this episode is not as intricate as those made in Hong’s otherfilms. Seon-yeong denies such a possibility and leaves the viewer puzzled.Unlike the female tourist that Sang-gwon and Ji-suk encounter in GangwonProvince, who is repeatedly referred to or seen throughout the film, themoment when Gyeong-su meets the husband of Seon-yeong is so brief thatit is hard to confirm it on first viewing. Upon second viewing, however, theman in the paddle boat does appear to be Seon-yeong’s husband.

Both Oh! Soo-jung: AVirgin Stripped Bare byHer Bachelors (referred to asVirgin Stripped Bare hereafter) and Woman Is the Future of Man featureHong’s typical love triangle. Jae-hun, a wealthy businessman falls for Soo-jung (Su-jeong), who is an assistant to Yeong-su. In Virgin Stripped Bare, thecourtship between Jae-hun and Soo-jung is presented alternately from bothJae-hun and Soo-jung’s point of view. Woman Is the Future of Man similarlyfeatures two male protagonists—Mun-ho and Hyeon-gon—who have con-flicting memories of Seon-hwa, a woman they had both been romanticallyinvolved with. Virgin Stripped Bare consists of two major flashbacks—‘‘Per-haps Accident’’ and ‘‘Perhaps Intention’’—which contain seven chapters


each, interspersed with three segments in the narrative present: ‘‘Day’sWait,’’ ‘‘Suspended Cable Car,’’ and the coda of the film, ‘‘Naught Shall Go IllWhen You Find Your Mate.’’ As the titles of flashbacks suggest, the roman-tic union between Jae-hun and Soo-jung was meant to be or intentional.However, the true version of the story is left undetermined, or the actualcause is irrelevant to the final outcome of the narrative—i.e., the consum-mation of their love.

Two flashbacks of Jae-hun and of Soo-jung overlap. However, by addingor omitting scenes, each flashback further establishes each character andtheir class differences. For example, in ‘‘Perhaps Accident’’ Jae-hun does notknow how to read the subway map. This episode shows Jae-hun’s effort toconvince Soo-jung that he adores her; he even takes a subway to see herwhen she is visiting her friend in Gojan. But at the same time, the episodereveals that he is from a rich family and rarely uses public transportation.Furthermore, Jae-hun is portrayed as more romantic and respectable in hisown rendition of the scene within his flashback. Jae-hun tells his friends thathe believes in fate, which is one of the main reasons he’s still single. On thecontrary, Jae-hun appears to be more of a womanizer in Soo-jung’s flash-back. For example, we see Jae-hun kiss another woman during a gathering athis friend’s house. Most notably, in a romantically charged scene in a motelroom in Kojan, Jae-hun calls out someone else’s name! In Soo-jung’s flash-back, the economic differences between her and Jae-hun are foregroundedearly on. At the beginning of Soo-jung’s flashback, the fact that Jae-hun has achauffer is underscored: Jae-hun tips his chauffer in front of the art galleryJae-hun owns. Later, the viewer sees Soo-jung’s poverty-stricken householdand learns of her incestuous relationship with her brother.

Minute discrepancies between two flashbacks, if not affecting the overallnarrative trajectory, constantly test the viewer’s memory. For example, inthe second part of each flashback, Jae-hun, Soo-jung, and Yeong-su have adrink in a shabby restaurant. After Yeong-su leaves to go to the bathroom inthe first version, Jae-hun asks for chopsticks; in the second, he asks for morenapkins. Similarly, when Jae-hun and Soo-jung are showing affection foreach other in another restaurant, something drops from the table. In thefirst version Jae-hun tells Soo-jung it’s a fork, but in the second version hesays it’s a spoon. Once the viewer begins to detect minor changes, moredetails will be noticed that set the two versions apart, including stylisticdifferences. For example, after Yeong-su arrives with Soo-jung at a partyhosted by Jae-hun’s friend, the camera cuts to an exterior shot of the apart-


ment building before returning to the other side of the table. In the firstversion, we see a shot of two people playing a badminton game in thecourtyard of the apartment complex; but in the second version, the cameramerely cuts to show a lamp.

In the coda of the film, Jae-hun and Soo-jung finally consummate theirlove. However, the viewer is left uncertain about the prospect of this rela-tionship because the story is presented from different perspectives. Jae-hunsays he’s finally met his soul mate. But does he mean it? Or was it part of Jae-hun’s effort to lure Soo-jung into bed? (The latter is more likely.) The pur-pose of utilizing multiple flashbacks in Virgin Stripped Bare is not to deter-mine which version of the story is veridical. Each flashback underscores andforegrounds a different aspect of Jae-hun and Soo-jung’s romantic relation-ship, tainted with one’s own wish, memory, and perception. Take an exam-ple of contemporary Korean cinema, JSA, which employs a similar narrativestrategy. In watching JSA, the viewer is given the correct explanation of theshootout, while in Virgin Stripped Bare, the truth of each flashback is uncer-tain. Unlike JSA, which follows the generic conventions of investigation-thriller genre (in which all the questions posed in the beginning of the filmmust be answered by the end) Virgin Stripped Bare manifests a common art-house cinema characteristic: ambiguity.

Hong also relies on parallelism in linking multiple plots: similar situa-tions, lines, and behaviors.≤π For instance, in Turning Gate, althoughGyeong-su’s role is reversed in the first and the second story, both storieshave similar themes: love and obsession. In one scene, while Gyeong-su andSeong-wu enjoy the scenery of Soyang Lake, Gyeong-su experiences déjà-vuwith a young college girl who appears to be traveling alone. Seon-yeong latertells Gyeong-su that she traveled to Soyang Lake by herself when she was afreshman in college. Although the college girl Gyeong-su ran into is notSeon-yeong, she is a surrogate for Seon-yeong ten years before. Seon-yeongwas also followed by two men, one of whom, she says, she liked. The girl is ina situation that mirrors Seon-yeong’s at one time. In Woman on the Beach,Hong kindly reminds the viewer that film director Jung-rae is drawn to bothMun-suk and Seon-hui because of their physical resemblances. This kind ofparallelism contributes thematically, although not causally, to linking dis-jointed parts of a film.

Characters in Hong’s films repeat each others’ lines. Disappointed aboutnot getting a part in a film, Gyeong-su still insists on receiving pay from theproduction company. In front of the elevator, the director tells Gyeong-su,


‘‘Although it is hard to be a human being, let’s not become a monster.’’Gyeong-su repeats the same line twice during his stay in Chuncheon: onceto Seong-wu and another to Myeong-suk. When Gyeong-su is about toleave, Myeong-suk gives him a photo of herself with a note on the back. Shewishes him a good trip and ends the note with: ‘‘You inside of Me, Me insideYou. ‘‘After spending a night together, Seon-yeong leaves a note for Gyeong-su that contains a similar line. Such repetitions—repetitions of situations,dialogues, and behaviors—used throughout the film underscore the cycli-cal nature of these doomed romantic and interpersonal relationships. Themoral here is that being selfish and inconsiderate on behalf of one’s own bestinterests is human nature, and trying to defy such nature leads us to becomebetter human beings—although we often fail to do so. Moreover, charactersmimic one another in behavior and mannerisms throughout the film. InKangwon Province, Ji-suk rotates her glass while she drinks; and later in thefilm we see Sang-gwon do the same. Similar repetitions can be found inTurning Gate. While Seong-wu and Gyeong-su play a strip-drinking gamewith two prostitutes in a club room, one of the girls is annoyed by Seong-wu,who is constantly swaying back and forth. Later in the film, we find Gyeong-su himself swaying back and forth in restaurants.

Hong’s narrative strategy—his use of multiple plotlines linked by chanceand spatial relations among characters—can be comparable to contempo-rary art-cinema directors such as the late Kieslowski as well as Wong Kar-wai and the Korean romance films examined in Chapter Four. In BlindChance (1987) Krzysztof Kieslowski presents three possible scenarios forWitek, a Polish medical student caught in the political fervor of the late1970s. In the first, Witek catches a train, and through a chance meeting with adedicated Communist, joins the Communist Party; in the second, he missesthe train, fights with a guard, and ends up in the political underground; in thethird, again missing the train, he returns to his quiet, apolitical life as a doctorand husband. In The Decalogue (1988–1989), Kieslowski portrays the dailylives of the residents of an apartment complex. Each episode revolves arounddifferent characters and themes, but characters from one episode some-times reappear in other episodes. For example, the couple from episodetwo—Dorota and her ill husband—reappear in episode five. On a cold day,the couple asks a taxicab driver whether the taxi is occupied. They wait forhim to wash his taxi, but he drives off without them. Similarly, in episodethree, as the protagonist enters a building dressed as Santa, we see the fa-


ther from episode one leaving. Kieslowski employs a similar strategy in his‘‘Three Colors’’ Trilogy: Blue, White, and Red.

Wong Kar-wai also relies on chance and converging paths in ChungkingExpress and Fallen Angels. Both of films consist of two stories. In the firsthalf of Chungking Express, while heartbroken Cop 223 tries to get over hisbreakup, he runs into a mysterious woman with a blond wig. In the secondhalf, Police Officer 633 (Tony Leung) also tries to get over his breakup withhis flight-attendant girlfriend: meanwhile, unbeknownst to him, his apart-ment is being slowly transformed by Faye (Faye Wong) who works at a snackshop where the police officer often visits. These two stories are linked by amoment when Cop 223 (Takeshi Kaneshiro) has a brief encounter with Faye,in which he predicts that she will fall in love in six hours. Fallen Angels alsoconsists of two (failed) love stories: one between the Agent (Michelle Reis)and the Killer (Leon Lai), the other between He Zhiwu (Takeshi Kaneshiro)and Charlie (Charlie Young). The two stories are linked by space. The Agentand He are both tenants in the Chungking Mansion (run by He’s father) andare part of an independent storyline. The stories sometimes intersect whenthe Killer drops by the Japanese restaurant where He works as a chef; yetneither relationship works out, and the film ends with He giving the Agent aride home after a chance meeting at a small restaurant. Their ride togetheraccentuates the parallel narrative outcome, in which both feel forlorn.

Although narrative devices employed by these three directors appearsimilar, they fulfill different functions within each director’s films. The threeversions of the future that await Witek in Kieslowski’s Blind Chance offerthree distinct possibilities that lead to a single so-called ‘‘spatial destiny,’’ notfate. In all three scenarios Witek ends up at the airport for one reason oranother: but a different future awaits him each time. In other words, he willbe at the airport no matter which version of the future becomes his life.Blind Chance is about determinism, philosophically speaking, not aboutfatalism. On the contrary, in Virgin Stripped Bare, there is only one storywith two versions of tainted memories. The story itself is indeterminate orincomplete, although we witness different versions of the past constructedby each character.

Spatial correlations among characters function foremost to introduceand connect multiple plots or storylines in the oeuvres of Kieslowski, Wong,and Hong. However, some bear more emotional resonance than others. Forexample, the spatial mediation between Sang-gwon and Ji-suk via the female


tourist in Kangwon Province not only bridges the two storylines but alsocarries an emotional overtone. Sang-gwon and Ji-suk, although travelingseparately, try to relive their memories via their brief encounter with strang-ers: Ji-suk with the police officer and Sang-gwon with the female tourist whomay have been pushed off a mountaintop. But both Sang-gwon and Ji-sukfail miserably, finding one another’s literal as well as emotional traces left be-hind. One can make a similar observation of the characters in Fallen Angels.He Zhiwu and the Agent are connected spatially, but at the same time theirrespective romantic relationships with other characters fall within simi-lar emotional trajectories. Although the romance between He and Charlie isa lighter version of the two, the emotional tone of their romance resemblingthat of the Agent and the Killer’s, as their relationship nears its end. Suchmood is further reinforced by the death of He’s father.

Hong is one of the most rigorous and consistent directors around interms of his narrative strategy and style. Each film directed by Hong appearsto follow a self-imposed constraint: lack of camera movement (perceivablynone) in Kangwon Province, the extraction of color in Virgin Stripped Bare,and a lack of nondiegetic music in Turning Gate (except for the music thataccompanies the ending credits). Characterizing Hong’s films in terms offamiliar categories such as realism, modernism, or postmodernism will dis-regard the complexity of his films discussed above. Hong may or may not beconsciously targeting an art-house audience, but he both invokes and revisesart-cinema traditions to his own taste.

193

Afterword

The South Korean Film Renaissance attempted to show how the SouthKorean film industry modernized itself in response to global demands fordirect competition within the domestic market. Producers and 386 Genera-tion directors have pursued commercially viable films with nation-specificcontent and aesthetic finesse. Various production trends considered in thisbook demonstrate the active aesthetic exchange—how Korean cinema hasincorporated, reworked, and replaced the generic norms and aesthetic con-ventions of other national cinematic styles: Hong Kong, Japanese, European,and Hollywood, among others. Tragic endings and sentimentalism in suchblockbusters as Shiri, JSA, and Silmido may distinguish themselves fromtheir Hollywood counterparts, but there also exists an undeniable similaritybetween Hong Kong and Korean cinema: both are imbued with nationalisticundercurrents. In both local cinematic styles, directors explore what is spe-cific to each culture and history for commercial purposes—including thedirectors’ own perceptions of the unfortunate destinies of their respectivenations.

Other production trends have further addressed some of the issues im-portant to Koreans through the conventions of popular form: class hier-archy/immobility, dysfunctional family, gender and conformity, among oth-ers. Although the impression may have been given that commercial cinemais being emphasized over festival-oriented cinema in The South Korean FilmRenaissance, the book aims to show that the divide between commercial andfestival-oriented cinema isn’t so sharp—in fact, there is an overlap betweenthe two, with commercially driven films often incorporating art-cinemaconventions or narrative strategies (see Chapter Four).

The continuing prosperity of the South Korean film industry is, however,uncertain. The South Korean film industry saw a decline in both marketshare and exports around 2007. The buzz for ‘‘Korean’’ films has quieteddown within the domestic market. Yet, the industry still undergoes transfor-mations. For the first time in the history of South Korean cinema, the union


for film crews and staffs—the Federation of Korea Movie Workers’ Union—successfully negotiated with the Korean Film Producers Association (kfpa)regarding working hours and wages as a preliminary step toward remedyingthe deplorable working conditions.∞ kofic continues to support the localindustry by making funds available especially for mid-range and indepen-dent films—out of $55.5 million allotted, three quarters will be spent onthese modes of filmmaking.≤ Conglomerates search for investment fromabroad, especially Asian and Western partners.≥ cj has been courting apartnership with China with minifestivals and invitations of Chinese offi-cials to Seoul, hoping to earn a better distribution deal in China. cj Media—a sister company of cj—opened a studio in Vietnam in order to produceVietnam-themed tv shows, while Lotte, one of the largest exhibition chainsin South Korea, also seeks to open an exhibition wing in Vietnam. Furthergovernment efforts are made to curb online piracy to protect intellectualproperty. In 2008, for instance, a warrant was issued for a suspect whoallegedly pirated over ten thousand files and earned $100,000 from theonline companies.∂

Expanding their reach within Asia as well as outside the continent ap-pears to be the priority of both the South Korean conglomerates and theindependents. Coproduction, seemingly the most feasible way to cross na-tional borders in the regional market, has been less than successful in SouthKorea. Targeting ‘‘combined’’ Asian audiences, which number more than250 million (excluding the massive Chinese population), has proved to bevery attractive to producers not only in South Korea but also in Hong Kongand Taiwan.∑ However, unlike the countries of greater China, which canfacilitate with relative ease intra-Asian coproductions for pan-Chinese au-diences, the South Korean film industry got involved with coproductionsthat were largely unsuccessful. Three, the Asian horror trilogy coproducedby Hong Kong’s Applause, Korea’s B.O.M. and Thailand’s Saha Monkol,attracted only 73,750 admissions in Seoul, in contrast to the earlier recep-tion of the films both in Thailand and Hong Kong.∏ Go, a coproduction be-tween Japan’s Toei and Korea’s Starmax (with the latter’s 20 percent stake),did not earn as much attention in Korea as it did in Japan.π Public Toiletfollowed suit. Later titles such as The Promise (Chen Kaige, 2005) and SevenSwords (Tsui Hark, 2005) followed with a similarly anemic box-office perfor-mance, attracting less than 220,000 and 100,000 admissions in Seoul, re-spectively. It is not only local audiences’ linguistic sensibility that intervenesin engaging stories set against an abstract diegesis of legend or myth.∫ It isalso the major-driven distribution practices in South Korea that limit the

Afterword 195

dissemination of these independent films. For example, Showeast, the dis-tributor of The Promise starring Korean actor Jang Dong-gun, wanted thefilm to be released simultaneously in both South Korea and China in De-cember 2005; but the release had to be postponed until the following yearbecause of the Korean blockbuster Typhoon, another Jang star vehicle.Ω Sucha delay would indeed affect the box-office performance of the film in ques-tion, since audiences would have already been exposed to pirated dvdsfrom China before the film reaches local theaters.

Cofinanced films, which preserve an ‘‘apparent’’ nationality or locality,command better box-office draws in South Korea. A precedent can be foundin One Fine Spring Day (Hur Jin-ho, 2001)—cofinanced by South Korea’sSidus, Japan’s Shochiku, and Hong Kong’s Applause—and a recent title suchas Red Cliff 2 (John Woo, 2009), cofinanced by China Film Group, Japan’sAvex, Taiwan’s cmc, and South Korea’s Showbox.∞≠ South Korean distribu-tor Showbox, with its 10.5 percent stake in production, released Red Cliff 2on over four hundred screens nationwide and is expected to be the decade’shighest-grossing film among Hong Kong releases in South Korea.∞∞

Both the Korean industry and Korean audiences are keen on expandingpossibilities for the industry’s creative partnership with Hollywood.∞≤ Al-though the deal ultimately fell through, Kang Woo-suk’s Silmido was tobe the first Korean film fully financed by an American major, ColumbiaTristar.∞≥ Korean-made, English-language sci-fi picture D-War and themartial-arts film The Shadowless Sword, cofinanced by Korea’s Taeheungand New Line Cinema, seemed to signal the beginning of a new era ofKorean-Hollywood ventures.∞∂ However, the result was ultimately disap-pointing. With a budget of $70 million, D-War became the highest-grossingfilm of 2007 in Korea, with $57.7 million earned at home. Yet the film took inonly $9.3 million from its theatrical release in the United States.∞∑ And TheShadowless Sword was a commercial flop, with less than 610,000 admissionsnationwide in South Korea.∞∏

Underneath the South Korean audiences’ indifference to some of thecoproductions mentioned above, changing consumer patterns are evident:light entertainment and instant gratification are what audiences want. Somejournalists view such an attitude as a characteristic of ‘‘post-386 Genera-tion.’’∞π If the 386 Generation is concerned with collectivity and nationalismin political and cultural arenas—an example being consumer nationalism—post-386 Generation is immune to such a command or indifferent to theprevious generation’s authority. Although the controversy surrounding the


film certainly contributed to audience interest, the craze for D-War suggeststhe opposite of such assumed audience tastes. While acknowledging thefilm’s aesthetic shortcomings at the level of narrative, the film’s fans praisedthe special effects and saw the film as a first (albeit meager) step towardreaching a global market.∞∫ Such a desire to attain both cultural visibility aswell as global aesthetic standards underlines an ambivalent aspect of thepost-386 Generation—a generation still imbued with nationalism.

Will the South Korean film industry recover from this stagnation? Or willChinese cinema become the next big wave? Michael Curtin, in his bookPlaying to theWorld’s Biggest Audience, convincingly demonstrates how twodifferent forces—centripetal and centrifugal—operate within the media in-dustry: the centripetal nature of capital and the centrifugal distribution ofcommodities.∞Ω That is, while capital tends to concentrate on a single loca-tion (or few locations) for cost-effectiveness and the acceleration of produc-tion, the goods need to be circulated across spaces to maximize revenues;with the development of various communication devices and transporta-tion, the radar of the latter seems to increasingly expand. Yet, as Curtainclaims, one must consider why a specific location becomes a prominentcenter of such forces. He lists three conditions: accumulation of capital,migration of creative labor, and the forces behind social structure.≤≠ One ofthe reasons that location becomes attractive for investors is the agglomera-tion of creative talents and business practices available. For example, inorder for Seoul or Busan to be the kind of location capable of initiatingregional and global film projects, the creativity and effort to share talentsand technical skills with regional filmmakers and producers must be pres-ent. Busan’s ppp (Pusan Promotion Plan; Pusan is an alternate spelling ofBusan), for instance, allows both local and regional filmmakers to cooperatewith mutual trust and shared expertise.≤∞ ppp facilitates production as wellas film sales, by both financially supporting the selected projects and makinga fruitful liaison between filmmakers and potential investors. It also providesspaces (both metaphorically and literally) for sales agents and buyers toscope out. Films such as Beijing Bicycle (Wang Xiaoshuai, 2001), AddressUnknown (Kim Ki-duk, 2001), Oasis (Lee Chang-dong, 2002), and WomanIs the Future of Man (Hong Sang-soo, 2004) are all beneficiaries of ppp.Certainly, the Korean governments and institutional support for the indus-try boom—deregulations for crossfertilization within the regional market—must also be in order; but as many critics in South Korea argue, it is compe-tence and creativity in Korean media that the industry should strive for.

Afterword 197

The South Korean film industry blossomed after I left the country topursue my degrees in the United States. Though I am Korean, maybe I am a‘‘migrant intellectual’’ as Ien Ang calls it—I grew up in South Korea and thenlived in the United States and Canada for a time, and now I reside in the U.K.Thus, I currently occupy a cultural middle ground between South Korea andthe West: and I now watch South Korean cinema with nostalgia and, attimes, even a sense of exoticism.

199

Appendix 1

Box Office Top Ten (1986–2006)(Country, admissions in Seoul)

19861. The Mission (U.K., 525,630)2. White Nights (U.S.A., 363,905)3. Out of Africa (U.S.A., 348,967)4. The Goonies (U.S.A., 337,866)5. F/X (U.S.A., 320,957)6. Alien 2 (U.S.A, 292,436)7. Lee Jang-hoeui Oeingudan (South Korea, 287,712)8. 9∞⁄≤ Weeks (U.S.A., 234,998)9. The Coolangatta Gold (Australia, 231,586)10. Gyeoul Nageune (South Korea, 217,798)

19871. Platoon (U.K./U.S.A., 576,924)2. RoboCop (U.S.A., 459,359)3. The Natural (U.S.A., 445,921)4. Back to the Future (U.S.A., 343,292)5. Predator (U.S.A., 317,754)6. Top Gun (U.S.A., 278,975)7. Crocodile Dundee (Australia, 261,693)8. Cheongchun Sketch (South Korea, 260,916)9. Cobra (U.S.A., 257,283)10. NoMercy (U.S.A., 221,518)

19881. Die Hard (U.S.A., 459,413)2. Maechun (South Korea, 432,609)3. Young Sherlock Holmes (U.S.A., 374,680)4. Apocalypse Now (U.S.A., 305,029)5. TwoMoon Junction (U.S.A., 269,108)6. Modern Times (starring Charlie Chaplin, U.S.A., 265,509)7. A Better Tomorrow 2 (Hong Kong, 260,486)8. Dancers (a.k.a. Giselle, U.S.A., 241,353)

200 Appendix 1

9. Jeobsikkot Dangsin (South Korea, 237,744)10. Eoreundeuleun Molrayo (South Korea, 220,591)

19891. Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade (U.S.A., 491,010)2. Rain Man (U.S.A., 333,571)3. Gandhi (U.K./India, 265,236)4. Seoul Mujigae (South Korea, 261,220)5. The Killer (Hong Kong, 250,486)6. Casino Raiders (Hong Kong, 247,450)7. Romero (234,001)8. Miracle (Hong Kong, 232,963)9. Big (U.S.A., 225,999)10. When Harry Met Sally (U.S.A., 222,736)

19901. The General’s Son (South Korea, 678,946)2. Dead Poets Society (381,925)3. Maruta 2: Laboratory of the Devil (U.S.A., 339,087)4. Nambugun (a.k.a. The South Korean Army, South Korea, 324,169)5. All That Falls Has Wings (South Korea, 312,684)6. No Risk, No Gain: Casino Raiders—The Sequel (Hong Kong, 303,439)7. Cinema Paradiso (Italy/France, 275,239)8. RoboCop 2 (U.S.A., 273,151)9. The Bear (France/U.S.A., 264,782)10. Wild Orchid (U.S.A., 210,623)

19911. Ghost (U.S.A., 1,683,265)2. Dances with Wolves (U.S.A., 984,978)3. Terminator 2: Judgment Day (U.S.A., 919,444)4. Home Alone (U.S.A., 869,820)5. Die Hard 2 (U.S.A., 772,536)6. Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves (U.S.A., 475,528)7. Total Recall (U.S.A., 410,076)8. Armor of God II (a.k.a. Operation Condor, Hong Kong, 403,802)9. The General’s Son 2 (South Korea, 357,697)10. Once Upon a Time in China (Hong Kong, 343,512)

19921. Basic Instinct (U.S.A., 970,180)2. Beauty and the Beast (U.S.A., 590,904)

Appendix 1 201

3. The Last Boy Scout (U.S.A., 547,281)4. The Marriage Story (South Korea, 526,052)5. Once Upon a Time in China (Hong Kong, 434,739)6. The Little Mermaid (U.S.A., 433,309)7. East is Red (Hong Kong, 359,463)8. Alien 3 (U.S.A., 349,150)9. The Lover (France/U.K./Vietnam, 337,233)10. Universal Soldier (U.S.A., 308,429)

19931. Cliffhanger (U.S.A., 1,118,583)2. Jurassic Park (U.S.A., 1,063,352)3. Sopyonje (South Korea, 1,035,741)4. The Bodyguard (U.S.A., 747,238)5. Aladdin (U.S.A., 647,266)6. The Fugitive (U.S.A., 477,814)7. The Piano (Australia/New Zealand/France, 461,783)8. Home Alone 2 (U.S.A., 395,444)9. Demolition Man (U.S.A., 317,577)10. The Last of the Mohicans (U.S.A., 315,404)

19941. The Lion King (U.S.A., 920,948)2. True Lies (U.S.A., 874,664)3. Speed (U.S.A., 874,225)4. Two Cops (South Korea, 860,433)5. Schindler’s List (U.S.A., 847,259)6. Forrest Gump (U.S.A., 561,091)7. The Piano (Australia/New Zealand/France, 475,870)8. Mrs. Doubtfire (U.S.A., 468,229)9. Color of Night (U.S.A., 439,391)10. Demolition Man (U.S.A., 387,460)

19951. Die Hard 3 (U.S.A., 979,666)2. Forrest Gump (U.S.A., 705,143)3. Léon (France, 606,875)4. Braveheart (U.S.A., 500,798)5. Stargate (France/U.S.A., 461,093)6. French Kiss (U.K./U.S.A., 398,027)7. Seven (U.S.A., 394,034)8. Interview with the Vampire (U.S.A., 354,718)

202 Appendix 1

9. Dr. Bong (South Korea, 346,443)10. To Top MyWife (South Korea, 344,900)

19961. Independence Day (U.S.A., 923,223)2. The Rock (U.S.A., 906,676)3. Two Cops 2 (U.S.A., 636,047)4. Mission: Impossible (U.S.A., 622,237)5. Jumanji (U.S.A., 540,402)6. Gingko Bed (South Korea, 452,580)7. Twister (U.S.A., 442,048)8. Heat (U.S.A., 412,819)9. Ransom (U.S.A., 410,657)10. 007 GoldenEye (U.K./U.S.A., 355,498)

19971. The Lost World: Jurassic Park (U.S.A., 1,001,279)2. The Fifth Element (France, 857,752)3. Face/Off (U.S.A., 716,107)4. The Contact (South Korea, 674,933)5. Air Force One (U.S.A./Germany, 663,415)6. Men in Black (U.S.A., 662,106)7. The Letter (South Korea, 603,701)8. Ransom (U.S.A., 508,244)9. Romeo + Juliet (U.S.A., 491,435)10. Jerry Maguire (U.S.A., 448,393)

19981. Titanic (U.S.A., 1,971,780)2. Armageddon (U.S.A., 1,170,252)3. Mulan (U.S.A., 771,194)4. The Letter (South Korea, 724,747)5. A Promise (South Korea, 661,174)6. Deep Impact (U.S.A., 637,387)7. Whispering Corridors (South Korea, 621,032)8. Saving Private Ryan (U.S.A., 593,681)9. Alien 4 (U.S.A., 571,751)10. 007 Tomorrow Never Dies (U.K./U.S.A., 479,621)

19991. Shiri (South Korea, 2,448,399)2. The Mummy (U.S.A., 1,114,916)

Appendix 1 203

3. Attack the Gas Station (South Korea, 905,500)4. The Matrix (U.S.A., 897,882)5. The Sixth Sense (U.S.A., 797,761)6. Star Wars: Episode 1—The PhantomMenace (U.S.A., 746,654)7. Tarzan (U.S.A., 726,542)8. Tell Me Something (South Korea, 685,935)9. Nowhere to Hide (South Korea, 664,861)10. Love Letter (Japan, 599,350)

20001. JSA (South Korea, 2,447,133)2. Gladiator (U.S.A., 1,239,955)3. Mission: Impossible 2 (U.S.A., 1,230,633)4 The Foul King (South Korea, 787,423)5. Bicheonmu (South Korea, 717,659)6. Dinosaur (U.S.A., 654,446)7. Danjeokbiyeonsu (a.k.a. Gingko Bed 2, South Korea, 616,349)8. The Perfect Storm (U.S.A., 592,768)9. Libera me (South Korea, 530,768)10. Charlie’s Angels (U.S.A., 489,979)

20011. Friend (South Korea, 2,678,846)2. My Sassy Girl (South Korea, 1,735,692)3. Kick the Moon (South Korea, 1,608,211)4. MyWife Is a Gangster (South Korea, 1,419,972)5. Hi! Dharma! (South Korea, 1,250,875)6. Shrek (U.S.A., 1,078,886)7. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone (U.K., 1,078,519)8. Pearl Harbor (U.S.A., 1,061,151)9. The Mummy Returns (U.S.A., 948,179)10. Vertical Limit (U.S.A./Germany, 890,785)

20021. Marrying the Mafia (South Korea, 1,605,775)2. The Way Home (South Korea, 1,576,943)3. Minority Report (U.S.A., 1,401,000)4. The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring (New Zealand/U.S.A.,1,360,174)5. Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (U.K./U.S.A./Germany, 1,199,616)6. Public Enemy (South Korea, 1,161,500)7. Spider-Man (U.S.A., 1,125,568)

204 Appendix 1

8. Jail Breakers (South Korea, 1,056,211)9. The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers (U.S.A./New Zealand/Germany,951,459)10. Spirited Away (Japan, 937,459)

20031. Memories of Murder (South Korea, 1,912,725)2. The Matrix Reloaded (U.S.A., 1,596,000)3. My Tutor Friend (South Korea, 1,587,975)4. Untold Scandal (South Korea, 1,292,951)5. Oldboy (South Korea, 1,140,000)6. A Tale of Two Sisters (South Korea, 1,017,027)7. Hwangsanbeol (South Korea, 960,394)8. Oh! Brothers (South Korea, 952,010)9. The Matrix Revolutions (U.S.A., 930,031)10. Singles (South Korea, 859,575)

20041. Taegukgi: the Brotherhoood of War (South Korea, 3,059,563)2. Silmido (South Korea, 2,569,826)3. Troy (U.S.A., 1,513,408)4. Shrek 2 (U.S.A., 1,285,594)5. Spirit of Jeet Kune Do (a.k.a. Once Upon a Time in High School, South Korea,1,023,601)6. The Day After Tomorrow (U.S.A., 959,101)7. The Passion of the Christ (U.S.A., 940,230)8. Harry Potter and the Prison of Azkaban (U.K./U.S.A., 892,900)9. Little Bride (South Korea, 876,600)10. AMoment to Remember (South Korea, 797,593)

20051. Welcome to Dongmakgol (South Korea, 2,435,088)2. Marathon (South Korea, 1,552,548)3. Marrying the Mafia 2 (South Korea, 1,451,468)4. Lady Vengeance (South Korea, 1,357,194)5. Island (U.S.A., 1,285,400)6. Mr. &Ms. Smith (U.S.A., 1,206,126)7. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (U.K./U.S.A., 1,189,723)8. Public Enemy 2 (South Korea, 1,167,828)9. Typhoon (South Korea, 1,007,709)10. You Are My Sunshine (South Korea, 1,063,480)

Appendix 1 205

20061. The Host (South Korea, 3,571,254)2. Tazza: The High Roller (South Korea, 2,091,058)3. 200 Pounds Beauty (South Korea, 1,934,910)4. Mission: Impossible 3 (U.S.A., 1,584,202)5. Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man’s Chest (U.S.A., 1,525,853)6. My Boss, My Teacher (South Korea, 1,502,821)7. Night at the Museum (U.S.A./U.K., 1,226,404)8. The Da Vinci Code (U.S.A., 1,114,795)9. Hanbando (South Korea, 1,077,033)10. Maundy Thursday (South Korea, 980,722)

Statistics based on Korean Film Annals 1987–2007 (Seoul: KOFIC)

206

Appendix 2

Korean Film Market Share (Nationwide, 1986–2006)

Korean cinema Foreign cinema

YearAdmissions(millions)

Market share(percent)

Admissions(millions)

Market share(percent) Total

Averageadmissionsper capita

1986 15.61 33.00 31.66 67.00 47.27 1.131987 13.10 27.00 35.48 73.00 48.58 1.151988 12.16 23.30 40.06 76.70 52.22 1.221989 11.15 20.20 44.15 79.80 55.30 1.261990 10.81 20.20 42.64 79.80 53.45 1.221991 11.06 21.20 41.14 78.80 52.20 1.201992 8.72 18.50 38.39 81.50 47.11 1.101993 7.69 15.90 40.54 84.10 48.23 1.101994 9.93 20.50 38.42 79.50 48.35 1.101995 9.44 20.90 35.69 79.10 45.13 1.101996 9.76 23.10 32.44 76.90 42.00 1.001997 12.12 25.50 35.40 74.50 47.52 0.901998 12.59 25.10 37.59 74.90 50.18 1.001999 21.72 39.70 33.00 60.30 54.72 1.102000 22.71 35.10 41.91 64.90 64.62 1.202001 44.81 50.10 44.55 49.90 89.36 1.302002 50.82 48.30 54.31 51.70 105.13 2.202003 63.91 53.49 55.56 46.51 119.47 2.472004 80.18 59.33 54.97 40.67 135.15 2.782005 85.44 58.71 60.08 41.29 145.52 2.982006 97.91 63.83 55.49 36.17 153.40 3.13

Statistics based on Korean Film Annals 1987–2007 (Seoul: KOFIC)

207

Appendix 3

Number of Films Produced/Released (1986–2006)

Korean films Imports

Year Produced Released

Imports(Hollywood direct

distribution) ReleasedTotal

released

1986 73 — 50 (0) — —1987 89 — 100 (0) — —1988 87 — 248 (1) — —1989 110 — 321 (15) — —1990 111 — 309 (47) — —1991 121 86 309 (45) 176 2621992 96 68 360 (57) 201 2691993 63 51 420 (64) 215 2661994 65 52 381 (68) 238 2901995 64 62 378 (65) 307 3691996 65 55 483 (53) 320 3751997 59 60 431 (58) 271 3311998 43 43 296 (67) 244 2871999 49 42 348 (74) 233 2752000 59 62 404 (79) 277 3392001 65 52 339 (60) 228 2802002 78 82 262 (74) 192 2742003 80 65 271 (68) 175 2402004 82 74 285 (72) 194 2682005 87 83 253 (63) 215 2982006 110 108 289 (68) 237 345

There is a discrepancy found in the statistics provided by Korean Film Annals and by KOFICwebsite.1986–2001 based on Korean Film Annals (Seoul: KOFIC, 2001), 49.

208

Appendix 4

Number of Theaters/Screens (1986–2006)

YearPopulation(millions)

Admission(millions)

Theaters withcapacity of 300

and higher

Theaters withcapacity of less

than 300Total/number

of screens

1986 41.8 47.3 305 335 6401987 42.1 48.6 280 393 6731988 42.6 52.2 262 434 6961989 43.8 55.3 259 513 7721990 43.5 53.5 245 544 7891991 43.9 52.2 240 522 7621992 43.8 47.1 242 470 7121993 44.0 48.2 242 427 6691994 45.0 48.3 250 379 6291995 45.5 45.1 244 333 5771996 45.6 42.2 228 283 5111997 46.8 47.5 235 262 4971998 46.9 50.1 236 271 5071999 47.2 54.7 — — 373/5882000 47.2 61.6 — — 373/7202001 47.3 89.3 — — 344/8182002 48.0 105.1 — — 309/9772003 48.3 119.4 — — 280/1,1322004 48.5 135.1 — — 302/1,4512005 48.7 143.0 — — 301/1,8462006 48.9 153.4 — — 321/1,880

Statistics based on Korean Film Annals and The Korean Film Observatory 1987–2007 (Seoul:KOFIC).

209

Appendix 5

International Film Festivals: Award-Winning Films

(1986–2006)

Year Film Festival Title Awards

1987 Asia-Pacific The Surrogate Mother Best PictureBest Director (Im Kwon-taek)

Our Sweet Days of Youth Best Actor (Ahn Seong-gi)Venice The Surrogate Mother Best Actress (Kang Su-yeon)

1988 Montreal World Adada Best Actress (Shin Hye-su)1989 Moscow International Aje aje bara aje Best Actress (Kang Su-yeon)

Locarno International Why did Bohdi-DharmaLeave for the East?

Golden Leopard(Bae Yong-gyun)Prize of the Ecumenical Jury(Bae Yong-gyun)

1990 Asia-Pacific Michin Sarangeui Norae Best Picture (Kim Ho-seon)Nantes of Three Continents Black Republic Special Jury Award

Best Actress (Shim Hye-jin)1991 Asia-Pacific My Love, My Bride Best Actor (Park Joong-hoon)

Best New Director(Lee Myung-se)Best Editing (Kim Hyeon)

Gaebyeok Art Design (Do Yong-u)Blood and Fire Best Screen Play (Hong Guk-

tae, Seonu hwan)Montreal World Silver Stallion Best Actress (Lee Hye-suk)

Best Screenplay (Jang Gil-su,Jo Jae-hong)

Singapore International Black Republic Silver Screen Award/BestAsian Feature Film

1992 Asia-Pacific Saeui Chanmi Best Actress (Jang Mi-hui)Berlin Report Best Cinematography

(Jeong Kwang-seok)Walking to Heaven Best New Director

(Jang Hyeon-su)

210 Appendix 5


1992 Hawaii International Our Twisted Hero Best Feature Film1992 Tokyo International White Badge Best Director (Jeong Ji-yeong)

Grand Prix1993 Asia-Pacific Our Twisted Hero Best Supporting Actor

(Choi Min-sik)Best Actor (Ahn Seong-gi)

First Love Special Jury Award(Lee Myung-se)

Saleoriratda (I WillSurvive)

Best Actor (Lee Deok-hwa)

Shanghai International Sopyonje Best Director (Im Kwon-taek)Best Actress (Oh Jeong-hye)

Singapore International Our Twisted Hero International Critics’ Award1994 Berlin International Haumkyeong Alfred Bauer Award

Nantes of Three Continents La Vie en rose Best Actress(Choe Myeong-gil)

San Sabastián International Life and Death of theHollywood Kid

International Critics’ Award

1996 Montreal World Haksaengbugunshinwi Best Artistic Contribution(Park Cheol-su)

Vancouver International The Day a Pig Fell Intothe Well

Dragons and Tigers Award

1997 Asia-Pacific The Day a Pig Fell Intothe Well

Best New Director(Hong Sang-soo)

Busan International Motel Cactus New Currents AwardRotterdam International The Day a Pig Fell Into

the WellTiger Award

Vancouver International Green Fish Tiger Award1998 Busan International Spring in My Hometown FIPRESCI Prize—Special

MentionEntrevues Film Festival Spring in My Hometown Grand Prix (Foreign Film)Hawaii International Spring in My Hometown Best FeatureRotterdam International Motel Cactus FIPRESCI Prize—Special

MentionThessaloniki Spring in My Hometown Special Artistic AchievementTokyo International Spring in My Hometown Gold Award

1999 Kerala International Spring in My Hometown Special Jury AwardFantasporto The Quiet Family Fantasia Section AwardTokyo International Rainbow Trout Special Jury Prize

Appendix 5 211


2000 Asia-Pacific Oh! Soo-jung Best ScreenplayBratislava International Peppermint Candy Best Actor (Seol Gyeong-gu)

Special Jury Prize(Lee Chang-dong)

Deauville Asian Nowhere to Hide Grand PrixBest Actor(Park Joong-hoon)Best Director (Lee Myung-se)

Karlovy Vary International Peppermint Candy Don Quijote AwardNetpac Award—SpecialMentionSpecial Prize of the Jury

Málaga International Weekof Fantastic Cinema

The Quiet Family Best Director (Kim Ji-woon)Best Film

Tokyo International Oh! Soo-jung Special Jury PrizeAsian Film Award—SpecialMention

2001 Brussels InternationalFestival of Fantasy Film

The Isle Grand Prix

Busan International One Fine Spring Day FIPRESCI PrizeDeauville Asian Failan Lotus/Best Film

JSA LotusFantasporto The Isle Best Actress (Seo Jeong)Locarno International The Butterfly Bronze Leopard/Best Actress

(Kim Ho-jeong)Youth Jury Award:Environment is Quality ofLife (Mun Seung-uk)

Seattle International JSA New Director’s ShowcaseSpecial Jury Prize(Park Chan-wook)

Tokyo International One Fine Spring Day Best Artistic ContributionAward

2002 Annecy InternationalAnimated

My Beautiful Girl, Mari Grand Prix/Best AnimatedFeature

Asia-Pacific A Little Monk Best Cinematography(Choe Chang-gyu)Best Film

Bergen International Oasis Jury Award—HonorableMention

212 Appendix 5


Cannes Chihwaseon Best DirectorFantasporto Sorum Best Actress (Jang Jin-yeong)

Best Director (Yun Jong-chan)

Fribourg International Camel(s) Grand PrixSSA Script Award

Locarno International After War Golden Leopard/Video(Suwa Nobuhiro, MunSeung-uk, Wong Xiaoshuai)

Málaga International Weekof Fantastic Cinema

Sorum Best Actress (Jang Jin-yeong)

Vancouver International Oasis Chief Dan GeorgeHumanitarian Award

Venice Oasis Special Director’s Award(Lee Chang-dong)Marcello Mastroianni Award(Moon So-ri)FIPRESCI PrizeSIGNIS Award

2003 Bucheon InternationalFantastic

Save the Green Planet Best of Bucheon

Buenos Aires InternationalFestival of IndependentCinema

Save the Green Planet ADF Cinematography Award(Hong Gyeong-pyo)Best Actress(Hwang Jeong-min)

Busan International A Tale of Two Sisters New Currents AwardCastellinaria InternationalFestival of Young Cinema

Oasis Three Castles

Flanders International A Good Lawyer’s Wife Best Director(Im Sang-soo)

Moscow International Save the Green Planet Silver St. George/BestDirector (Jang Joon-hwan)

San Sebastián International Memories of Murder Best New Director(Bong Joon-ho)FIPRESCI PrizeSilver Seashell

Seattle International Oasis Golden Space Needle AwardTokyo International Memories of Murder Asian Film Award

Appendix 5 213


2004 Annecy InternationalAnimated Film Festival

Oseam Grand Prix/Best AnimatedFeature Film

Asia-Pacific Oseam Best Animated FilmOldboy Best Actor (Choi Min-sik)

Best Director(Park Chan-wook)

Berlin International Samaritan Girl Silver BearBritish Independent FilmAward

Oldboy Best Foreign

Brussels InternationalFestival of Fantasy Film

Save the Green Planet Golden Raven

A Tale of Two Sisters Silver Raven (Yeom Jeong-a)Busan International This Charming Girl New Currents AwardCannes Oldboy Grand Prize of the JuryDeauville Asian FilmFestival

A Good Lawyer’s Wife Lotus/Best Picture

Fantasporto A Tale of Two Sisters International Fantasy FilmAward/Best Director(Kim Ji-woon)Best Actress (Im Su-jeong)Best Film

Fribourg International Nodongjada Anida DocumentaryGérardmer A Tale of Two Sisters Grand Prix

Prix 13ème RueYouth Jury Grand Prize

Shanghai International Untold Scandal Golden Goblet/Best Director(E J-yong)Golden Goblet/Best Musical(Lee Byeong-woo)Press Prize/Best Visual Effect

Sitges-CatalonianInternational

Oldboy Best FilmJosé Luis Guarner Critic’sAward

Tokyo International The President’s Barber Best DirectorValladolid International 3-Iron Golden Spike

214 Appendix 5


Venice 3-Iron Special Director’s Award(Kim Ki-duk)SIGNIS Award—HonorableMentionLittle Golden LionFIPRESCI Prize

Yubari Fantastic Mokpo the Harbor Grand Prix2005 Bangkok International Oldboy Golden Kinnaree Award/Best

Director (Park Chan-wook)Berlin International This Charming Girl Netpac AwardFantasporto Lady Vengeance Orient Express Section

Grand Prize/Best FilmHong Kong Film Awards Oldboy Best Asian FilmNew Montreal Hello Brother Best Actor

(Park Ji-bin)Philadelphia Road Best PictureSan Sebastián International 3-Iron FIPRESCI Film of the Year

Sagwa Best New Screenwriter(Kang Yi-kwan)

Sundance Repatriation Freedom of ExpressionAward

Toronto International Sagwa International Critics’ Award(FIPRESCI)

Venice Lady Vengeance ‘‘CinemAvvenire’’ AwardLittle Golden Lion

Yubari Fantastic MyMother theMermaid

Grand Prix

2006 Bangkok International Lady Vengeance Golden Kinnaree Award/BestDirector (Park Chang-wook)Golden Kinnaree Award/BestFilm

Berlin International In Between Days FIPRESCI Prize/Forum ofNew Cinema

Buenos Aires InternationalFestival of IndependentCinema

In Between Days Best Film

Cape Town World CinemaFestival

The King and the Clown Best PictureBest Screenplay

Appendix 5 215


Cognac Festival du FilmPolicier

Memories of Murder Grand PrixPrix MédiathèquesSpecial Prize of the Police

Deauville Asian The Peter Pan Formula Jury PrizeLos Angeles Film CriticsAssociation Awards

In Between Days Independent/ExperimentalFilm and Video Award

Sundance In Between Days Special Jury PrizeThessaloniki Family Ties Golden Alexander

(Kim Tae-yong)Best Screenplay (Kim Tae-yong, Seong Gi-yeon)Best Actress (Moon So-ri,Gong Hyo-jin, Ko Du-shim,Kim Hye-ok)

Yubari Fantastic Blood Rain Grand Prix

Based on ‘‘Yeokdae Gukje Yeonghwaje Susang Yeonhyeok,’’ Hangyeore (May 28, 2007), http://www.hani.co.kr/arti/culture/movie/212162.html (accessed Jan 24, 2009).

217

Notes

Introduction

1 Darcy Paquet, ‘‘The Next Big Things,’’ Variety (Oct. 9–15, 2006): C4.2 Ibid.3 Darcy Paquet, ‘‘Making Wave,’’ Variety (Jan. 23–29, 2006): 19; Li Mo, ‘‘Korean

Trends Popular in China,’’ China Today (Oct. 2001): 44–47.4 Mark Russell, The Hollywood Reporter (Feb. 15, 2005).5 Ji-yeon Park, ‘‘Korean Motion Picture Policy and Industry in the 1960s and

1970s,’’ in A History of Korean Cinema: Liberation Through the 1960s, Hyo-in Yiet al. (Seoul: Korean Film Archive, 2005), 159.

6 Ibid., 175.7 Ibid.8 Darcy Paquet, ‘‘Koreans Cut Pic Quotas,’’ Variety (Jan. 29, 2006). http://

www.variety.com/article/VR1117936992.html (accessed Apr. 7, 2008).9 Sang-hun Choe, ‘‘After a Half-Century, Korea Opens Door to Japanese Pop

Culture,’’ The Associated Press (Oct. 31, 1998).10 Yonhap, Dec. 30, 2003.11 Pierre Bourdieu, The Field of Cultural Production: Essays on Art and Literature

(New York: Columbia University Press, 1993), 164.12 Daiwon Hyun, ‘‘Renaissance of Korean Film Industry,’’ Asian Cinema

(Fall/Winter, 2001): 11.13 Soyoung Kim, ‘‘ ‘Cine-Mania’ or Cinephilia: Film Festivals and the Identity

Question,’’ in New Korean Cinema, ed. Julian Stringer and Chi-Yun Shin (NewYork: NYU Press, 2005), 81.

14 Chris Berry, ‘‘Full Service Cinema: the South Korean Cinema Success Story (SoFar)’’ http://www.gwu.edu/eall/special/berry-hms02.htm (accessed on Mar. 22,2007).

15 Darcy Paquet, ‘‘The Korean Film Industry: 1992 to the Present,’’ in New KoreanCinema, ed. Chi-Yun Shin and Julian Stringer (New York: New York UniversityPress, 2005), 43.

16 Hyo-in Yi et al., Korean NewWave: Retrospectives from 1980 to 1995 (Busan:Busan International Film Festival, 1996).

17 Cine 21, 362 (July 23–30, 2002): 63–67.18 Kathleen McHugh and Nancy Abelmann define the Golden Age of the Korean

218 Notes to Pages 6–11

cinema as cinema produced between 1955 and 1972, with box-office hits such asStory of Chunhyang (1955) and Madame Freedom (1956) signaling the beginningof the era. The Golden Age comes to an end, according to McHugh andAbelmann, with the introduction of Park Chung-hee’s Yushin government. Seetheir South Korean Golden Age Melodrama: Gender, Genre and NationalCinema (Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 2005), 2.

19 Hyo-in Yi, ‘‘1960s Korean Cinema,’’ in A History of Korean Cinema (Seoul:KOFA, 2005), 96.

20 Darcy Paquet, ‘‘The Korean Film Industry: 1992 to the Present,’’ 35.21 Ibid.22 Darcy Paquet, ‘‘Korea Box Office Tumbles,’’ Variety (Jan. 9, 2008). http://

www.variety.com/article/VR1117978752.html (accessed on Mar. 21, 2008).23 Darrell William Davis, ‘‘Reigniting Japanese Tradition with Hana-Bi,’’ Cinema

Journal 40/4 (Summer 2001): 61.24 Jinhee Choi, ‘‘National Cinema: The Very Idea’’ in Philosophy of Film and

Motion Pictures, ed. Noël Carroll and Jinhee Choi (Boston: Blackwell, 2005),310–19.

25 Laura C. Nelson, Measured Excess: Status, Gender and Consumer Nationalismin South Korea (New York: Columbia University Press, 2000), 25–26.

26 Ibid., 84–85.27 Paul Willemen, ‘‘Detouring Through Korean Cinema,’’ Inter-Asia Cultural

Studies, 3/2 (2002): 176.28 Ibid., 174–77.29 Ahn Byung Sup, ‘‘Humor in Korean Cinema,’’ East-West Film Journal 2/1

(1987): 95.30 Ibid., 97–98.31 Nancy Abelmann, The Melodrama of Mobility: Women, Talk and Class in

Contemporary South Korea (Hawaii: University of Hawaii Press, 2003), 24–25.32 Jinhee Choi, ‘‘National Cinema: The Very Idea,’’ in Philosophy of Film and

Motion Pictures, ed. Noel Carroll and Jinhee Choi (Boston: Blackwell, 2005),310–19.

33 Andrew Higson, ‘‘Limiting Imagination of National Cinema,’’ in Cinema andNation, ed. Mette Hjort and Scott Mckenzie (London: Routledge, 2000), 67–68.

34 Aihwa Ong, Flexible Citizenship: The Cultural Logics of Transnationality(Durham, N.C.: Duke University Press, 1999), 4.

35 David Bordwell, Janet Staiger, and Kristin Thompson, The Classical HollywoodCinema: Film Style and Mode of Production to 1960 (New York: ColumbiaUniversity Press, 1985), 4–5.

36 David Desser, ‘‘Hong Kong Film and the New Cinephilia,’’ in Hong KongConnections: Transnational Imagination in Action Cinema, ed. MeaghanMorris, Siu Leung Li, and Stephen Chan Ching-kiu (Hong Kong/Durham:University of Hong Kong Press, 2005), 216.

Notes to Pages 11–19 219

37 Frank Segers, ‘‘S. Korea Privatizes Film Board. New Promotional Outfit MayExpand Market for U.S. Films,’’ The Hollywood Reporter (June 15, 1999).

38 Peter Stanfield brought to my attention the benefit of classifying films in termsof historically bounded notions such as production trends and cycles of a certainperiod, instead of ‘‘genre’’—which often presupposes a set of norms, althoughflexible, from which these various cycles emerged. A similar approach can befound in Tino Balio’s discussion of Hollywood production trends in the 1930s.See Tino Balio. ‘‘Production Trends’’ in Grand Design: Hollywood As a ModernBusiness Enterprise, 1930–39, ed. Tino Bailo (Berkeley: University of CaliforniaPress, 1993), 179–312.

39 Mark Russell, The Hollywood Reporter (May 25, 2004).40 David Bordwell, ‘‘The Art Cinema as a Mode of Film Practice,’’ Film Criticism

4/1 (Fall 1979): 56–64; Steve Neale, ‘‘Art Cinema as Institution,’’ Screen 22/1(1981): 1–39.

Chapter 1: Faces of Globalization

1 Arif Dirlik, ‘‘Global in the Local,’’ in Global/Local: Cultural Production and theTransnational Imaginary, ed. Rob Wilson and Wimal Dissanayake (Durham,N.C.: Duke University Press, 1996), 28–29.

2 Darrell William Davis and Emilie Yueh-yu Yeh, East Asian Screen Industries(London: BFI Publishing, 2008), 10.

3 Yong-jin Choi et al., Hanguk Yeonghwa Jeongchaekeui Heuremgwa SaerounJeonmang (Seoul: Jibmundang, 1994), 221–23.

4 Ibid., 44.5 Ibid.6 Don Groves, Variety (Nov. 17–23, 1997): 61. 7 Dong-mi Hwang et al., Hanguk Yeonghwa Saneop Gujo Bunseok (Seoul: KOFIC,

2001), 25.8 Don Groves, Variety (Nov. 17–23, 1997): 60.9 Dong-mi Hwang et al., Hanguk Yeonghwa Saneop Gujo Bunseok, 29.

10 Don Groves, Variety (Feb. 24–Mar. 3, 1997): 13.11 Christopher Alford, Variety (Feb. 28–Mar. 5, 2000): 32.12 Dong-mi Hwang et al., Hanguk Yeonghwa Saneop Gujo Bunseok, 30.13 Darcy Paquet, ‘‘Korean Films Fail to Exit Export Trough,’’ Reed Business

Information (Jan. 30, 2008).14 Darcy Paquet, ‘‘Higher Risks Don’t Curb Korean Cash Flow,’’ Variety (Mar. 9,

2007). http://www.variety.com/article/VR1117960866.html (accessed Nov. 5,2008).

15 Hanna Lee, ‘‘Venture Caps Push Film Biz,’’ Variety (Aug. 9–15, 1999): 31.16 Ibid.17 Ibid.18 Dong-mi Hwang et al, Hanguk Yeonghwa Saneop Gujo Bunseok, 31.


19 Darcy Paquet, ‘‘Higher Risks Don’t Curb Korean Cash Flow.’’20 Darcy Paquet, ‘‘The Korean Film Industry: 1992 to the Present,’’ in New Korean

Cinema, ed. Chi-Yun Shin and Julian Stinger (Edinburgh: Edinburgh UniversityPress, 2005), 43.

21 Don Groves, Variety (Feb. 28–Mar. 5, 2000): 32.22 Hanna Lee, ‘‘Venture Caps Push Film Biz.’’23 Dong-mi Hwang et al., Hanguk Yeonghwa Yeongam (2004), 30. Mark Russell,

‘‘Imports Take Lead at Korea B.O. Local Films Losing Grip on Dominance ofPrevious Years,’’ The Hollywood Reporter (Feb. 11, 2003).

24 James Tillson, ‘‘Special Report: Spotlight: Toronto Film Festival,’’ Variety (Sept.2–8, 2002).

25 Dong-mi Hwang et al., Hanguk Yeoghwa Saneop Gujo Bunseok, 29.26 Ibid., 34–35.27 Variety (Apr. 22, 2002): 6.28 Dong-mi Hwang et al., Hanguk Yeoghwa Saneop Gujo Bunseok, 63.29 Hanna Lee, Variety (Nov. 16–22, 1998): 20.30 Dong-mi Hwang et al., Hanguk Yeoghwa Saneop Gujo Bunseok 63.31 Tino Balio, ‘‘A Major Presence in All the World’s Important Markets: The

Globalization of Hollywood in the 1990s,’’ in Contemporary Hollywood Cinema,ed. Steve Neale and Murray Smith (London and New York: Routledge, 1998), 59.

32 Dong-mi Hwang et al., Hankuk Younghwa Sanup Kujo Bunseok, 70.33 Ibid., 72.34 Blake Murdoch, The Hollywood Reporter (Mar. 13, 2001).35 Christopher Alford, Variety (Feb. 7–13, 2000): 24.36 Mi-hui Kim, Variety (May 20–26, 2002): 18.37 Seung Hee Han, Film 2.0 (Aug. 13, 2005).38 Mark Russell, The Hollywood Reporter (Apr. 6, 2004).39 Jin Kim, Variety (Aug. 10, 2004): 13.40 Mark Russell, The Hollywood Reporter (Jan. 30, 2004).41 Mark Russell, The Hollywood Reporter (May 20, 2005).42 ‘‘KT Corp, KTF in Talks with Sidus to Buy Movie Studio,’’ Asia Pulse (June 21,

2005).43 Lukas Schawzacher, ‘‘Korean Pix Lose Luster in Japan,’’ Variety (Jul. 14, 2002).

http://www.variety.com/article/VR1117869653.html (accessed Nov. 11, 2008).44 Darcy Paquet, ‘‘S. Korean Film Exports, Profits Boffo,’’ Variety (Dec. 19, 2005).

http://www.variety.com/article/VR1117934925.html (accessed Nov. 11, 2008).45 Lukas Schawzacher, ‘‘Korean Pix Lose Luster in Japan,’’ Variety (Jul. 14, 2002).

http://www.variety.com/article/VR1117869653.html (accessed Nov. 2008).46 Frank Segers, ‘‘Korean Film Biz on Way to Big Time,’’ The Hollywood Reporter

(May 22, 2002).47 Darcy Paquet, ‘‘Korean Films Fail to Exit Export Trough.’’48 Ibid.


49 Darcy Paquet, ‘‘S. Korean Box Office Down: Cinema at 47.3% Market Share,’’Variety (Jul. 5, 2007) http://www.variety.com/article/VR1117968115.html(accessed Mar. 21, 2008).

50 Mark Russell, The Hollywood Reporter (Feb. 11, 2003).51 Ibid.52 Nigel D’Sa and Soo-mee Park, ‘‘Korean Film Industry Seeing Declines,’’ The

Hollywood Reporter (Oct 5, 2008). http://www.hollywoodreporter.com/hr/content—display/asia/korea/e3ic9d5859352b6343995b9b83a8d967bc9 (accessedNov. 5, 2008).

53 Darcy Paquet, ‘‘Global Box Office Report: South Korea,’’ Variety Asia Online (Jan.2, 2007), http://www.varietyasiaonline.com/content/view/546/53/ (accessedJan. 11, 2009).

54 Man-gil Kang, ‘‘Contemporary Nationalist Movements and the Minjung,’’ trans.Roger Duncan, in South Korea’s Minjung Movement: The Culture and Politicsof Dissidence, ed. Kenneth M. Wells (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press,1995), 36.

55 John Lie, Han Unbound (Stanford: Stanford University, 1998), 139.56 Chungmoo Choi, ‘‘The Minjung Culture Movement and Popular Culture,’’ in

South Korea’s Minjung Movement: the Culture and Politics of Dissidence, 108.57 Sung-Ja Choi, ‘‘Taehakga Aechanggok Eumban Chulban,’’ Hanguk Ilbo (Dec. 13,

1984).58 Frances Gateward, ‘‘Youth in Crisis: National and Cultural Identity in New

South Korean Cinema,’’ in Multiple Modernities: Cinemas and Popular Mediain Transcultural East Asia, ed. Jenny Kwok Wah Lau (Philadelphia: TempleUniversity Press, 2003), 122.

59 Lie, Han Unbound, 129.60 Laura Nelson, Measured Excess: Status, Gender and Consumer Nationalism in

South Korea (New York: Columbia University Press, 2000), 86.61 Ibid., 96.62 Interview conducted in August 200363 ‘‘South Korea 2002 Top 10,’’ Variety (Feb. 17, 2003): 28. Kim Jin, Variety

(May 10–16, 2004): 42.

Chapter 2: Blockbusters, Korean

1 Variety (Apr. 22, 2002): 6.2 Steve Neale, however, notes how the notion of ‘‘blockbuster’’ has been used in

multiple ways since the 1950s, sometimes referring to the large-scale productionand sometimes simply big box-office receipts. ‘‘Hollywood Blockbusters:Historical Dimensions,’’ in Movie Blockbusters ed. Julian Stringer (New York,London: Routledge, 2003), 47.

3 Geoff King, New Hollywood Cinema: an Introduction (New York: ColumbiaUniversity Press, 2002), 54–66.


4 Lucas Schwarzacher, ‘‘Yen for Pic Exports . . . Big Yen,’’ Variety (May 14, 2005).5 Steve Neale, ‘‘Hollywood Blockbusters: Historical Dimensions,’’ 48.6 Christopher Alford, Variety (Dec. 6–12, 1999): A12.7 Chi-Yun Shin and Julian Stringer, ‘‘Storming the Big Screen: the Shiri Syndrome,’’

in Seoul Searching: Culture and Identity in Contemporary Korean Cinema, ed.Frances Gateward (Albany: SUNY Press, 2007), 55–72.

8 Derek Elley, Variety (Dec. 3–9, 2001): 20.9 ‘‘Taegukgi Becomes Most Popular Movie in S. Korean History,’’ Asia Pulse (Apr.

5, 2004).10 Darcy Paquet, ‘‘The Next Big Things,’’ Variety (Oct. 9–15, 2006): C411 Jin Kim, ‘‘Controversial Local Fare Revives Biz,’’ Variety (Mar. 1, 2004): 9.12 Darcy Paquet and Mark Schilling, ‘‘‘Host’ finds Japan Distrib,’’ Variety (Mar. 20,

2006): 6.13 Batman opened on more than two thousand screens in the summer of 1999, and

Godzilla on more than seven thousand screens. See Geoff King, New Hollywood:An Introduction (New York: Columbia University Press, 2002), 49.

14 Chris Berry, ‘‘What’s Big about the Big Film? De-Westernizing the blockbusterin Korea and China,’’ in Movie Blockbusters ed. Julian Stringer (New York:Routledge, 2003), 217–229.

15 Gingko Bed is noteworthy for both its genre mixing and special effects. Thefilm is a hybrid of ghost fantasy and melodrama, strongly influenced byHong Kong ghost fantasies such as the movies of the Chinese Ghost Story series.Significantly, Shin-Cine formed a specialized computer graphics firm, calledComputer Graphics, in 1993. It was initially established to provide the specialeffects used for the sci-fi fantasy Fox with Nine Tails (1993). Although Fox withNine Tails wasn’t successful at the box office, Gingko Bed benefited fromComputer Graphics’ facilities. The computer graphics in Gingko Bed were not asadvanced as those now available, but the attempt to incorporate new technologyin the film should be seen as an effort to achieve ‘‘special’’ status as well as toprovide ‘‘spectacle’’ for the viewer.

16 Dong-mi Huang et al., Hankuk Younghwa Sanup Kujo Bunseok (Seoul: KOFIC,2001): 32.

17 Ibid., 37. Derek Elley, ‘‘My Wife is a Gangster,’’ Variety (Dec. 3–9, 2001): 35.18 Mark Russell, The Hollywood Reporter (May 25, 2004).19 See Thomas Schatz, ‘‘The New Hollywood,’’ in Movie Blockbusters ed. Julian

Stringer (London and New York: Routledge, 2003), 1–44. Geoff King, NewHollywood Cinema: an Introduction (New York: Columbia University Press,2002). Geoff King, Spectacular Narrative: Hollywood in the Age of theBlockbuster (London, New York: I. B. Tauris, 2000). Murray Smith, ‘‘Theses onthe Philosophy of Hollywood History,’’ in Contemporary Hollywood Cinema ed.Steve Neale and Murray Smith, (London and New York: Routledge, 1998), 3–20.


20 Anthony R. Guneratne and Wimal Dissanayake, Rethinking Third Cinema (NewYork: Routledge, 2003), 3–4.

21 Bruce Wallace, ‘‘Who’s the Monster? In the South Korean Horror Hit, ‘TheHost’: The Americans are the Scary Ones,’’ Los Angeles Times (Nov. 1, 2006).

22 David Scott Diffrient, ‘‘Shiri,’’ Film Quarterly 54/3 (2001): 43.23 Eun-sun Kwon, ‘‘‘Hangukhyeong Blockbuster’ Gongdong Gyeongbi Guyeok

JSAaeseoeui minjokjuui,’’ in Gondong Gyeongbi Guyeok JSA ed. Yeonse Mediaart(Seoul: Samin, 2002), 65.

24 Young-il Lee and Young-chol Choe, The History of Korean Cinema(Jimoondang: Seoul, 1998), 170–171.

25 KOFIC, Korean Film Observatory 7 (Winter 2002): 11. Geoff King, NewHollywood Cinema: An Introduction, 73.

26 Yonhap, ‘‘Haneun, Babyboom Sedae Teogik Chunggyeok Daebihaeya,’’ Hangyore(Aug. 1, 2005). http://www.hani.co.kr/kisa/section-003001000/2005/08/003001000200508011318533.html (accessed on Aug. 2, 2005).

27 Stephen Teo, Hong Kong Cinema: The Extra Dimensions (BFI Publishing:London, 1997), 169.

28 Bruce Wallace, ‘‘Patriotism Rears Its Fiery Head,’’ Los Angeles Times (Oct. 15,2007): A3.

29 Chi-Yun Shin and Julian Stringer, ‘‘Storming the Big Screen,’’ 62.30 David Desser, ‘‘Global Noir: Genre Film in the Age of Transnationalism,’’ in Film

Genre Reader III ed. Barry Keith Grant (Austin: University of Texas Press, 2003),522.

31 Jin-soo An, ‘‘The Killer: Cult Film and Transcultural (Mis)Reading,’’ in At FullSpeed: Hong Kong Cinema in a Borderless World, ed. Esther C. M. Yau.(Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2001), 95–113.

32 David Bordwell, Narration in the Fiction Film (Madison: University ofWisconsin-Madison, 1985), 57, 157.

33 David Desser, ‘‘Timeless, Bottomless Bad Movies,’’ in Seoul Searching, 89.34 Jung-kwon Jin, ‘‘Shim Hyeong-raeeui D-Warwa Deus ex machina,’’ Hangukilbo

(Aug 13, 2007). http://news.hankooki.com/lpage/culture/200708/h2007081317214084300.htm (accessed Jan. 15, 2009).

35 David Bordwell, Narration in the Fiction Film, 157–158.36 David Scott Diffrient, ‘‘Shiri,’’ Film Quarterly 53/3 (2001): 42.37 Geoff King, ‘‘Spectacle, Narrative and the Blockbuster’’ in Movie Blockbusters, 123.38 Daivd Bordwell, ‘‘Intensified Continuity: Visual Style in Contemporary

American Film,’’ Film Quarterly 55/3 (2002): 16–28.39 Geoff King, ‘‘Spectacle, Narrative and the Blockbuster,’’ 117.40 Christopher Alford, ‘‘Eun Lee and Jae-myung Shim,’’ Variety (May 7–13, 2001):

C22.41 David Bordwell, ‘‘Intensified Continuity,’’ 20.


Chapter 3: No Blood? No Tears! Gangster Cinema

1 Han-ju Kwak, ‘‘Wae Pokryeokinga? 1990 yeondae Kkangpae Yeonghwabunseok,’’ Film Culture 2/2 (1999), 25.

2 Soyoung Kim, ‘‘Genre as Contact Zone: Hong Kong Action and KoreanHwalkuk,’’ in Hong Kong Connections: Transnational Imagination in ActionCinema, ed. Meaghan Morris et al. (Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press,2005), 97–110.

3 Sang-guk Nam, Hanguk Action Yeonghwa Yeongu (Gyeong-sung University,1997), 37.

4 Jin-young Choi et al. Appendix, in Hanguk Yeonghwa JeongchaeckeuiHeureumgwa Saeroun Jeonmang (Seoul: Jibmundang, 1995), 337.

5 Jung-dong Noh, ‘‘Hong Kong Younghwaeui Sobihyeonhwang mit HeunghaengSiltae Bunseok,’’ in Hanguk Younghwa Chungcheckeui Heurmgua SaerounCheonmang, Choi Jin-young et al. 278.

6 Hanguk Yeonghwa Yeongam (Seoul: KOFIC, 1999), 105–06.7 Mi-hui Kim, ‘‘Pic Fuels Nostalgia Binge,’’ Variety (May 21–27, 2001): 62.8 Yong Cheol Kim and Chung-in Moon, ‘‘Globalization and Workers in South

Korea,’’ in Korea’s Globalization, ed. Samuel S. Kim (New York: ColumbiaUniversity Press, 2000), 61.

9 Barry K. Gills and Dongsook S. Gills, ‘‘Globalization and Strategic Choice inSouth Korea: Economic Reform and Labor,’’ in Korea’s Globalization, 44.

10 Chi-Yun Shin, ‘‘Two of a Kind: Gender and Friendship in Friend and Take Careof My Cat,’’ in New Korean Cinema, ed. Shin Chi-Yun and Julian Stringer (NewYork: NYU Press, 2005), 123.

11 Ibid.12 Han-ju Kwak, ‘‘Wae Pokryeokinga? 1990 yeondae Kkangpae Yeonghwa

bunseok,’’ 26–27.13 David Desser, ‘‘Timeless, Bottomless Bad Movies,’’ in Seoul Searching, ed.

Frances Gateward (Albany: SUNY Press, 2007), 81–82.14 Interview conducted with director Kim Sung-su by the author.15 Dong-cheol Nam, ‘‘Baegeubsijang Pokpungjeonya,’’ Cine 21 (Jan. 30, 2002).

http://www.cine21.com/Index/magazine.php?mag—id=7167 (accessed onApr. 1, 2002).

16 David Desser, ‘‘Timeless, Bottomless Bad Movies,’’ 80.17 Su-gyeong Kim, ‘‘Hanguk Yeonghwa Sijangeui Ilbon Yeonghwa

Jungganjeomgeom,’’ Cine 21 (Apr. 6, 2006). http://www.cine21.com/Index/magazine.php?mag-id=37638 (accessed on May 15, 2006).

18 Dong-ju Kim, ‘‘Sipineui Jejak, Tujajaga Malhaneun 2001nyeon [20] – KimDong-ju, Kim Mi-hee,’’ Cine 21 (Dec. 27, 2001). http://www.cine21.com/Index/magazine.php?mag—id=6362 (accessed on Apr. 1, 2002).

19 Anthony C.Y. Leong, Korean Cinema: The New Hong Kong (Victoria, Canada:Trafford Publishing Co., 2002)


20 Ka-fai Ma, ‘‘Hero, Hong Kong Style—A Structural Study of Hero Films in HongKong,’’ MA Thesis (University of Chicago, 1990), 23.

21 Stephen Teo, Hong Kong Cinema: An Extra Dimension (London: BFI Publishing,1997), 176.

22 Julian Stringer, ‘‘‘Your Tender Smiles Give Me Strength’: Paradigms ofMasculinity in John Woo’s A Better Tomorrow and The Killer,’’ Screen 38:1(1997): 25–41.

23 Ben Singer, ‘‘Female Power in the Serial Queen Melodrama: The Etiology of anAnomaly,’’ Camera Obscura 22 (1990): 91–129.

24 Robert Warshow, ‘‘The Gangster as Tragic Hero,’’ Partisan Review (Feb. 1948),reprinted in The Immediate Experience (Garden City, NY: Doubleday and Co.,1962), 131; Thomas Schatz, Hollywood Genres: Formulas, Filmmaking and theStudio System (New York: Random House, 1981).

25 Fran Mason, American Gangster Cinema: From Little Caesar to Pulp Fiction(New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2002), 22.

26 Laurie H. Hutzler, ‘‘Creating a Successful Coming of Age Story: Why Bend ItLike Beckham and Billy Elliot Hit with International Audiences’’ (2004). http://www.emotionaltoolbox.com/Newsletters/Newsletter—4.htm (accessed on Aug.2, 2004).

27 Jong-heub Jo et al., Genre Honhaphyeonsange natanan Saneopgwa GwangaekeuiSanghotextjeok Gwangye (Seoul: KOFIC, 2004), 57–58.

28 Frances Gateward, ‘‘Waiting to Exhale: the Colonial Experience and the Troubleof My Own Breathing,’’ in Seoul Searching, 203.

29 Ji-mi Kim, ‘‘Pokryeok Neomchineun Namseongyeonghwa sok Gajja NunmeuleuiGongpo, Geu Giwonkwa Munjejeom,’’ Cine 21 (Dec. 7, 2006). http://www.cine21.com/Index/magazine.php?mag—id=43107 (accessed on Dec. 7, 2006).

30 Lea Jacobs, ‘‘The Women’s Picture and the Poetics of Melodrama,’’ CameraObscura 31 (1993): 140.

31 A comedic variant can be found in such films as MyWife is a Gangster II, Hi!Dharma!, and Mapado (Chu Chang-min, 2005).

32 Jin-mi Huang, ‘‘Noir-reul neomeoseon Noir’’ Cine 21 (Feb. 8, 2006) http://www.cine21.com/Index/magazine.php?mag—id=36386; Jeong-yeon Oh,‘‘Geochimeubsi Tarakhaneun Noir-eui Jeongsin,’’ Cine 21 (Jan. 10, 2006). http://www.cine21.com/Index/magazine.php?mag—id=35873

33 Derek Elley, ‘‘My Wife Is a Gangster,’’ Variety (Dec. 3–9, 2001): 35.34 ‘‘South Korea Enters the Sequel Age,’’ The Hollywood Reporter (July 15, 2003).35 Henry Jenkins, What Makes Pistachio Nuts? Early Sound Comedy and

the Vaudeville Aesthetic (New York: Columbia University Press, 1992),219–20.


Chapter 4: I’m Not a Girl, Yet Not a Woman

1 Mi-hui Kim, ‘‘Femme Antiheros Stroke Korean B.O.,’’ Variety (Nov. 26–Dec. 1,2001): 12.

2 Derek Elley, ‘‘My Tutor Friend,’’ Variety (May 5–11, 2003): 32.3 Hanguk Yeonghwa Yeongam, (Seoul: KOFIC, 1999), 99.4 ‘‘Kwak Traks to Japan for Sci-fi,’’ Daily Variety (Dec. 29, 2006): 11.5 Lukas Schwarzacher, ‘‘Pusan Promo Plan Gets Deals Done,’’ Variety (Oct. 10,

2004). http://www.variety.com/article/VR1117911749.html (accessed onApr. 16, 2008). Mark Schilling, ‘‘Japanese B.O. Down 6%,’’ Variety (Jan. 31, 2006).http://www.variety.com/article/VR1117937151.html (accessed on Apr. 16,2008).

6 Patrick Frater, ‘‘Korean ‘Snow’ Falls to Click Stars in U.S.,’’ Variety (Oct. 12,2005): 9.

7 Darcy Paquet, ‘‘Christmas in August and Korean Melodrama,’’ in SeoulSearching: Culture and Identity in Contemporary Korean Cinema, ed. FrancesGateward (Albany: SUNY Press, 2007), 39.

8 Louis Hau, ‘‘Int’l Trio ‘Spring’ for Project; S. Korea’s Sidus Finds Partners inJapan, H.K. for Hur Film,’’ The Hollywood Reporter (June 12, 2001).

9 Hye Seung Chung, ‘‘Toward a Strategic Korean Cinephilia: A TransnationalDétournement of Hollywood Melodrama,’’ in South Korean Golden AgeMelodrama, 123.

10 Romance-mul in Korean can be found in both popular and industry discourse;mul is a suffix attached to various genres and cycles across media, includingfilms, novels, and comics: hakwon-mul (high schooler), cheongchun-mul (youthfilms) or susa-mul (thriller) or hybrid genres like romance-hakwon-mul. With aquick search of romance-mul in leading Korean weekly film magazine Cine 21,one can find within the category such Korean films as Daddy Long Legs (KongJeong-sik, 2005) Love So Divine (Heo In-mu, 2004) as well as Hollywoodromance/romantic comedies such as The Weddding Planner (Adam Shankman,2001), AWalk to Remember (Adam Shankman, 2002), The Princess Diaries(Garry Marshall, 2001) and Rushmore (Wes Anderson, 1998). http://www.cine21.com (accessed in Jan 2009).

11 Ji-na Yu, ‘‘1990 nyeondae Hanguk Yeonghwa,’’ in Hanguk Yonghwasa Kongbu:1980–1997, ed. KOFA (Seoul: Ichae, 2005), 102.

12 David Desser, ‘‘Timeless, Bottomless Bad Movies,’’ in Seoul Searching ed. FrancesGateward (Albany: SUNY Press, 2007), 77.

13 Derek Elley, ‘‘My Sassy Girl,’’ Variety (Dec. 3–9, 2001): 34.14 Hideko Takayama, ‘‘Celebrity: A Hunk o’ Love,’’ Newsweek, (May 3, 2004, Pacific

edition).15 Patrick Frater, ‘‘Korea ‘Snow’ falls to Click Stars in U.S.’’16 Darcy Paquet, ‘‘Korean Titles Prosper Throughout Asia,’’ Variety (Dec. 26 2005–

Jan. 1, 2006): 11.


17 Paul Wiseman, ‘‘Korean Romantic Hero Holds Japan in Thrall,’’ USA Today,(Dec. 10, 2004): 13A.

18 Korean costume drama series Jewel in the Palace was sold in more than twentycountries worldwide, and the romantic comedy series My Lovely Sam-Soon andthe high school romance/costume drama Princess Hours found a market inBrazil. See Don Groves, ‘‘Korean Drama Makes Waves,’’ Television Asia 14/8(Oct. 2007): 52.

19 ‘‘The Lake House: Synopsis,’’ Variety, http://www.variety.com/profiles/Film/synopsis/161638/The+Lake+House.html?dataSet=1 (accessed in Jan. 2009).

20 Soyoung Kim, ‘‘The Maid, Madame Freedom, and Women,’’ in South KoreanGolden AgeMelodrama: Gender, Genre, and National Cinema, eds. KathleenMcHugh and Nancy Abelmann (Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 2005), 188.

21 Yu-shin Joo et al., Hangukyeonghwa-wa Geundaeseong (Seoul: Sodo, 2001).22 Soyoung Kim, ‘‘The Maid, Madame Freedom, and Women,’’ in South Korean

Golden Age Melodrama: Gender, Genre and National Cinema, 195–98.23 Steve Neale, ‘‘The Big Romance or Something Wild?: Romantic Comedy Today,’’

Screen 33/3 (Autumn, 1992): 293.24 Ibid.25 Frank Krutnik, ‘‘Love Lies: Romantic Fabrication in Contemporary Romantic

Comedy,’’ in Terms of Endearment: Hollywood Romantic Comedy of the 1980sand 1990s, ed. Peter William Evans and Celestino Deleyto (Edinburgh:Edinburgh University Press, 1998), 29–30.

26 Ibid., 28.27 Although the film constantly refers to the Korean predilection for melodrama

and sentimentality, such self-reflexivity does not prevent this film fromfollowing in that tradition.

28 Steve Neale and Frank Krutnik, Popular Film and Television Comedy (London:Routledge, 1990), 151.

29 Katherine Rowe, The Unruly Woman: Gender and Genres of Laughter (Austin:University of Texas Press, 1995), 124.

30 Ibid., 133.31 Derek Elley, ‘‘Asako in Ruby Shoes,’’ Variety (July 9–15, 2001): 24.32 Ibid.33 David Martin-Jones, ‘‘Decompressing Modernity: South Korean Time Travel

Narrative and the IMF Crisis,’’ Cinema Journal 46/4 (Summer 2007): 45.34 Ibid., 46.35 Hanguk Yeonghwa Yeongam (Seoul: KOFIC, 2000), 79.36 Daiwon Hyun, ‘‘Renaissance of Korean Film Industry,’’ Asian Cinema 12/2

(Fall/Winter, 2001): 11.37 ‘‘Top Ten Films of 1999,’’ Variety (April 23–30, 2000).38 Darrell Davis and Emily Yueh-yu Yeh, East Asian Screen Industries (London: BFI

Publishing, 2008), 74.


39 David Bordwell, ‘‘Romance on Your Menu: Chungking Express,’’ in Planet HongKong: Popular Cinema and the Art of Entertainment (Cambridge: HarvardUniversity Press, 2000), 282–90.

40 Hye Seung Chung and David Scott Diffrient, ‘‘Interethnic Romance and PoliticalReconciliations in Asako in Ruby Shoes,’’ in New Korean Cinema, ed. Chi-yunShin and Julian Stringer (New York: NYU Press, 2005), 199.

Chapter 5: Once Upon a Time in High School

1 Linsu Kim, Imitation to Innovation: The Dynamics of Korea’s TechnologicalLearning (Boston: Harvard Business School Press, 1997), 61.

2 Ibid., 60.3 Ibid.4 Haejong Cho, ‘‘Living with Conflicting Subjectivities: Mother, Motherly Wife,

and Sexy Woman in the Transition from Colonial Modern to PostmodernKorea,’’ in Under Construction: The Gendering of Modernity, Class, andConsumption in the Republic of Korea, ed. Laurel Kendall (Honolulu: Universityof Hawaii Press, 2002), 173.

5 Han-seok Ryu, ‘‘Gyobokeui Romang,’’ Sportshanguk (Feb. 22, 2004).6 Timothy Shary, Generation Multiplex: The Image of Youth in ContemporaryAmerican Cinema (Austin: University of Texas Press, 2002), 8.

7 Ibid., 30.8 Ibid., 27.9 Derek Elley, ‘‘Dasepo Naughty Girls,’’ Variety (Oct. 15, 2006). http://www.variety

.com/index.asp?layout=print—review&reviewid=VE1117931876&categoryid=-1 (accessed on Nov. 20, 2006).

10 Shary distinguishes two types of delinquency, one against other students and theother against teachers, each of which was a dominant type in the late 1980s andearly 1990s, respectively. Shary, Generation Multiplex, 42.

11 Shary, Generation Multiplex, 82–83.12 Derek Elley, ‘‘The Aggressives,’’ Variety (June 15, 2005). http://www.variety.com/

review/VE1117927382 (accessed on Nov. 20, 2006).13 Korean Cinema Annuals (Seoul: KOFIC, 1998), 99.14 DVD interview included in Wishing Stairs.15 Dong-cheul Nam, ‘‘[Yeogo Goedam]euseo [Janghwa, Hongryeon]kkaji, Oh

Gi-min PDeui Yeonghwa Sesang [2],’’ Cine 21 (July 4, 2003).16 Hanna Lee, ‘‘Plex Success Boosts S. Korea Multi Mania,’’ Variety (June 29–July

12, 1998): 10.17 The number of theatres decreased from 507 to 344, while the number of screens

rose from 507 to 720.18 Derek Elley, ‘‘Voice,’’ Variety (Aug. 28, 2005): 62.19 KOFIC, Korean Cinema Database 1999.20 Yeong-kwon Jeong, Nkino (June 17, 2004).


21 ‘‘Top Ten Films of 1999,’’ Variety (April 24–30, 2000): 53.22 So-min Kim, Hangyeore (May 20, 2007).23 Ibid.24 Cuncun Wu, Homoerotic Sensibilities in Late Imperial China (Abingdon:

Rutledge Curzon, 2004), 7.25 There have been challenges to such a tradition. See Carol J. Clover, ‘‘Her Body,

Himself: Gender in the Slasher Film,’’ Representations 20 (1987): 187–228.Excerpts Reprinted in Horror: The Film Reader, ed. Mark Jancovich (Routledge,2002), 77–89. In her essay, Clover attempts to explore crossgender identificationtaking place in slasher films.

26 Dong-cheul Nam, ‘‘[Yeogo Goedam]euseo [Janghwa, Hongryeon]kkaji, OhGi-min PDeui Yeonghwa Sesang [1],’’ Cine 21 (July 4, 2003).

27 Noël Carroll, The Philosophy of Horror or Paradoxes of the Heart (New York andLondon: Routledge, 1990).

28 Andrew Grossman and Jooran Lee, ‘‘Memento Mori and Other GhostlySexualities,’’ in New Korean Cinema, ed. Chi-yun Shin and Julian Stringer(Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2005), 183.

29 Noël Carroll, ‘‘Film, Emotion, and Genre,’’ in Passionate Views: Film, Cognitionand Emotion, ed. Carl Plantinga and Greg M. Smith (Baltimore: Johns HopkinsUniversity Press, 1999), 38–39.

30 Shary, Generation Multiplex, 2.31 Cheol-yeon Kim, ‘‘Neukdaeeui Yuhok, Jeonguk Kwangaek 200man Dolpa!’’

http://www.koreafilm.co.kr/news/news2004-8-13.html (accessed on Aug. 13,2004).

32 Interview with Guiyeoni, ‘‘21segi Sonyeogyobon Wanjeonjeongbok,’’ Cine 21,463 (July 27, 2004). http://www.cine21.com/Article/article—view.php?mm=005001001&article—id=25459 (accessed on Aug. 3, 2004).

33 Seong-il Jeong, ‘‘Geunomeun Meotiteotda; Neukdaeeui Yuhok,’’ Hangyore(Aug. 3, 2004). http://php.chol.com/dorati/web/etc/hani040803.htm

34 Elizabeth Cowie, Representing the Woman: Cinema and Psychoanalysis(Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1997), 133.

35 Interview with Guiyeoni, ‘‘21segi Sonyeogyobon Wanjeonjeongbok,’’ Cine 21,463 (July 27, 2004). http://www.cine21.com/Article/article—view.php?mm=005001001&article—id=25459 (accessed on Aug. 3, 2004).

Chapter 6: Not Just Metteurs-en-Scène?

1 Darcy Paquet, ‘‘Korean B.O. tops Germany’s,’’ Variety (Jan. 30–Feb. 5, 2006): 19.2 Darcy Paquet, ‘‘Local Pix Eye Boffo B.O.,’’ Variety (Oct. 9–15, 2006): C4.3 Mark Russell, The Hollywood Reporter (May 25, 2004).4 Justin Wyatt, High Concept: Movies and Marketing in Hollywood (Austin:

University of Texas Press, 1994), 24.5 Ibid., 106.


6 Mark Russell, The Hollywood Reporter (May 25, 2004).7 Justin Wyatt, High Concept, 96.8 Seon-hui Han, ‘‘Oldboy 300man club gaib,’’ FILM 2.0 (Dec. 26, 2003). http://

film2.co.kr/news/news—final.asp?mkey=144201 (accessed Jan. 1, 2004).9 Sung-wook Lee et al., ‘‘Kwangaek-deuli TTajigi Sijakhatda, ‘Well-made’ hit the

target,’’ Cine 21 (Dec. 12, 2003).10 Mi-Hyeon Kim et al. Ye0sulyeonghwakwan jiwonjeongchaek yeongu (Seoul:

KOFIC, 2004), 35.11 Ibid., 60–61.12 Il-kwon Ko, ‘‘[Jumal Geukjanga] Dongmakgol vs. Geumjasi,’’ Cine 21 (Aug. 5,

2005). http://www.cine21.com/Article/article—view.php?mm=001001001&article—id=32592 (accessed on Sept. 1, 2005).

13 Mark Russell, The Hollywood Reporter (May 25, 2004): C4.14 Darcy Paquet, ‘‘The Next Big Things,’’ Variety (Oct. 9–15, 2006).15 Su-gyeong Kim, ‘‘[wangeui namja] sinmyeongnaneun heunghaeng jultagi, 3ju

yeonsok boxoffice 1wi,’’ Cine 21 (Jan. 16, 2006). http://www.cine21.com/Article/article—view.php?mm=001001001&article—id=36013 (accessed on Feb. 1,2006).

16 Joon-ho Bong, ‘‘Interview with Park Seon-yeong and Kim Gi-chang,’’ in SalineuiChueok, Kim Gyeong-wuk et al. (Seoul: Yonsei Media Art, 2006), 255.

17 David Bordwell, Narration in the Fiction Film (Madison: University ofWisconsin Press, 1985), 64.

18 Derek Elley, ‘‘Memories of Murder,’’ Variety (Apr. 28–May 8, 2003).19 Bordwell, Narration in the Fiction Film, 65.20 David Bordwell, The Way Hollywood Tells It: Story and Style in Modern Movies

(Berkeley: University of California Press, 2006), 81–82.21 Joon-ho Bong, ‘‘Interview with Park Seon-yeong and Kim Gi-chang,’’ in Salineui

Chueok.22 Ibid., 277.23 Washitani Hana, ‘‘Pyeonjehaneun Yeonse Salinbeom, Gieokeui Gongdongche,’’

trans. by Jo Man-yong, in Salineui Chueok, 76.24 Murray Smith, ‘‘Gangsters, Cannibals, Aesthetes,’’ in Passionate Views, eds. Carl

Plantinga and Greg M. Smith (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University, 1999), 226–227.

25 Mark Russell, The Hollywood Reporter (Apr. 20, 2004).

Chapter 7: Riding the New Wave

1 Kyung-hyun Kim, The Remasculinization of Korean Cinema (Durham: DukeUniversity Press), 107.

2 Derek Elley, Variety (Dec. 16–22, 2002): 45.3 Chuck Stephens, ‘‘Dutch Tilts: International Film Festival Rotterdam Bares Its

Seoul,’’ Village Voice (Feb. 25, 1997): 72.


4 John Lie, Han Unbound: The Political Economy of South Korea (Stanford:Stanford University Press, 1998), 121.

5 Seung Hyun Park, ‘‘Film Censorship and Political Legitimation in South Korea:1987–1992,’’ Cinema Journal, 42/1 (Fall 2002): 124.

6 Ibid.7 Kim, The Remasculinization of Korean Cinema, 29, 139.8 Ibid., 29.9 Ibid., 139.

10 Hyo-in Yi, ‘‘A Turning Point: The New Wave (1988–1991),’’ in Korean NewWave: Retrospectives from 1980 to 1995 (The 1st Pusan International FilmFestival, 1996), 36–37.

11 Dong-mi Hwang et al, Hanguk Yeonghwa Sungeop Gujo Bunseok (Seoul: KOFIC,2001): 32.

12 Ibid., 33.13 Ibid.14 David Chute, ‘‘East Goes West,’’ Special Report: Cannes 2004, Variety (May 10–

16, 2004): 7.15 Brian Fuson, ‘‘B. O. Always ‘Rings’ Twice,’’ The Hollywood Reporter (Mar. 21,

2005).16 Tony Rayns, ‘‘Sexual Terrorism: The Strange Case of Kim Ki-duk,’’ Film

Comment (Nov–Dec. 2004), 50–52.17 Yonhap, ‘‘Editorial From the Korea Times on Wednesday September 15, 2004,’’

(Sep. 15, 2004).18 Derek Elley, ‘‘Samaritan Girl,’’ Variety (Feb. 17, 2004): 25.19 Stephen Holden, ‘‘Primal Passions, Gruesomely Rendered,’’ New York Times

(Aug. 23, 2002): 23.20 Ibid.21 Derek Elley, ‘‘Old Boy,’’ Variety (Jan. 9, 2004): 28.22 David Bordwell, ‘‘Hou or Constraints,’’ Figures Traced in Light: On Cinematic

Staging (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005), 231.23 Kim, The Remasculinization of Korean Cinema, 209.24 Jenny Kwok Wah Lau, ed., Multiple Modernities: Cinemas and Popular Media

in Transcultural East Asia (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 2003), 2–3.25 James Udden, ‘‘Hou Hsiao-hsien and the Question of a Chinese Style,’’ Asian

Cinema, 13/2 (Fall/Winter 2002): 62.26 Ken Eisner, Variety (Jan. 13–19, 1997): 152.27 Akira Mizuta Lippit, ‘‘Hong Sangsoo’s Lines of Inquiry, Communication,

Defense and Escape,’’ Film Quarterly 57/4 (2004): 22–30.

Afterword

1 Darcy Paquet, ‘‘Korean Film Industry Labor Deal OK’d,’’ Variety (Apr. 16, 2007)http://www.variety.com/article/VR1117963218.html (accessed on Nov. 5, 2008).


2 Sun-hee Han, ‘‘Korean Fund to Bail Out Film Biz,’’ Variety (Oct. 27, 2008) http://www.variety.com/article/VR1117994770.html (accessed on Nov. 5, 2008).

3 Patrick Frater, ‘‘Korea Reaches out to Neighbors,’’ Variety (Oct. 5, 2007) http://www.variety.com/article/VR1117973520.html (accessed on Mar. 21, 2008)

4 Sun-hee Han, ‘‘Warrant Issued for Korean Piracy Suspect,’’ Variety (Mar 22, 2008)http://www.variety.com/article/VR1117986328.html (accessed on Nov. 5, 2008).

5 Darrell Davis and Emilie Yueh-yu Yeh, East Asian Screen Industries (London:BFI, 2008), 93.

6 Dong-mi Hwang and Ji-in Park, Asia Gongdongjejak Hyeonhwanggwa BaljeonBangan (Seoul: KOFIC, 2002), 76.

7 Ibid., 79.8 Michael Curtin, Playing To the World’s Biggest Audiences: The Globalization ofChinese Film and TV (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2007), 277.Curtin claims that an abstract diegetic setting of legend or myth facilitates thetravel of historical films better than films and television series with acontemporary setting, since the latter invites the viewer to scrutinize the detailsand verisimilitude of the story.

9 Patrick Frater, ‘‘Asian Countries Face Holiday Jam,’’ Variety (Dec. 12–18,2005): 16.

10 Patrick Frater, ‘‘Bumpy Road for Asian Film Financing,’’ Variety (Sep. 24, 2008)http://www.variety.com/article/VR1117992860.html (accessed on Nov. 5, 2008).

11 Ji-yeon Kim, ‘‘Jeokbyeok Daejoen, Yeokdae Choego Jungyeonghwa Yeyak,’’Yonhap (Jan. 31, 2009).

12 Darrell Davis and Emilie Yueh-yu Yeh, East Asian Screen Industries (London:BFI Publishing, 2008), 90.

13 Frank Sergers, ‘‘Korean Film Biz on Way to Big Time,’’ The Hollywood Reporter(May 22, 2002).

14 Patrick Frater, ‘‘Asian Countries Face Holiday Jam.’’15 Patrick Frater, ‘‘Korea Reaches Out to Neighbors,’’ Variety (Oct. 5, 2007). http://

www.variety.com/article/VR1117973520.html (accessed on Mar. 21, 2008).16 Patrick Frater, ‘‘Pic Biz Seeking a Seoul Mate,’’ Variety (Mar. 13–19, 2006): 6.17 Hae-hyeon Park, ‘‘Post 386eui Bonggi,’’ Chosunilbo (Aug, 25, 2007). http://

news.chosun.com/site/data/html—dir/2007/08/24/2007082401077.html(accessed on Jan. 14, 2009).

18 Su-jin Park, ‘‘Daejungeui Banlaninga, Dasueui Poryekinga?’’ Hangyore (Aug. 16,20070). http://www.hani.co.kr/section-021037000/2007/08/021037000200708160673041.html (accessed on Jan. 14, 2009).

19 Michael Curtin, Playing To the World’s Biggest Audiences: The Globalization ofChinese Film and TV (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2007), 11.

20 Ibid., 10.21 Darrell William Davis and Emilie Yueh-yu Yeh, East Asian Screen Industries

(London: BFI Publishing, 2008), 147–148.

233

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241

Index

Abelmann, Nancy, 9–10abstract blockage, 86action (genre), 7Address Unknown (2001), 165, 178, 196aesthetic refinement, in well-made film,

152An Affair (1998), 29–30, 85, 87The Age of Success (1988), 167–68, 173The Aggressives (2005), 116, 122; anal-

ysis of, 123–24Ahn Byeong-gi, 126Ahn Byung Sup, 9Aimless Bullet, The, 9Aje Aje Bara Aje (1989), 61Almost Love, 23, 89anarchistic comedies, 79–80The Anarchists (2000), 18–19Ang, Ien, 197anti-American sentiment, 25–26Applause Pictures (Hong Kong), 86,

194–95April Snow (2005), 23, 85, 88Ardor (2002), 122Art Museum by the Zoo (1998), 29–30,

86, 98, 101; analysis of, 90–94Art of Fighting (2006), 116Artplus Cinema Network, 146Asako inRuby Shoes (2001), 23, 85, 87,

103, 106, 115; analysis of, 107, 110–13‘‘Asia Extreme,’’ 164, 174, 177–79, 182Asian economic crisis, 5, 18–19, 63, 176Asian Minimalism, 182–83, 185As Tears Go By, 75Attack the Gas Station (1999), 23, 77,

78–80

Autumn Tale (2000), 88Avex (Japan), 195

Bad Guy (2001), 165, 174, 178Bae Chang-ho, 167Baek Woon-hak, 32, 35, 144The Barefooted Young (1964), 7Beat (1997), 13, 29, 61, 64, 68, 70, 73–

75, 116, 127Beijing Bicycle (2001), 196Berlin Film Festival, 2Berry, Chris, 5, 33A Better Tomorrow I, II (1986, 1987),

65–68Bichunmoo (2000), 22A Bittersweet Life (2005), 61, 64, 69–70,

76, 147, 153The Black Republic (1990), 87Blind Chance (1987), 190–91blockbuster (genre), 12, 147, 166, 193,

221n2blockbuster, Korean, 31–40, 49–58blockbuster films: birth of, 19; use of

term, 31blockbuster mentality, use of term, 33Blood Rain, 151, 153A Bloodthirsty Killer (1965), 129Blood Tie (2006), 75–76B.O.M., 18, 126, 194A Bonanza (1961), 7Bong Joon-ho, 1, 5–6, 13, 29–30, 32, 59,

144, 147–49, 164Bordwell, David, 11, 148Bourdieu, Pierre, 5box-office disasters, 32

242 Index

Bucheon International Fantastic FilmFestival, 5

‘‘buddy action’’ films (Hollywood), 78Bullet in the Head (1990), 66Bungee Jumping of Their Own (2001),

103Bye June (1998), 88Byun Young-joo, 89, 116, 121–22

camera angles, 81, 225n35Cannes Film Festival, 2, 29, 59, 164–65,

174capital accumulation, 196Carroll, Noël, 131, 136CGV, 18, 20, 125Champion (2002), 29Chan, Benny, 65Chang Yoon-hyun, 27, 85Cha Seung-jae, 6Cheil Chedang Corporation, 17–18Chen Kaige, 194Chihwason (2002), 2, 58, 164–65Chil-su and Man-su (1988), 6, 167–69China Film Group, 195Choe Ik-hwan, 124, 128Cho Heun-pa, 118Choi Ho, 75–76Cho Jin-gyu, 81Christmas in August (1998), 18, 29–30,

64, 85, 145Chu Chang-min, 77Chun Doo-hwan, 25, 167–68, 176Chung Hye-seung, 86, 113Chungking Express (1994), 105–8, 191Chungmuro (Korean Film District), 6,

12, 16–17, 19–20chunhwado, 150–51, 157–158Chunhyang (Chunhyangdeon, 2000),

18–19, 39–40, 58, 164, 173chuseok (Korean Thanksgiving holiday),

76Chute, David, 174Cineline II, 64cinema of girlhood, origin of term, 127

Cinema Service, 18, 20–23, 173Cinequanon Film, 24Cine 21, 11, 146, 226n10Cine 2000, 125A City of Sadness (1989), 182City of Violence (2006), 22CJ Entertainment, 17–18, 21, 23, 125,

173, 194CJ Media, 194Classic (2003), 116CMC (Taiwan), 195The Coast Guard (2002), 165, 174cofinancing, 86Columbia, Korean distribution office,

16Columbia Tristar, 21, 195Come, Come, Upward, Come (1989),

164comedy (genre), 7, 13; sexuality of fe-

male protagonists in, 100–101conglomeration, process of, 19consumer nationalism, 8, 38The Contact (1997), 27, 55, 85–87, 103,

106–7, 113, 115, 145; analysis of,107–9

costume drama (genre), 7Cowie, Elizabeth, 141crime fabula, 148–49crisis of masculinity, 168Crocodile (1996), 165, 178Cruel Winter Blues (2006), 73cultural specificity of nation-states, 15Curtin, Michael, 196, 232n8

Daddy Long Legs (2005), 226n10daejung (the mass), 27Daewoo, 17–18, 21, 173Daewoo Cable Network (DCN), 17Dance with the Wind (2003), 80Dangerous Liaisons, 150. See also Un-

told Scandal (2003)Danseongsa Cinema, 20–21Dasepo Naughty Girls, 119–21Davis, Darrell, 8, 104

Index 243

The Day the Pig Fell into the Well(1996), 166, 169–70, 183–84; anal-ysis of, 185–86

The Decalogue (1988–89), 190democratization, 26Desser, David, 11, 64–65, 87, 116The Devil’s Stairway (1964), 7A Different Kind of Man (1993), 87Diffrient, David Scott, 36, 49, 113direct distribution, 16, 20–21; by U.S.

majors, 61Dirlik, Arif, 15Dirty Carnival, A (2006), 22, 73Disney, Korean distribution office, 16distribution, 196; data, 11, 23; direct, 16,

20–21, 61; offices, 16Ditto (2000), 103Double Agent (2003), 35–36The Double Life of Véronique (1991),

103–4, 106–8; analysis of, 105–6drama (genre), 13Dr. Bong (1995), 87DreamWorks, 17–18, 21–22, 24Duelist (2005), 172dusabuilcha, as gangster motto, 83Dusabuilche, 82–83DVDs, piracy of, 195D-War (2007), 24, 39, 195; analysis of,

48

East Film, 64education, as metaphor for relationship

in romantic comedy, 99E J-yong (aka Lee Je-yong), 5–6, 13, 29–

30, 85, 144Elley, Derek, 103, 120, 149, 178, 181emoticons, 139episodic narrative structure, departure

from, 40European cinema, 193; as alternative

to Hollywood, 103–4; art cinema,146

Expect the Unexpected (1998), 65export expansion (1980s), 27–28

Failan (2001), 103Fallen Angels (1995), 105, 191Family Ties (2006), 29–30, 104Federation of Korea Movie Workers’

Union, 193fight scenes, 80–81, 141file-sharing services, 25Film Academy (government subsi-

dized), 28film investments, organizations and tax

treatment, 19. See also names ofcompanies

film noir, 75–76Film Poeta, 22films, classification of, 219n38Film 2.0, 11, 146Five Marines (1961), 7flashback, use of: in JSA, 43–45; in Tae-

gukgi, 45–46Flying Boys (2004), 116, 122; analysis of,

122–23Forbidden Quest, 151Forever the Moment (2008), 39–40Foul King, The (1999), 18Fox with Nine Tails (1993), 222n15Frau2 seeks Happyend, 89Free Trade Agreement (U.S.), 7–8French New Wave, 4, 104Friend (2001), 20, 28–29, 32, 61–66, 70,

76, 83, 116, 119, 127; analysis of, 72–73

FromMe to You (1994), 166

Gagman (1988), 6, 168, 173gangster (genre), 12–13, 60–84; and fe-

male characters, 70–71; and highschool settings, 69–70; industryconcern over criticism of, 73; andmale icons, 71; and romantic plots,70; style-driven, 63–64

gangster comedy (genre), 76–84; con-ventions of, 83–84; as parody ofgangster films, 78

Gangster High (2006), 120–21

244 Index

Gateward, Frances, 71gender and romantic comedy, 87–

101The General’s Son (series, 1990), 61, 63,

69, 164generic hybridity, 84genre, cinematic, 219n38; action, 7;

blockbuster, 12, 147, 166, 193, 221n2;comedy, 7, 13; costume drama, 7;drama, 13; gangster, 12–13, 60–84;gangster comedy, 76–84; high-quality film, 13, 144–63; high schoolromance, 118; horror/thriller, 7, 13,124–27, 129; melodrama, 7, 9–10;romance, 85–115, 190; romanticcomedy, 12–13, 87–115; sci-fiblockbuster, 12, 35; sci-fi/martialarts, 13; teen, 116–43; teen delin-quent, 122; teen horror, 118; warfilm, 7; youth, 7; youth horror, 124–37

Ghost House (2004), 80ghost-story formula, 135gihoek yeonghwa (high concept), 145Gingko Bed (1996), 18, 20, 28, 222n15;

production costs, 33–34Girls Night Out (1998), 165global capitalism, 15globalization, 2, 8, 15–30Go, 194Godzilla (1998), comparison to D-War,

48–49Gold Circle Films, 24Golden Age, 217n18Golden Harvest (Hong Kong), 18, 125A Good Lawyer’s Wife (2003), 29–30,

165Green Fish (1997), 61, 64, 70, 165Grim Pictures, 22Grossman, Andrew, 133Guiyeoni (Gwiyeoni), 138–43Guiyeoni syndrome, 138–39, 142gunsabuilche (Confucian dictum), 82Gwang-ju massacre, 25, 167

hallyu (Korean Wave), 2, 88–89Hana-bi (1997), as first Japanese film re-

leased in Korea, 65The Hand of Destiny (1954), 37han-guk-hyeong (blockbuster), 31Han Hyeong-mo, 37, 89Happy End (1999), 55Hardboiled (1992), 66Heo In-mu, 226n10HeWas Cool (2004), 116, 138–39, 141Hi! Dharma! (2001), 24, 60, 77, 144–45high concept, use of term, 145high-concept film, 146–47high quality, use of term, 145high-quality film (genre), 13, 144–63;

themes of, 146high school: in Korean gangster cinema,

69–70; in Korean society, 116–18high school romance (genre), 118history, and national cinema, 10Holden, Stephen, 179Hollywood, 27, 193; ‘‘buddy action’’

films, 78; conventions, 34; demandfor free trade, 8; and DVD branchesin Seoul, 25; gangster films, 66; inde-pendent films, 146; Korean competi-tion with, 28–29; Koreanpartnership with, 195; market share,1–2; melodramas, 67; predatory be-havior of, 24–25; and release of filmsinto Korean market, 16–17; and re-make rights, 24, 76–77, 174; schoolfilms, 120; screwball comedies, 94;and TV, 31; youth films, 118

Hollywood blockbuster, 31, 33; andgenre, 34–35; and presold proper-ties, 37

Hollywood Reporter, 11, 145Hong Kong, 194Hong Kong cinema, 35, 105, 193; action

films, 61; gangster genre, 41, 61, 65,77; gangster-hero cycle, 66–67; he-roic bloodshed action films, 174

Hong Kong New Wave, 4, 39

Index 245

Hong Sang-soo, 14, 30, 164–66, 169,182–92, 196

Hong Seong-gi, 7horror/thriller (genre), 7, 13, 124–25;

emergence of, 124–27; traditionaland contemporary, 129. See alsoyouth horror (genre)

The Host (2006), 1, 7–8, 12, 29–30, 32,147; analysis of, 48

Hou Hsiao-hsien, 182–83The Housemaid (1960), 7, 89House of Flying Daggers, 174How to Top MyWife (1994), 87Human Rights Film Festival, 5Hur Jin-ho, 5–6, 18, 29–30, 64, 85–86,

88, 145, 195Hyundai, 17

Il Mare (2000), 29–30, 86, 89, 103, 106;analysis of, 107, 113–15

Ilshin Investment Co., 18, 20–21Im Kwon-taek, 2, 6, 17–19, 39–40, 58,

61, 63, 151, 164, 170, 173import quota, abolition of, 7Im Sang-soo, 29–30, 116, 164–65Im Soon-rye, 39–40Indian cinema, 35industry journals, lack of, 11Infernal Affairs (series, 2002–3), 65Internet, 138investigation fabula, 148–49investors, anxiety among, 24The Isle (2000), 55, 165, 174, 178–82I Wish I Had aWife (2001), 33–34

Jacobs, Lea, 72Jail Breakers (2002), 23, 77, 78–80; pro-

duction costs, 33–34Janghwa, Hongryeon (Korean folktale),

137Jangsankotmae (cine club), 27Jang Sun-woo, 6, 13, 18–19, 24, 28, 32,

35, 116, 138, 144, 165–66

Japan: blockbuster distribution in, 32–33; effects of occupation, 3–4

Japanese anime, 174Japanese films, 193; acceptance of, 4;

first theatrical release in Korea(1998), 65; Korea’s ban on, 104

Jeong Chang-hwa, 7Jeong Heung-sun, 60, 81, 144–45Jeong Jae-eun, 27, 116–17, 122–23, 127Jeong Ji-wu, 55Jeong Seong-il (critic), 140–42Jeong Yong-ki, 82Jeong Yun-cheol, 22Jeonju International Film Festival, 5Jeon Yun-su, 32, 35, 144Jewel in the Palace (series), 227n18Jin Jung-kwon (cultural critic), 39Jo Geun-hyeon, 153Jo Jin-gyu, 60, 71, 144–45A Joker in High School (1976), 118Jo Ui-seok, 116JSA (Joint Security Area, 2000), 1–2, 12,

20, 28–29, 35–36, 39–40, 71, 145,164, 170, 189, 193; analysis of, 43–45, 50–52, 54–58

Jung Cho-shin, 116

Kang Je-gyu, 1, 18, 20, 22, 28–29, 31–34, 40, 165

Kang Je-gyu Film, 20, 23Kang Woo-suk, 1, 17, 20, 22, 32, 59, 76,

77–79, 87, 195, 225n35Kang Woo-suk Communications, 20Kick the Moon (2001), 60, 78, 78–80Kieslowski, Krzysztof, 103, 190–91The Killer (1989), 41, 65–67Kim Dae-jung, 25, 37, 176Kim Dae-seung, 103Kim Dae-woo, 151Kim Dong-bin, 125Kim Dong-ju, 66Kim Dong-won, 76, 116Kim Du-han II: Righteous Fighter

(1975), 61

246 Index

Kim Du-han III (1975), 61Kim Ho-joon, 116Kim Hyeon-jeong, 35–36Kim Hyo-cheon, 61, 63Kim Jeong-kwon, 103Kim Ji-hun, 24Kim Ji-mi, 71Kim Ji-woon, 13, 18, 22, 27, 30, 55, 61,

125–26, 137, 144, 164Kim Jo Kwang-su, 39Kim Jung-il, 37, 176Kim Ki-duk (b. 1930), 7, 37–38Kim Ki-duk (b. 1960), 2, 14, 30, 55, 164–

65, 174, 177–82, 196Kim Ki-yeong, 89Kim Kyeong-hyeong, 13, 85–86Kim Kyung-hyun, 6, 71, 166, 168, 182Kim Linsu, 116Kim Sang-jin, 23, 33–34, 60, 76–77,

78–79, 225n35Kim Soyoung, 89Kim Sung-su (b. 1961), 13, 17, 28–29,

61, 64, 73, 116, 127, 165Kim Sung-su (b. 1971), 76Kim Tae-gyun, 13, 22, 29–30, 116, 138,

141, 145Kim Tae-yong, 29–30, 104, 124Kim Ui-seok, 6, 17, 87, 145Kim Young-jun, 22Kim Yu-jin, 60, 85King and the Clown (2005), 144, 147kkangpae (gangster), 60Kong Jeong-sik, 226n10Koo & Film, 23, 85Kookmin Venture Capital, 18Korean Academy of Film Art (KAFA),

5–6, 29–30Korean ambivalence about embracing

modernity, 9Korean Film Council (KOFIC), 11, 19,

24–25, 104, 194Korean film industry, 194; aesthetic

achievements, 144; concern overcriticism of gangster films, 73; and

Japanese films, 125–26; origins of,2–3

Korean Film Producers Association(KFPA), 194

Korean government: ban on Japanesecinema, 104; and national economicbankruptcy (1997), 63

Korean New Wave, 6, 14, 28, 164, 166–73; ‘‘second new wave,’’ 165.

Korean Telecom, 23Korean Wave. See hallyuKorea Pictures, 20KOSDAC (Korean Stock Exchange), 23Ko Young-nam, 61Krutnik, Frank, 94KT, 23Kurosawa, Akira, 156Kwak Han-ju (critic), 63Kwak Jae-Young, 13, 85–86, 116Kwak Kyung-taek, 28–29, 32, 61–62,

116, 127, 165 Kwon Cheol-hwi, 7, 129Kwon Jong-kwan, 104

Lau, Andrew, 65, 69Lee, John H., 85Lee, Jooran, 133Lee Bong-rae, 7Lee Chang-dong, 2, 61, 64, 150, 165,

169, 196; as minister of culture, 174Lee Chang-ho, 167Lee Chun-yeon, 125Lee Eun, 27Lee Gwang-hun, 87, 174Lee Hwan-gyeong, 116, 138Lee Hye-won, 86Lee Hyun-seung, 29–30, 86, 103Lee Jeong-beom, 73Lee Jeong-guk, 85Lee Jeong-hyang, 5–6, 29–30, 86, 90,

145Lee Jun-ik, 144Lee Kwang-mo, 170Lee Man-hui, 7

Index 247

Lee Myung-se, 6, 61, 73, 81, 87, 172Lee Song Hui-il, 39Lee Yeong-min, 129The Letter (1997), 85, 124Libera Me (2000), 22Lies (2000), 18–19, 166, 173The Longest Nite (1997), 65Lotte, 194A Love (2007), 29Love Letter, 108; analysis of, 105–6Love So Divine (2004), 226n10loyalty, in Korean gangster cinema, 68Lung Kong, 66

Madame Freedom (1956), 89, 217n18madangeuk (indigenous cultural art

form), 35Ma Ka-fai, 66Make It Big (2002), 116Mandala (1981), 61Mapado (2005), 77Marathon (2005), 22The Marines Who Never Returned

(1963), 7market share, 22, 24marriage, treatment of, in Marrying the

Mafia series, 82The Marriage Story (1992), 6, 17, 20, 87,

145Marrying the Mafia (series, 2002–6),

12, 60, 76; analysis of, 81–82Marrying the Mafia I (2002), 81, 144–

45Marrying the Mafia II (2005), 82Marrying the Mafia III (2006), 76Martin-Jones, David, 103Mason, Fran, 68mass culture, 27May 18 (2007), 24media conglomerates, Korean, rise of,

16–30Megabox, 22melodrama: in Korean blockbusters, 49;

use of term, 67

melodrama (genre), 7, 9–10Memento Mori (1999), 29–30, 124–25,

127–33, 136–37. See also Whisper-ing Corridors (series, 1998–2005)

Memories of Murder (2003), 13, 29–30,144–47, 150, 153; analysis of, 148–50, 153–57

Metro Tartan, 164, 174MGM, 24, 77migration of creative labor, 196Milkyway Image Production (Hong

Kong), 65AMillionaire’s First Love (2006), 116,

145Min Byeong-cheon, 35, 144minjung movement, 26–28, 35Min Kyu-dong, 104, 124Mirae Asset Investment Co., 18–19, 173Miramax, 22, 77mise-en-scène, 13, 58, 76, 126, 131, 145,

151, 153–57, 160–63, 178, 184The Mission (1999), 65MK Pictures, 23Moho Film, 22AMoment to Remember (2004), 85Moon is . . . the Sun’s Dream, The

(1992), 29Motion Picture Export Association of

America (MPEAA), 7Motion Picture Law (MPL), 1, 16;

changed from registration to licensesystem, 3; sixth amendment, 7

Mr. Momma (1992), 17, 87Muhan Film Venture Capital Co., 19multigenerational audience, need for, 38multiplexes, 20–21The Mummy (1999), 32The Murmuring (1995), 89, 122Musa, The Warrior, 29Mutt Boy (2003), 29, 73My Boss My Hero (series, 2001, 2006),

76, 116My Boss My Hero (2001), 13, 76, 83, 118;

analysis of, 82–83

248 Index

My Boss My Student (2006), 76, 83–84My Little Bride (2004), 116My Love, My Bride (1990), 87My Lovely Sam-Soon, 227n18My Lovely Week (2005), 104My Sassy Girl (2001), 13, 85–89, 98,

101, 113; analysis of, 90, 94–96, 102;remake rights, 24

My Tutor Friend (2003), 13, 85–86, 88,90, 101; analysis of, 97–100

Myung Film, 20, 23, 54–55MyWife Is a Gangster (series, 2001–6),

12, 60, 71, 76–77, 84; remake rights,24

MyWife Is a Gangster (2001), 83, 113,144–45; analysis of, 80–81

MyWife Is a Gangster II: The LegendReturns, 77, 81

MyWife Is a Gangster III: analysis of, 81

narrative structure, elliptical, 69national cinema, 10nationalism, as marketing strategy, 39–

40Natural City (2003), 12, 35, 144Neale, Steve, 32–33, 92–93, 96, 221n2Nelson, Laura, 8New Hollywood, 34–35New Line Cinema, 17, 22, 195New Regency, 17New Wave. See French New Wave; Hong

Kong New Wave; Korean New WaveNight and Day (2008), 166No Blood No Tears (2002), 71, 153Noma International, 21nonlinear narrative, in JSA, 43Noraereul Chatneun Saramdeul, and

minjung movement, 26–28The North and the South (1965), 37–38North Korea, representations of, 38North-South issues, 36–38No. 3 (1997), 12, 60, 64, 77Nowhere to Hide (1999), 61, 64, 81, 173;

analysis of, 172

Oasis (2002), 2, 64, 165, 196The Odd One Dies (1997), 65Oh Ki-min, 27, 126–27Oh! Soo-jung: The Virgin Stripped Bare

by Her Bachelors (2000), 166, 170,183–84, 191–92; analysis of, 187–90

Oldboy (2003), 1–2, 29, 58–59, 152–53,164, 174, 181; analysis of, 176–77.See also Vengeance (trilogy)

Once Upon a Time in China (series), 39Once Upon a Time in High School

(2004). See Spirit of Jeet Kune DoOne Fine Spring Day (2001), 29–30, 86,

195180-degree rule, 159Ong, Aihwa, 10On Media, 22Orion, 22Out to the World (1994), 173

Paeopjeonya (1990), 27Pandora Film Produktion, 174Paquet, Darcy, 7Paramount decrees of 1948, 31Park Chan-wook, 1–2, 14, 22, 28–29,

59, 145, 153, 164, 170, 173–77, 182Park Cheol-kwan, 60, 77, 144–145Park Chung-hee (dictator), 3, 7, 167;

and censorship, 60Park Heung-sik, 33–34Park Jin-pyo, 85Park Ki-hyeong, 13, 116, 121Park Kwang-chun, 125Park Kwang-hyun, 22, 144, 170Park Kwang-su, 6, 17, 27–28, 87, 165,

168Peppermint Candy (1999), 64, 150, 165,

169A Petal (1996), 166, 169Petty Middle Manager (1961), 7Phone (2002), 126piracy, of DVDs, 195Plenus Entertainment, 23polarization, of film industry, 29–30

Index 249

political activism, 26–28post-386 Generation, 195–96post-trauma, cinema of, 169The Power of Kangwon Province (1998),

166, 183–84, 190, 192Prankster of Girls’ High School (1977),

118The President’s Last Bang (2005), 29–

30, 165Princess Hours, 153, 227n18Private Tutor (1963), 7production, in Korean film industry:

decrease in, 19; recent decline in,24; vertical integration of, 21–22,31

production companies, mergers of, 20–23

production cost, increase in, 19production values, 2A Promise (1998), 60, 85, 124The Promise (2005), 194–95protective measures, decision to lift,

15–16PTU (2003), 65The Public Cemetery under the Moon

(1967), 7, 129Public Toilet, 194The Puppet Master (1993), 183Pusan International Film Festival

(PIFF), 5Pusan Promotion Plan (PPP), 196

Queer Film and Video Festival, 5The Quiet Family (1998), 18, 55, 125quota system for production and dis-

tribution, 3

Rayns, Tony, 178realism: gritty, 75–76; in Korean New

Wave, 170Red Cliff 2 (2009), 195remake rights, Hollywood and, 24, 76–

77Resurrection of the Little Match Girl

(2002), 24, 35, 144, 166, 173; as boxoffice disaster, 32

Ring (1999), 125Ringo Lam, and gangster films, 61R&K Production, 22Roh Moo-hyun, 176Roh Tae-woo, 26, 167–68romance (genre), 85–115, 190; popu-

larity of, 85–88Romance of Their Own (2004), 22, 29–

30, 116, 138–39, 145; analysis of,140–43

Romance Papa (1961), 7Roth, Eli, 164Rowe, Katherine, 100Run Away (1995), 17Running Wild (2006), 23, 76, 89Ryu Seung-wan, 22, 71, 153

Sad Movie (2005), 104Saha Monkol, 194Samaritan Girl (2004), 2, 165, 178sammai (use of term), 77sammai comedy, 77–78Samsung, 17–18, 21Samsung Entertainment Group (SEG),

17The Sandwich Man (1983), 183Saneun Capital, 173satiric tradition, replaced by sentimen-

talism, 9saturation booking, 34, 76, 147; use of

term, 21Schatz, Thomas, 68sci-fi blockbuster (genre), 12; as box-

office failures, 35sci-fi/martial arts (genre), 13screen quota, 1, 7–8, 28; for art-house

cinema, 146; U.S. pressure to elimi-nate, 16

Secret Sunshine (2007), 165Seogang Communications, 29Seok Rae-myeong, 118seol (lunar New Year’s Day), 76

250 Index

Seong Chun Hyang (1961), 7Seoul Cinema Town, 22Seoul Film Group, 27, 167Seoul Jesus (1986), 167Seven Swords (2005), 194The Shadowless Sword, 195Shary, Timothy, 118, 122, 138She’s On Duty, 118Shim Hyung-rae, 24Shim Jae-myung (Sim Jae Myeong), 6Shin Cheol, 6Shin Chi-Yun, 6, 63Shin Cine, 94Shin-Cine Communications, 20Shin Han-sol, 116Shin Sang-ok, 7, 89Shin Seung-su, 87Shiri (1999), 1, 12, 18, 20, 23, 28, 31–32,

35–36, 39–40, 62, 71, 193; analysisof, 40–43, 50–52; commercial suc-cess of, 49

Shiri syndrome, 32Shochiku Co. (Japan), 23, 86, 195Showbox, 18, 21–23, 173, 195Showeast, 195Shyamalan, M. Night, 126Sidus, 23, 64, 86, 195Silmido (2003), 1, 12, 32–36, 39–40, 59,

147, 193, 195; analysis of, 46–47,50–52

A Single Spark (1996), 17, 169, 173The Sixth Sense, 126SK Telecom, 23Small Business Corporation (SBC), 19social structure, 196Sommers, Stephen, 32Song Hae-sung, 103Song Neung-han, 12, 60sonyeo sensibility, 126–27, 131, 137Sopyonje (1993), 6, 39–40, 164Sorum (2001), 126The Soul Guardians (1998), 125spatial distance, in Korean romantic

cinema, 105–6

specialness, and blockbuster status, 32–33

spectacle, and blockbuster status, 32–33

Spin Kick, 119Spirit of Jeet Kune Do (a.k.a. Once Upon

a Time in High School, 2004), 13, 70,116, 120, 127–28, 138; analysis of,119, 121

Spring in My Home Town (1998), 170Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter and Spring

(2003), 165, 174; analysis of, 178–82Spring Waltz (2006), 88Staiger, Janet, 11Stairway to Heaven, 89Starmax, 194The Story of a Discharged Prisoner

(1967), 66Story of Chunhyang (1955), 217n18Stray Dog, 156Stringer, Julian, 6, 67Summer Scent (2004), 88The Surrogate Mother (1987), 61, 164Sword in the Moon, 174Sympathy for Lady Vengeance (2005),

22–23, 58, 164. See also Vengeance(trilogy)

Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance (2002), 2,29, 58, 173–74, 177; analysis of,175–76. See also Vengeance (trilogy)

Taebaek Mountain (1994), 17, 170Taegukgi (2004), 1, 12, 22–23, 31–32,

34–36, 147; analysis of, 45–46, 52–54

Taeheung, 195Taiwan, 194Take Care of My Cat (2001), 27, 117,

127; analysis of, 123–24Tale of Cinema (2005), 166A Tale of Two Sisters (2003), 13, 27,

126–27, 137, 144, 147, 151–53; anal-ysis of, 160–63

Tartan, 152

Index 251

Teach Me English (2003), 29Tears (2000), 116, 165teen (genre), 116–43teen delinquent (genre), 122teen horror (genre), 118teen stereotypes, 119Tell Me Something (1999), 27temporal barriers, in Korean romantic

cinema, 105–6theaters, 20–21Thompson, Kristin, 11Three (trilogy), 194386 Generation, 4–5, 12, 25–26, 30, 35,

38–39, 58, 148, 165, 167, 193, 196;directors, 28–29. See also post-386Generation

3-Iron (2004), 2ticket sales records, 32Timeless Bottomless Bad Movie (1997),

13, 116, 138, 166, 169; analysis of,170–71

To, Johnnie, 65Toei (Japan), 194Tong-Yang Group, 18To the Starry Island (1993), 173To Top MyWife (1995), 17To You, FromMe (1994), 168–69,

173transnational cinema, use of term, 10The True Story of Kim Du-han (1974),

61Tsai Ming-liang, 184Tsui Hark, 39, 194Tube (2002), 12, 32, 35, 144Tube Investment, 19A Turning Gate (2002), 166, 174, 183–

84, 192; analysis of, 186–87Twentieth Century Fox, 21; Korean dis-

tribution office, 16Twentieth Century Fox Home Enter-

tainment, 24Two Cops (series, 1993–1998), 76–79Two Cops 1 (1994), 17, 20, 77–78, 79Two Cops 2 (1996), 78, 79

Two Cops 3 (1998), 782046, 1742 Way Media, 18Typhoon, 23, 29, 195

UIP, 21United States, 3; direct distribution

rights, 8. See also HollywoodUno Film, 20, 64Untold Scandal (2003), 13, 29–30, 144,

147; analysis of, 150–51, 157–60Uprising (1999), 173Uruguay Round, 3

Variety, 11, 86Vengeance (trilogy), 164, 174, 182Venice Film Festival, 2, 165, 178victimology, sense of, as recurrent

theme in Korean blockbusters, 35–36

Vietnam, 194Village Roadshow, 18, 125Voice (2005), 124, 128, 130–31. See also

Whispering Corridors (series, 1998–2005)

Volcano High (2001), 13, 29–30, 116,119–21, 141

Wai Ka-fai, 65Wang Xiaoshuai, 196war film (genre), 7Warner Brothers, 21; Korean distribu-

tion office, 16Warshow, Robert, 68The Way Home (2002), 30, 145Welcome to Dongmakgol (2005), 22, 144,

147, 170well-made film. See high-quality film

(genre)Wet Dreams (2002), 116What Time Is It There? (2001), 184When Harry Met Sally, 93Whispering Corridors (series, 1998–

2005), 116, 124–37

252 Index

Whispering Corridors (1998), 13, 27,124, 127, 129

Wild Animals (1996), 178Wild Scoundrels of College, 118Willemen, Paul, 9Windstruck (2005), 85Winter Sonata (2002), 88–89Wishing Stairs (2003), 124, 129–31. See

also Whispering Corridors (series,1998–2005)

Woman Is the Future of Man (2004),166, 187, 196

Woman on the Beach (2006), 166, 189Women’s Film Festival, 5Wong Jing and gangster films, 61Wong Kar-wai, 73, 105, 174, 190–91Woo, John, 41, 61, 66–67, 195Wyatt, Justin, 145

xiao (hyo, ‘‘filial piety’’), 67

yakuza films, Japanese, as influence, 60Yalgae (series), 118Yalgaejeon (1965), 118Yang Yun-ho, 22

Yau, Patrick, 65Yeh, Emily, 104Yeo Kyun-dong, 173Yeonriji Here and Forever, 23, 89yeosong film, 89–90Yesterday (2002), 12, 32, 35, 144yi (righteousness), 66–67Yi Hyo-in, 6You Are My Sunshine (2005), 85Young and Dangerous: The Prequel

(1998), 69youth (genre), 7youth horror (genre), 124–37Yu Ha, 13, 22, 70, 73, 116, 127Yu Hyun-mok, 7, 9Yu Ji-na (critic), 87Yun Jae-yeon, 124, 129Yun Je-gyun, 13, 76, 116Yun Jong-chan, 126Yun Seok-ho, 88Yu Young-sik, 18–19

Zhang Yimou, 174zhong (chung, ‘‘loyalty to one’s supe-

rior’’), 67

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