IRI (Zhang Lu, 2008)

date watched: June 25, 2009
location: Apgujung CGV, Seoul

I had no idea that this film was gonna be so depressing. And since the movie time was 11 PM, I definitely did not go to sleep with happy thoughts. Thought-provoking, yes; optimistic, not so much.

An important point about the director: Zhang Lu is a Chinese-born filmmaker who made many of his films in Korea, since he grew up here. That said, it's no wonder one of the themes of Iri deals with the often xenophobic, and even cruel attitudes Koreans adopt toward foreigners. Iri was the name of a town in the Jeolla province (southern part of South Korea), and now known as "Iksan." Possibly the most famous event that took place in what used to be Iri is the 1977 train explosion, which occurred when dynamite transported aboard caught fire. Jin-seo (after the name of the actress, Yoon Jin-seo) was conceived in the same year, and born the following year. Though not explicitly stated (as with most of the occurences in the film), the incident may have injurious effects on the female protagonist.

Jinsuh is the "babo" (meaning "stupid," or "idiot") of the town, and her ingenuous and kindhearted ways make her a well-liked neighbor, but many men also take advantage of the fact, and she is raped at least two times throughout the course of the film. We can assume that this happens more often than we'd like to imagine. Her boyfriend, Tae-woong (after the actor's real name, Eom Tae-woong) is an elusive character, overly protective of Jin-seo, and simultaneously appearing emotionally restrained and unsympathetic to his surroundings. He is often seen driving alone (he is a taxi driver), but even when he has passengers, they travel alone.

The most crucial element missing between the character is communication. More often than not, Jin-seo seems happier using her rudimentary Chinese skills, and her foreign friends (one from China, another from Pakistan) are more compassionate toward her than her fellow Koreans.

Possibly the most haunting scene in the film is when one of the old men in the nursing home Jin-seo works at commits suicide by hanging. In earlier scenes, he was portrayed as a deranged man, marked by impulsive behavior. In a previous scene, he had sniffed a supine Jin-seo from head to toe, then vanished as quickly as he has appeared. Without a means to effectively interact with his environment, he had tried yelling incomprehensible words, and even resorted to the seemingly animalistic sniffing of another human being; in the end, he was still utterly alone, which may explain his suicidal act.

The strange thing is, Jin-seo, despite all her devastations, remains an insouciant young woman, unwilling even to undergo surgery to prevent further miscarriages and pregnancy complications. When Tae-woong tries to drown her, we cannot help but feel a tinge of sympathy, and even happiness, for Jin-seo, who seems to lead a life full of strife and unwarranted malice. It is thus impossible to despise Tae-woong, though he often appears to be more of a villain than Jin-seo's disparaging neighbors. When Tae-woong explodes his model of Iri, which he had worked on so meticulously, it communicates his deep-rooted hatred for his world, and his desire to obliterate it.

There is no explanation for Jin-seo's reappearance at the end of the film: is she a re-born Jin-seo, or did she simply not die? Or, perhaps, is she an illusion? With the words "Suo Yi laoshi, ni hao, wo de mingzi jiao Jin-seo," she may finally be asserting her presence to the rest of the world, making her voice heard.

THE BROTHERS BLOOM (Rian Johnson, 2009)

date watched: June 23, 2009
location: Cinecity, Apgujung, Seoul

It's been a while.
Unfortunately, my comments for this movie will neither be enthusiastic nor rancorous, which will not make for the most interesting post. But it's short.

At first, it was fun to guess the brothers' mischief, whether this play was a con or not. However, by a certain point, it became TOO involved with the mind-playing that it overdid itself. It's truly exhausting, especially when there are already so many aspects that require your attention in a motion picture.

I applaud Rinko Kikuchi's performance, however. She said all but three words, two of them being "fuck me." I'm sure it's far more challenging trying to convey everything in gestures and facial expressions alone. Kudos, Rinko.

But to give the director a little more credit (he also wrote the screenplay), it seems to be a commentary on filmmaking itself. It's difficult to discern film and reality at times, and we are prone to believe that we too, have our lines and actions written for us. Once Steven (Mark Ruffalo) leaves his life as "unwritten," his little brother, Bloom (Adrian Brody), crumbles. The only way to live a life of reality means to destroy the writer and creator altogether--as shown in Steven's final sacrifice--but do so in the vein of play-acting, until the very end. Steven shows us that the final act is death itself, which plays out without the audience (he lovingly tells Bloom, "you're the only audience I needed."); and after death, there are no encores.

Aruitemo aruitemo/STILL WALKING (Kore-eda Hirokazu, 2008)

date watched: June 9, 2009
location: Apgujung CGV, Seoul, Korea

I mostly went to see this film (even though I had to strain my neck, sitting in the second row) because of my love of Kore-eda's most well-known work, Nobody Knows (2004). There were quite a lot of fans last night, as I could see from their Kore-eda DVDs in hand.

If Nobody Knows focused on childrens' perspectives, this film was more concerned with the elderly. But I wouldn't necessarily say that they are primary and sole voices of the film, since children also serve a great role.

One thing I know for certain is that the central figure is Junbei, though he is no longer alive. As he was the older son, his presence is sorely missed, though in different ways by each of the characters. The grandfather, for one, is left embittered: he considered his oldest son a good doctor, like himself, and he blames other people for his death, though nobody has actually killed him. The grandmother is more passive than her husband, but she too is desperate to hold on to his remaining imprints. She even tries to catch a yellow butterfly inside the house, believing it is her son's spirit. The brother cannot even mourn, for fear that it will overpower his parents' grief. Furthermore, he now has a family to take care of, and is especially concerned with winning the respect of his once-widowed wife's young son.

The piece, like many of Kore-eda's former works, is tender, and unsentimental. No tearjerking situations, no false emotion imposed. The movie itself feels like a walk, but one taken with family members, not the type involving pressured pumping of feet heading to work. It also is a celebration of the older generation, and their humor--they may be past the stage of working for a laugh, but because whatever shame they had in youth is now dissolved, they speak openly of their past. The laughter from the audience is thus not hearty, but consist instead of bubbling chuckles.



When Ryo (played by Hiroshi Abe) and his son accompany the grandfather on his walk to the beach, they walk down the stairs not side by side, but in a queue, from order of youngest to oldest. It's not much, but this scene is touching because of its ability to bring three different people from different walks of life through loss--they all have dealt with death of a loved one. We know that Ryo will have to remember what it was like to lose his brother, and be able to empathize with his son, who has lost his real father.

When Ryo and his wife come back to Yokohama to visit the grandparents' graves, in addition to his brother's, he repeats his mother's words and actions, as if they were his own: pouring water over the hot tombstone, and telling his daughter about butterflies. Just as he walked to the graves with his aged parents, Ryo's children will one day also walk alongside an older Ryo, and one generation passes onto the next...

LE SILENCE DE LORNA/LORNA'S SILENCE (Jean-Pierre & Luc Dardenne, a.k.a. the Dardenne Brothers, 2008)

date watched: June 8, 2009
location: Apgujung CGV, Seoul, Korea

This was my first Dardenne Bros.' film viewing! Their style is reminiscent of Truffaut, and sometimes Bergman, two directors I adore.
This film also won the 2008 Cannes Screenplay award, and was nominated for the Golden Palm award.



When the viewer follows Lorna (played by Arta Dorboshi) around Belgium, at her job, at the bank, in the streets--he assumes there is nothing too extraordinary about her. It is not the threats outside that bother Lorna, but the ones inside her home. She is basically paid to be married to a druggie, who struggles, mentally and physically, the pains of withdrawal. Lorna doesn't offer her warmest sympathies, and instead reacts coldly to his pleas. In fact, she won't even help him reject the drugs, when Claudy (her husband, played by Jérémie Renier) asks her to throw away the house key (in a later scene, she does, but the motivation is reversed).



Lorna's cruelty towards Claudy gives us the feeling that there are no emotions involved in this relationship, only a sense of duty. In this way, the movie reminded me a lot of Jean-Luc Godard's Vivre Sa Vie (1962), in which the female protagonist (played by Anna Karina), is merely a bridge and a prostitute (in both figurative and literal ways), to help the gangsters and pimps get their piece of the pie, so to speak. Nobody really cares about Lorna deeply, and yet they must all rely on her, and on the institution of marriage for each man to get what he wants. Lorna only starts to realize the kind-hearted man Claudy is, when he is stripped of strength, and commits himself to a hospital to be treated for his drug problems. I think Lorna started to fall in love with Claudy when she watched him sleep in the hospital bed, since he was just like a big baby, wanting attention and care.

Instead of breaking into hysterics after Claudy has mysteriously died (there is no explicit explanation, but we are to make out that it is Fabio's doing), she toughens up. She suddenly acts on her own, instead of following Fabio's instructions and supporting her boyfriend. She knows that she is pregnant with Claudy's baby, even though everyone else tells her otherwise (I think this is again Fabio's doing).

The film ends on an open-ended note: we know that for now, Lorna and the baby are safe, and that she is far from the controlling hands of Fabio & Co., but she has no money, and the only roof above her head is a tiny log house in the middle of the woods. She falls asleep in this make-shift shelter, and despite her worn-down surroundings, she looks safe, and much like the sleeping Claudy we saw earlier, innocent and peaceful.

THE KING OF KONG: A FISTFUL OF QUARTERS (Seth Gordon, 2007)

date watched: June 6, 2009
location: at home. borrowed a friend's copy.

I first saw an excerpt of this film during last semester's Script Analysis class. The objective of showing the clip was to explain that even documentaries have a plot, and there are set characters playing different parts.

Right away, the manner in which Billy Mitchell is shown spells out "apprehension." He has hair that looks like Darth Vader's mask, and he's always wearing a shirt and tie. He exudes confidence, and never considers himself as less than the best. On the other hand, Steve Wiebe is your average nice guy: he smiles to all his students in science class, he diligently plays the piano, and keeps the promise with his wife of playing "Donkey Kong" only at night.



I honestly had no idea that Bill would turn out to be a jerk, at least within the documentary itself. Of course, it's clear that he has an obsession with winning, and rather than challenging the new winner to a public game, he merely keeps tabs on Steve through his minions. More and more, it becomes clearer that he's a coward, and that only Steve is man enough to keep his promise as a genuine classic arcade game player.

Of course, we're meant to scoff at the utter seriousness of some of these players. Also, most of these men look as if they jumped out of a bad 80s commercial. My sister commented, "Only Steve Wiebe looks normal." Next to Darth Vader Bill and frazzled Mruczek, her opinion cannot be denied.



The reason this film works for so many of us, though I doubt anybody plays these games anymore, is that we know how it feels to sometimes win and to sometimes lose. The perfect score is exactly that--perfect, and thus unobtainable. When the score for the game turns from 900,000 -something into six zeroes, you become an instant hero. All the hours of maneuvering the joystick between your fingers and the ache-y feeling behind your eyes from staring at the screen so long--they are worth it.

It doesn't necessarily have to be a passion for anime, or devotion to the Star Wars series, there's a geek inside all of us. What do YOU have the hots for?

4 luni, 3 saptamâni si 2 zile/4 MONTHS, 3 WEEKS, AND 2 DAYS (Romania, Cristian Mungju, 2007)

date watched: June 4th, 2009
location: at home. private copy.

This film won the 2007 Cannes Palme D'or, which is the highest award one can receive at the festival.

I think this is possibly the first (and best) Romanian film I've seen, so props to Cristian Mungju for getting recognized!



This is definitely not for the weak of heart. It isn't super violent or gory or anything, but the subject matter is rather controversial, and women (especially PREGNANT women, may I add) may not want to encounter a film dealing with abortion.
Note to the weak of heart: THIS IS A SPOILER--the aborted baby is shown (I know, right? I honestly didn't think they would include this POV shot)

The film style is rather simple, however. The majority of the film is comprised of long takes, and the ones that aren't are shaky (hand-held camera, no doubt).

Some of the most frustrating scenes take place at the Hotel reception desk. The protagonist, Otilia (played by Annamaria Marinca), who is the active counterpart for her pregnant roommate, Gabita (played by Laura Vasiliu), must haggle her way into obtaining a free hotel room. The trouble does not end with the haggling, however. The irresponsible Gabita has not followed the "doctor's" rules carefully: 1) she has not reserved a room at the hotel mentioned on the phone, and 2) she did not meet the "doctor" (facetiously named "Bebe") in person. To add to the complications, Gabita lied about the duration of her pregnancy, and about Otilia's identity ("my sister," she said).



If you weren't aware that this was a film about abortion, you would think it was about prostitution. But in a way, it is about prostitution. In order to ensure the abortion, the two women give themselves for Bebe. The tagline for the film on imdb.com, actually a question, captures the essence of this theme: "How far would you go for a friend?"

The title refers to three types of time: "four months" refers how long Gabita has been pregnant; "three weeks" is the amount of deliberation the two girls took to get to this point of no return; and "two days" refers to the time spent inside the hotel room.

One cannot help but feel a tinge of spite for Gabita. She seems so careless, as opposed to Otilia, who is only indirectly involved in this abortion. Otilia's characterization is rather brilliant. The audience follows her around everywhere, like a faithful watchdog: she buys goods from other dormmates; she meets her boyfriend; she calls Gabita; she stops by to celebrate her boyfriend's mother's birthday; she disposes of the aborted baby. She is constantly huffing and puffing, walking through dark alleys, and climbing flights of stairs, all to make sure Gabita is taken care of. Gabita, meanwhile, is only seen inside, and inactive: in her dorm room at the commencement of the film, and inside the hotel room. This film may thus be making a broad political claim, that while one individual may shout an order, there are always others beneath him to execute the order, to do all the dirty work.

Mungju certainly doesn't believe in doing "dirty laundry at home," it seems. I can imagine the horror of the Romanian public in reaction to this film. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if it was banned, even. Everything in this film is illegal: the black market cigarettes, the abortion itself, and the prostitution.

It was finally relieving to see Otilia sit at the hotel restaurant with Gabita, in relative silence. The silence is neither an awkward nor a tense one. The silence is more like a comma than a period, however: the abortion is over with, the fetus disposed of, but there are consequences to their illicit behaviors. And there is still the possibility that Otilia may be pregnant herself, based on the argument with her boyfriend. Perhaps the most horrifying aspect of the film was the amount of abortions that supposedly took place. Gabita received information on Bebe from a dormmate who got an abortion herself, and there are other multiple mentions of girls giving out similar information.

I can't say for sure whether I'm pro-life or not, but films like these certainly make the issue worth poring over. Debate, anyone?

Jigeum, eedaerogah joayo-roughly translated, "It is better now, this way" (Boo Jiyoung, 2009)

date watched: June 2, 2009
location: Joongang Cinema, Euljiro, Seoul, Korea

I must say, the twist in this film is something that definitely came as a shock. But not in a good way.

Brief synopsis: Two sisters, Myungjoo and Myungeun, are reunited after what is assumed to be a considerable stretch of time. The reason for their reunion: their mother's death. They share the same mother, but have different fathers. Myungeun is successful, cold-hearted, and a tough career woman. She lives in the city, while Myungjoo slaves away everyday in a stinky fish market in Jeju (an island located at the southern tip of South Korea). Myungeun is perpetually bitter towards her sister and aunt; Myungjoo kindly accepts her sister's sour attitude, for the most part. Myungeun suggests the pair go on a trip for a couple days, and although she doesn't mention it at first, her objective is to find her long-lost father (He supposedly ran away when Myungeun was young; Myungjoo's father died earlier). During their trip, they quarrel often, and we get more glimpses of Myungeun's snobbishness and picky tastes. The trip reaches its climax when they get into a car accident: Myungeun must stay in the hospital due to a ribcage injury; Myungjoo is unscathed, as far as we can see. So they continue to fight and wonder--evident through multiple flashbacks--until Myungeun finally makes a grand discovery regarding her father. Or, shall we say, mother-turned father. Myungeun was conceived when her father was a man, but born when he became a woman. She remained in Myungeun's life throughout her childhood and much of her adolescent as "Aunt Hyunah."



I'm sure you get my drift now, when I said that the twist was shocking.

The title is rather apt on that point. It really was better before. Perhaps a better title is "Ignorance is Bliss."

And the FILM itself was better before that twist. It suddenly turned the drama into a comedy. And such a drastic shift was uncalled for. The flaw here is that there is no character motivation provided. For example, WHY does Myungeun's father suddenly get the sex-change surgery? And WHY does the mother decide to get pregnant again? It's all a big mystery.

The imagery is rather touching, however. The scenes on Jeju island, and the sisters' journey throughout the Korean countryside provide some marvelous visuals.
Also, the ties between Myungjoo's "fatherless" child and Myungeun are noteworthy.

The film also gives a better stage for the two main actresses, and especially for Shin Min-a, who is better noted for her glamorous commercials and less serious films. My sister commented post-screening, "I wonder how they remained so serious? It must've been so funny, thinking about the situation." I also wonder how the other audience members remained so silent. We started to laugh as soon as Myungeun figured things out. Does that make us evil? Narrow-minded, maybe?

LES QUATRE CENTS COUPS/THE 400 BLOWS (François Truffaut, 1959)

date watched: June 1, 2009
location: at home. private copy, part of The Adventures of Antoine Doinel box set

In French, "faire les quatre cents coups" can roughly be translated to "to raise hell."
It is the title that Truffaut decided on after considering the following titles: "Antoine Runs Away," "The Awkward Age," "The Vagabonds," and "Adventures Playing Hooky," among others.

I first watched this film around 3 years ago. I really think it deserves three more viewings, at least. To tell you the truth, I can't agree with film critics that say Truffaut is a better critic than he is a filmmaker, only because I haven't really read any of Truffaut's writings in the Cahiers. The only thing I read was "Une Certaine Tendance of Cinema Française/A Certainy Tendency of French Cinema," and even that was a while ago.

Possibly the best aspect of the film is its reverential nod for André Bazin in the dedication. I often wonder why such few films have dedications. Granted it may not be possible in a Hollywood spectacle, but even auteur films have a dearth of dedications, it seems.

Jean-Pierre Léaud really is a gem. Though this is rather selfish of me to say, I almost wish he froze forever in that famous frame at the end, instead of growing up as a twenty year-old and older; that way, he could remain the best child actor there was forever and ever. In any case, he was a cute child, too.



Antoine Doinel is more of a cinephile here, but he grows up to be more of a musicophile, judging by his later films. Truffaut remarked that it was basically the same idea: Doinel was obsessed by music, just as Truffaut was obsessed with the cinema.

My personal favorite of Doinel's acting was the moment he juts out his chin to say "Elle est morte" ("She is dead."). You can tell that he regretted it as soon as he said it, but it was something so impulsive that it literally contorted his visage.

Truffaut loved working with children, and it's interesting to see the casting tapes in the "special features" section. He was so calm with the auditioners, and the children were so daring and inventive. One kid sang and danced, out of his own volition; he was eventually cast as one of Doinel's classmates (the one that got ink all over his notebook). It differs radically from the way de Sica dealt with Bruno in The Bicycle Thief (1948): de Sica had to coerce tears out of the child actor, by scolding him harshly. I'd like to think that Truffaut was so good with the children because he was essentially still a child himself when he made this film--at least, in the cinematic sense. This was, after all, his first feature.


To end, an excerpt from Truffaut's letter to Jean-Pierre Léaud's father:
"Your son Jean-Pierre struck me as very intelligent and sufficiently precocious that the few weeks during which we will make him miss school should not constitute an insurmountable handicap for his standing at school."
And thank goodness Jean-Pierre Léaud's father gave him the permission, yes?