Nothing busts canons quite like living in interesting times. In our ongoing Inflection Point series, we look back at the films that have taken on new relevance due to our ongoing cultural and political upheaval. Some beloved, some undiscovered, these titles deserve newfound consideration as film criticism evolves to meet the moment.
Long before ‘Parasite‘ was the surprise hit of the 2020 Academy Awards, director Bong Joon Ho was known as the creator behind another piece of political allegory. In his 2014 science-fiction classic ‘Snowpiercer,’ the future Academy Award-winner would bring his signature eye for class economics to a violent, apocalyptic future. Seen today, ‘Snowpiercer’ remains as wild a ride – pun intended – as it did on its initial release, offering a unique blend of retrofuturism and South Korean violence tailor-made for mainstream audiences.
But while ‘Parasite’ remains a fun film, it has perhaps lost a bit of its luster as a mature work of political fiction in the intervening years. This belief is something in desperate need of correction, especially given that one character in ‘Snowpiercer’ contains as much complexity as anything Bong has committed to film.
Set years in our future, ‘Snowpiercer’ presents an Earth that becomes inhabitable in the wake of chemical tests. In trying to cure our human-made global warming, our scientists have created a planet where life freezes almost instantly on the surface. In this frozen apocalypse, only the rich have thrived, taking refuge aboard a train that travels across the globe each year. It is in the train’s bowels that we meet Curtis (Chris Evans), a working-class everyman. He has taken it upon himself to pick up the crusade of his mentor, Gilliam (John Hurt), and bring equality between the front and back of the train. This is true even if he must shed blood from the engine to the boot.
In presenting ‘Snowpiercer’ as a mixture of high-concept and genre filmmaking, Bong Joon Ho has created a deceptively overt film. “I have social commentary in all my films,” Bong told Film Comment in 2014, “but because here it’s in the context of sci-fi, it’s more direct and open and the ideas are about capitalism, which is relatable to people from many countries, not just Korea.” Since so much of ‘Snowpiercer’ is coded through over-the-top costuming and production design, it is easy to compare ‘Snowpiercer’ to Bong’s other work and find it both wildly entertaining and – perhaps – somewhat lacking in depth.
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If this were true, it would certainly be forgivable. In crafting a claustrophobic piece of spectacle with an American audience in mind, Bong proved “The Host” was no accident. Each train car is a unique work of production design, ranging from the early-2000s grime of the back of the train to the post-apocalyptic largesse of the middle classes. As a result, as Curtis and his team move farther into “enemy” territory, their very presence is a political act. When you are dressed in rags and covered in dirt, there is no easy way to have a knife fight in a sauna without seeming a little out of place.
But for all its slow-motion action sequences, ‘Snowpiercer’ has buried at its heart one of cinema’s most damning displays of resistance culture in Hurt’s Gilliam. Since his initial sacrifice – in the earliest days of the train, Gilliam offered his arm in exchange for the lives of the weakest passengers – the residents of the back of the train have come to treat Gilliam as a messianic figure. This distills the complexities of the various train compartments down to a single battle of wills between Gilliam and Wilford (Ed Harris). Curtis and company may not have songs dedicated to Gilliam’s greatness, but thanks to the work of Painter, they engage in their own form of propaganda. And they are just as ready to lay down their lives in service of his work.
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But what, then, is Gilliam? Even a favorable reading of Gilliam paints him as a neoliberal nightmare, an overtly progressive figure whose very existence is meant to reinforce the economic status quo. Gilliam preaches caution in the film’s earliest scenes; whereas Curtis’ protégé, Edgar (Jamie Bell), is prepared to wage all-out war on the front of the train, it is Gilliam’s words of doubt that almost stop the resistance dead in its tracks. Gilliam has a vested interest in preserving the train’s inequity – that is until even he recognizes that the change Curtis represents is both inevitable and violent.
By playing the false messiah of the back of the train, Hurt serves as an intertextual link between ‘Snowpiercer’ and the retrograde dystopian futures of ‘Aliens‘ and ‘1984.’ We can accept Hurt in a leadership role after a few short moments, as much because of his past body of work as his empathetic presence onscreen. When Wilford reveals the nature of his treason – that Gilliam had covertly worked hand-in-hand with the front of the train to ensure the ecosystem remains in balance – our understanding of him as a victim is reversed. Lowly living quarters or not, Gilliam is part of the oppressors.
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In a film so overtly classist that it makes Bong’s ‘Parasite’ seem apolitical in comparison, the evolution of Gilliam remains its most sinister twist. Many fantasy and science-fiction films have included a dramatic betrayal, but these betrayals are often coded as part of an individual’s pursuit of power. Watching a character like Gilliam use the tools of resistance to reinforce the status quo is a devious piece of complexity for a film that otherwise codes its antagonists as the grotesque bourgeoisie. In 2020, it is not at all difficult to draw parallels between Gilliam and those who demand that protestors save their objections for the ballot box (despite knowing how unbalanced that means of resistance has become).
In a world where both “Memories of Murder” and ‘Parasite’ exist, it’s hard to point to ‘Snowpiercer’ as Bong Joon Ho’s most refined film. While the movie operates with an operatic sense of movement and clothing, its literal interpretation of classes means that the political commentary is grasped by anyone bothering to pay attention. But it is Gilliam’s character – a walking balance of anxiety and fear – that stands among some of the smartest work of Bong’s storied career. Not all movements are destroyed from the outside. Sometimes, the killer is calling from within the house.