According to South Korean director Lee Chang-dong, Haruki Murakami‘s short story “Barn Burning,” is a story wherein “nothing happens.” It’s then a risky endeavor for Chang-dong to wholeheartedly embrace the concept for his slow-moving adaptation of the novel entitled “Burning,” but the mysterious, meticulous, slow-burning embers of this book-to-movie transformation turns out to be masterful look at jealousy, class, and revenge.
Tackling the relationship between a young courier and girl he meets by chance in a South Korean neighborhood, Chang-dong should have arguably won the Palme d’Or in Cannes, and that the film came up emptyhanded is baffling. “Burning” handles the ideas of a triangulated relationships and emotions in such intensely mesmerizing and subtle ways. It’s heavy and palpably atmospheric; and yet, “Burning” is also psychological thriller at its core. Instantly captivating, “Burning” surely ranks with the year’s very best.
READ MORE: The 2018 Cannes Film Festival: The 20 Most Anticipated Movies
During a random job run, Jongsu (Yoo Ah‑in), a young, ordinary deliveryman, falls by chance on Haemi (Jun Jong-Seo), a girl who used to live in her neighborhood. She brings him back to her apartment and they make love. A few days later, she asks him to randomly care of her (potentially non-existent) cat as she’s leaving for a trip to Africa. Upon her return, Jongsu waits for her at the airport and Haemi introduces him to a friend; the handsome, wealthier Ben (Steven Yeun), a mysterious man she met in Africa. And so, the characters develop a rather odd three-way friendship, filled with unspoken contempt and jealousy, that is until Haemi suddenly disappears and stops answering her phone and Jongsu starts to suspect Ben of some foul play.
The power of “Burning” rests largely on the well-observed dynamics of the characters subtly crafted by the director. Their protracted, askewed conversations, of which there are many, often give off strange notes. Something is wrong, but it’s impossible to codify. Their polite discomfort gnaws each of their interactions, but Lee brilliantly sidesteps what frictions burning between them might be. Clearly, the two males want to court Haemi, a beautiful, friendly woman, but she never reveals whom she’s most interested. The trio meet up at bars, restaurants, coffee shops, and Ben’s luxurious apartment, the latter of which only enhances the sketchiness in this cagey character.
The achievement of “Burning” lives with the unspoken, the darkness that looms within each interaction. There’s airtight friction throughout, but nobody ever explodes in anger or reveals their true feelings for one another, which, in essence, offers a striking portrait of the current South Korean social norms, where class conflicts and hierarchical relationships are hidden by a melancholic sadness. And yet, “Burning” also acts as a thriller, or as close to one as Chang-dong may ever make. The subtlest of shots are infused with virtuoso insinuations, as Lee Chang-dong holds the audience in the palm of his hand with a final reveal that stuns.
Despite its prolonged 148 minutes, the tense atmosphere Chang-dong crafts creates a quickened pace. Like his previous film “Poetry,” the director hides a torrent of dull and frustrated anger with smiling, creepy discomfort. The precision of the writing— verbal and visual— lies in the blank margins that Chang-dong leaves for us to fill in.
An omnipresent mystery, “Burning,” is enigmatic, but captivating enough that it compels rather than repel the viewer. Simmering with ambiguity, “Burning” plays its staging, writing, dialogue, acting, music, everything with carefully calibrated minimalism, but in turn it makes some grandiose of statements. An unrecognizable murder-mystery “Burning” torches genre clichés and leaves a lasting, scorching blister. [A]
Follow along with all our 2018 Cannes Film Festival coverage here.