“Memories of Murder” (2003)
Anyone acquainted with the souped-up monster mash of “The Host,” or the post-apocalyptic sci-fi of this week’s “Snowpiercer” might think they’d know roughly what to expect from a Bong Joon-ho movie. They would be wrong, as Bong’s characteristic trait, if he has one, appears to be unpredictability. It’s certainly the only explanation for this restrained, downbeat but fascinating procedural, based on the true and unsolved case of Korea’s first known serial killer, which therefore bears quite some resemblance to David Fincher‘s take on the similarly futile search for the Zodiac killer, which would arrive five years later. “Memories of Murder” is, like “Zodiac,” more the story of the police than of the crime, critiquing the corruption and ineptitude of the provincial Korean police force, or perhaps just their almost innocent unpreparedness for this type of hideous crime, through the characters of two rival cops with differing approaches, both of which ultimately prove equally ineffective. Played by Kim Sang-kyung and the ubiquitous Song Kang-ho, who has a lead role in “Snowpiercer” and has worked, often multiple times with every director on this list bar Kim Ki-duk (we think), the film also works as a character study of these two men, one slobbish and unprincipled in how he gets the job done, the other more fastidious and big-city thorough, sent in from Seoul to assist. But it’s the film’s peculiar rhythm, its unhurried but also unconventional structure that really marks it out, especially as this was only Bong’s second film. Eschewing set pieces and action sequences in favor of a kind of gradual, hopeless unraveling, it’s almost subversive in its relentless thrust away from resolution, from redemption, from “closure”—away from anything but a slow slide into inevitable defeat, punctuated only by some brief flashes of the most mordant humor and Bong’s incipient eye for the absurd. It’s hard to take something as concrete as a crime procedural, and one based on true story at that, and make something so impressionistic and elusive from it, but Bong, just two films in, already had a totally auteurist, individual vision, which remains perhaps the only unifying element between all his generically, tonally and thematically diverse output.
“A Tale Of Two Sisters” (2003)
With a more immediately commercial sensibility than some of his contemporaries, it made sense that Kim Ji-Woon would be the first of the Korean New Wave filmmakers to head to Hollywood, with last year’s underrated Arnie-starring actioner “The Last Stand.” As fun as that film was, it wasn’t unfiltered Kim, and while some would have picked out “A Bittersweet Life” or “The Good, The Bad & The Weird,” we’d favor “A Tale Of Two Sisters,” probably the definitive contemporary Korean horror movie, as one of his most complete and satisfying works to date. Riffing on a famous, much-filmed folk story called “Rose Flower and Red Lotus,” and initially seeming to be taking some visual cues from the run of J-horror like “The Ring” and “The Grudge” that had been so popular a few years before, Kim’s film seemingly centers on a pair of sisters, Su-mi (Im Soo-jung) and Su-yeon (Moon Geun-young) who find reason to be suspicious of their new stepmother (Yeom Jeong-ah), their late mother’s former nurse after Su-mi begins suffering from terrifying visions. But as ever, things are more complicated: this isn’t a simple murder mystery or ghost tale (though it’s effective as both), but a first-rate Kubrick-remakes-”Haesu” mindfuck that lingers not so much over what you can see (though there are some horrifying sights there), but on what’s happening just on the other side of frame. The film isn’t well suited for the more ADD horror-fan: it’s slowly and deliberately paced (running close to two hours), and admittedly can be tough to follow first time around during its time-jumping third act as it explains what’s going on. But it’s otherwise an artful, rich and legitimately unnerving picture, especially when held up against the tepid 2009 U.S. remake “The Uninvited,” which features Elizabeth Banks and David Strathairn, and dumbs down to the point that the whole thing feels entirely generic.
“Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter…And Spring” (2003)
The cuckoo in the nest of director Kim Ki-duk’s otherwise often extremely violent, disturbing and/or sexist catalogue, ‘Spring’ is also by far our favorite of his contributions to the New Wave, being a slow, achingly beautifully shot, contemplative parable inspired by Buddhist teachings. Look a little closer, though (and it’s almost impossible not to with photography this immersive and evocative) and you’ll see some of the enfant terrible’s trademarks come through. There are scenes of animal cruelty (specifically toward fish, snakes and frogs, and, depending on how you feel about using a live cat’s tail as a paintbrush, possibly cats), which have hampered his films’ U.S. distribution on occasion, and while there’s certainly less evidence here of the misogyny he’s frequently accused of, we could wish the quickly-sketched-in women in the film weren’t quite so peripheral and slight. But it’s simply not his focus here: his concern is with the loss of innocence, and eventual gaining of wisdom of a young apprentice monk (Kim Young-Min, and then Kim Ki-Duk himself in later years) who lives with his teacher and “master” (Oh Young-su) in a tiny one-room temple that floats on a raft in the middle of a tranquil lake surrounded by the sights and sounds of harmonious nature. A young woman (Ha Yeo-jin) comes to the temple to heal from an unspecified illness, and the apprentice ends up running away with her, only to return many years later having, as his impossibly wise teacher foresaw, had his love turn to possessiveness, and his possessiveness to murder. Later again, following the death of the master and his release from prison, he returns to take up the mantle in the temple himself, even gaining his own apprentice as the cycle of pain, cruelty, grace and acceptance begins over again. Considering its pessimism (we are doomed to repeat our mistakes) and the tragic bent of the storytelling, the film’s tone of utterly absorbing, and oddly inspirational serenity is quite remarkable, and if nothing else shows that Kim has talent to burn in other registers than the “watch-it-if-you-dare” violence and perversity of his Venice-winning “Pieta” or 2013’s “Moebius.” Or, by the sounds of its rape-and-murder storyline, his newest, “One by One” which is due to open the Venice Days sidebar at this year’s Venice Film Festival.