The Other Aligning Love Story in ‘Decision to Leave’

Ga-in (Jeong Ha-dam) and Seo-rae (Tang Wei) share commonalities. DP: KIM Ji-yong/MUBI.  

This second Decision to Leave essay reflects on San-O and Ga-in, the devastating story within a story that metaphorically sets up the imperative dynamics between the main protagonists Hae-joon and Seo-rae.

We are introduced to San-O via Hae-joon’s unsolved cases wall, a wall of disturbing crime scene photos hidden behind a blue-green curtain. Before Seo-rae’s involvement with him, the Jilgok District murder in Busan has been Hae-joon’s top priority. The pictures of this particular crime focuses on a victim’s skull found on the side of a mountain— cause of death being barbarically bludgeoned by a hatchet. Ki Di-soo’s discovered body is another death caused by severe head injuries and located beneath a mountain. Beom and Di-soo’s deaths employ opposing revenge tactics— one coldly displaying intent and the other cleverly suggesting suicide. Yet, the reasons for both of these demises are on the accounts of them being extremely cruel to women. Ga-in’s mistreatment is San-O’s excuse for killing Beom. Di-soo’s physical and emotional abuse is Seo-rae’s.

Seo-rae poses a question on if an outside love can penetrate the concrete foundation of an existing marriage— connecting the poetic coincidence between her and San-O. They’re both in love with married people. However, San-O knew Ga-in prior. Seo-rae is experiencing love for the first time with Hae-joon. DP: KIM Ji-yong/MUBI.

Like Seo-rae, San-O (Jeong Min Park) fits the anti-hero archetype— making rash decisions that have horrendous consequences all for the good of another person. DP: KIM Ji-yong/MUBI.

Ga-in, an abuse survivor and accessory-after-the-fact of San-O’s crime, follows the men behind, not realizing what San-O’s outcome will be. DP: KIM Ji-yong/MUBI. 

Hae-joon— who often sees criminals as criminals— learns that he and San-O share common ground despite acting on opposite sides of the law. DP: KIM Ji-yong/MUBI.

Furthermore, San-O and Seo-rae are individuals who take matters into their own hands. They could not report to the police mainly due to immoral pasts—San-O, a former prisoner having no desire to return behind bars and Seo-rae, wanted in her native China for the pacifying murder of her mother. How could San-O ask Hae-joon about Beom’s assaulting Ga-in without being judged for his previous crimes? Hae-joon never doubts that San-O is guilty, keen on him as the murderer from the start. It is the reason for Beom’s murder that Hae-joon is trying to decipher. If Hae-joon were as attentive to detail as San-woo— Hae-joon’s Busan partner blatantly criticizing Hae-joon for being sexist—there are doubts that he would be so quick as to providing Seo-rae true emotional support. In the second half of the film, a hardened Hae-joon treats Seo-rae as he likely would have in the first part if his tender feelings hadn’t distracted him from his task, going as far as arresting her, placing her in jail, and administering a polygraph test. 

“Why do women sleep with such trash?”

During his emblematic rooftop confrontation with Hae-joon, San-O brings up an age old thought that predates time— blaming women for staying in terrible relationships. The patriarchal system has stretched across the world, across history. For centuries, women have been treated as men’s property, often left incredibly helpless. Women must be kept in line with abuses ranging from emotional, psychological, sexual, physical, and financial. In many scenarios, breaking free from trapped unions are imprisonment sentences is simply not an option. Thus, it is easy to fault the vulnerable, to pin the man’s inflicting cruelty onto the victims themselves, but rarely inquiries into why men are inflicting the cruelty. Ga-in, a mere beauty shop owner living faraway, needs support and care. Like Seo-rae, Ga-in found herself in an inescapable predicament with Beom. Seo-rae could not leave Di-soo because of the power he wielded over her. While San-O eventually rescues Ga-in and hides away with her, Seo-rae— a friendless immigrant— has no choice but to place her survival above all else. 

After they brilliantly solve the Jilgok case together using hints of their own love story, Seo-rae drops by the utterly depressed Hae-joon’s home. Together, they burn the Jilgok and Huso Mountain crime scene photos. DP: KIM Yi-jong/MUBI.

Seo-rae aides in Hae-joon’s sleeplessness, a subtle calm before the approaching storm of her own crimes coming to light. DP: KIM Ji-yong/MUBI.

“Actually I like a woman too. But her husband beats her. I want to kill that bastard so much it hurts!”

Candidly pretending Di-soo remains alive, Hae-joon speaks to San-O about Seo-rae in present tense; his words depicting both a purposeful distraction and a heartfelt confession. Hae-joon is falling for Seo-rae and hates not having had the power to protect her from possessive Di-soo. This romantic declaration revealed to a murderer’s ears showcases the chink in Hae-joon’s armor— the new Achilles heel he could not have anticipated. Hae-joon too is capable of the very evil acts that a guiltless San-O has done in the name of love. If Hae-joon prevented Seo-rae’s silent suffering prior— meaning breaking the oath of the badge and perhaps later further sabotaging his mediocre marriage— his honor would still be destined to shatter. From their first meeting, an undeniable connection between them started to form.  

The two intertwined stories of San-O and Ga-in and Hae-joon and Sri-rae dissect the nooks and crannies of moralistic plot, exploring beyond good and evil counterparts of the human psyche. The viewer is left imagining fairy tale scenarios for these unfortunate characters. What would have happened if San-O had not ever been a prisoner? Would he and Ga-in have stayed together living in perfect bliss? Or is it in his inherent nature to conduct on the wrong side? Is it possible that Hae-joon could believe Seo-rae’s battered wife account and put the shady immigration officer Di-soo away for his many misdeeds? Would Hae-joon be able to leave his wife and child behind for happiness with Seo-rae— a woman who mercy killed her own mother merely because it was asked? 

Seo-rae knows that her time with Hae-joon filters through an invisible hourglass. She continuously initiates physical contact during the second murder investigation— embracing him, giving up evidence, kissing his lips, and stroking his face and hands. Deep down, Hae-joon must know it too. DP: KIM Ji-yong/MUBI. 

The glaring difference between Ga-in and Hae-joon’s similar situations is that Ga-in willingly stays with San-O. She accepts his aggressive overprotective nature. She is okay with him killing her husband. San-O probably told Ga-in that he did it for her. Yet, San-O also admits to feeling that Ga-in is responsible for his destructive behavior. However, prideful policeman Hae-joon is not the kind of person who could live with Seo-rae’s crimes, especially not after their stolen moments together. Hae-joon’s gentle benevolence and Seo-rae’s nurturing spirit would have been a blissful pairing. Instead of looking within, Hae-joon holds Seo-rae liable in his own failures to do his job properly. Yes, Seo-rae not only lied, she had Hae-joon destroying evidence. At the same time, as a married officer of the law, he should have listened to San-woo. Now with their forbidden love story marred by Seo-rae’s betrayal, Hae-joon— not as forgiving as Ga-in— would always be doubting whether Seo-rae truly cared about him, if she played a seductive ploy to get out of facing capital punishment. Thus, Hae-joon no longer trusts Seo-rae, but she trusts him, seemingly implicating herself as both an apology and cryptic profession of love. 

San-O’s death includes scissors and a nasty plunge right in front of Ga-in and Hae-joon. DP: KIM Ji-yong/DP. 

Meanwhile, Seo-rae's choice expresses a woman patiently waiting to die alone. Her note lies in the last phone call with Hae-joon, echoing his words in her native Mandarin, words she knew he would not understand yet. DP: KIM Ji-yong/MUBI.

Decision to Leave’s parallels of Ga-in and San-O and Hae-joon and Seo-rae tells such a sorrowful trajectory. San-O makes the choice to die rather than face incarceration/death penalty. His suicide is as bloodily violent as his crime. Also, his jumping off the rooftop mirrors Seo-rae’s attempted framing of Di-soo’s mountain fall. Seo-rae—whose fate was sealed the moment she fled China—takes Hae-joon’s words to literal creation. She crafts a quieter, moving end within the earth itself. While Ga-in is able to cling to San-O’s broken body and see that he is lost to her, Hae-joon will be forever tormented by the memories of the mysterious Seo-rae, crying piteously as he unknowingly steps over her sand/sea grave. 

A distraught Ga-in cradling her dead lover San-O whilst looking up at the only other witness to his suicide. DP: KIM Ji-yong/MUBI. 

Hae-joon in complete despair searching for Seo-rae whose disappearance bears no witnesses, no clues. She secretly ends her life in Korea just as she entered it— by sea. DP: KIM Ji-yong/MUBI. 

There lies a gut wrenching depression in bearing witness to the end of a life. Yet, an even greater horror exists in never again seeing the someone you could not resist holding briefly in your heart.

‘Decision to Leave,’ A Dark Romantic Mystery Is Best Film of 2022

 

Decision to Leave film poster. 

Decision to Leave will probably burn your whole entire soul alive.

The titillating, cat and mouse story filled with many dangerous twists and turns keeps you on the edge of your seat, nerves shivering, breaths coming out in charged pants. You must pay attention to every last detail that transpires between Jang Hae-joon— the smart, married cop and Song Seo-rae—the widowed murder suspect. As their surveilling roles push and pull against the other in some strangely riveting magnetism, the provocative game between them intensifies into an emotional fire threatening to forever haunt them both.

And my goodness, you want it to. The chemistry is that smoldering. 

Inspector Hae-joon (Park Hae-il) is trying to decide if Seo-rae (Tang Wei) purposefully pushed her husband off a mountain. DP: KIM Ji-yong/MUBI.

The first murder mystery in Busan, South Korea leads Hae-joon, a former smoker and insomniac with a poetic sensibility and knuckle cracking proficiency, into solving the case of a dead man fallen down from a mountain. The hungry bugs have already started devouring the deceased’s flesh, fluttering in his wide, opened eyes. Naturally, the wife Seo-rae, a Chinese caretaker of elder women who see her as a long lost granddaughter, is the best possible suspect for the crime. Very demure and subdued, not the grieving picture of a widow, Seo-rae is already not wearing her wedding ring and going right back to work. She pointedly reveals that she is not a benevolent person, that she is a wise being of the sea. The sea will eventually become the most devastating element of their acquaintance. Although Hae-joon proclaims to be a sea person too, his actions speak mountainous volumes. 

From the seat of his parked car, an attentive Hae-joon watches Seo-rae’s tender movements during stakeouts. He grows more and more intrigued by the striking young woman who feeds an outdoor cat, studies Korean soap operas, and consumes ice cream for dinner. As he calls her or she calls him, he imagines being at her side, seeing her close up, observing her responses to him. The obsession is a most believable slow building turmoil that begins bleeding into his sixteen-year relationship to Ahn, a genius power plant worker he visits once a week in the town of Ipo. Around Seo-rae, Hae-joon experiences pleasant sleeps in his car, waking up blissful and behaving kinder than usual to his coworkers. 

However, whilst having sex with Ahn— who believes Hae-joon is occupied in another case— Hae-joon’s mind concentrates on the mysterious Seo-rae, primarily her x-ray. Post coital, he lies to Ahn about the situation, switching the roles of Seo-rae and her dead husband. This casual fib will only twist on him later. Coincidentally enough, Ahn talks about her co-worker June quite often (even June’s crush/jealousy). Hae-joon is too preoccupied with Seo-rae to understand, let alone focus on these subtle red flags from his wife. Thus, Ahn is openly comfortable discussing June’s obvious desires and a closed off Hae-joon pretends that his simmering passion for Seo-rae does not exist. Not speaking on it means not acknowledging, not acting on it. 

Many light flirtatious interactions between Seo-rae and Hae-joon come into play in both police stations— Buran and Ipo. DP: KIM Ji-yong/MUBI. 

The cop is sinking further down the rabbit hole and only Soo-wan, his male partner notices. Hae-joon slips up in his task, leaving Seo-rae free to do her sleuthing on him. Soo-wan believes Seo-rae guilty and Ahn remains in the dark. Seo-rae is an isolated woman with no outlet in which to reveal her innermost thoughts and feelings except using her phone as a recording diary/translator. Her motives are purely secretive, adding layers to the intrigue of her character, a character who is adept, calculating, quick yet not immune to falling into the complications of desire, of love. She is seemingly playing this poor, sopping detective. At the same time, she is learning from him, becoming educated beyond learning Korean. He excites her, shows a tenderness rarely bestowed on her by a man. The key to everything is in shared technology— the phones that come and go as evidence, the cyber translations from Chinese to Korean, the earbuds, the tracking/surveillance. Also, Hae-joon sneakily catching Seo-rae’s whispers to her cat and reading transcripts of her Apple Watch voiceovers are simply too endearing— he gets a euphoric rush from realizing she thinks of him as he thinks of her. 

Old women are sadly used in this particular narrative as scapegoats. Seo-rae’s thirst for killing began with her dying mother who tells Seo-rae about her Korean heritage in the Homi Mountain. Unfortunately, it is a capital offense to aide in death despite Seo-rae’s mother requesting the fentanyl. A desperate Seo-rae marries in order not to be deported and endures brutality including her maniacal abuser’s initials tattooed on her flesh alongside his many bruises. It seems other than her late mother, no one else has since cared for Seo-rae, loved her unconditionally. Until, she becomes a successful caretaker. The key to Hae-joon figuring out the first mystery was Seo-Rae’s Monday patient, a dementia woman who adored and trusted Seo-rae mainly because Seo-rae brilliantly executed the part of youthful, gentle caretaker. Who would ever suspect her of containing malicious or evil intentions? The spell Seo-rae had placed on Hae-joon seemed to be broken. A beautiful, naive, tragic figure could be capable of harm— of deceiving and killing elder women and putting his job in jeopardy— a smart, dignified cop.

Seo-rae enjoys the meal Hae-joon prepares her in a scene that earlier mirrors him cooking for his wife who too cherishes his culinary talents. DP: KIM Ji-yong/MUBI.

Decision to Leave is not as sexually explicit as other Park Chan-wook films. It almost appears rather tame. Instead, he finds other devices to create his signature eroticism. The uncharted lust practically spills from the seams moment upon moment that these two characters interact. When Hae-joon sniffs Seo-rae’s perfume, purchases expensive sushi for her to eat at the police station (which pisses off his erratic partner), prepares her a Chinese meal late at night, fights a man with sweaty hair and heavy panting as she witnesses him from her car, or rubs lotion onto her calloused hands during a rainy walk, he is showing an unprofessional interest. Things heat up further as Hae-joon unexpectedly undoes his belt— only to put on his holster as Seo-rae observes him. Once Seo-rae calmly breathes and recites sweet words to help him sleep in bed, that alone is a deeper intimacy than what holistic Ahn grants him. On top of everything— Hae-joon and Seo-rae keep staring at each other in that manner of no one else existing but the two of them. Eye connection is frequently a strong indication of attraction, of longing. A serious thing too, when considering how often Hae-joon drips solution in his tired eyes. 

Once Hae-joon— a man who constantly needs to be in the shoes of the dead— figures out Seo-rae is not the perfect victim, the crushing tide is brilliantly conducted. As a hurt, disillusioned Hae-joon decides that he can no longer associate with Seo-rae due to his damaged pride from her betrayal, Seo-rae’s genuine feelings grow deeper at this point. Yes, she has committed crimes to save herself from further misery and harm. How could he possibly understand what she— a foreigner in a new country still struggling to speak the language— was going through? Hae-joon foolishly believes it would be so simple for Seo-rae to just walk into his police station and tattle on a former immigration officer? Women are not always believed. 

After thirteen months apart, Hae-joon and Seo-rae meet again at the fish market in Ipo, their respective spouses by their sides. Despite the awkwardness, clipped dialogue, and silent communication, Hae-joon and Seo-rae’s desire for each other remains an undeniable cord drawing them in. The way their eyes connect or try not to, the way he suddenly smiles— it is all so wonderfully orchestrated, the perfect forbidden fate. In this pivotal, electric scene, Seo-rae— now a tour guide and no longer a caretaker/nurse— is already subtly giving Hae-joon clues to her next crime. 

The temptation is too great: Hae-joon remains stoic in Seo-rae’s presence. DP: KIM Ji-yong/MUBI.

At the second murder mystery, this time Hae-joon— who has been nursing depression from his incurable broken heart— will not let Seo-rae get away so easily. He tries a sterner approach with Seo-rae, determined to not let his feelings entangle. His inquisitive female partner, however, does not believe Seo-rae guilty of killing her second husband— a man threatening to tell Ahn of Hae-joon’s emotional affair. Seo-rae recorded Hae-joon’s “shattered” confession, words that signified his love for her, something that he does not argue or deny. Yet, Hae-joon’s determination in seeing justice done employs him to turn the tables on the inner workings of his great attachment to Seo-rae. When he cuffs their hands together and she strokes his fingers, he cannot reject her. It is eerily poignant that Seo-rae tells Hae-joon that she purposely cleaned the crime scene, thinking of his sensitivity to blood. 

Clever symbolism runs rampant throughout the film. The blue-green colors of water/sea continuously appears: the wallpaper in Seo-Rae’s home, fetanyl pills, evidential dress, bucket to bury the dead bird (which both Hae-joon and Seo-rae have taken feathers from), and the filtered light in Hae-joon’s bedroom as Seo-rae breathes alongside him. Then, there’s the sushi. In his first scene with Ahn, Hae-joon admits to loving cooking and not eating any old sushi. With Seo-rae, however, he orders sumptuously enticing sushi at their impromptu interrogation— Shima— which Seo-rae eats alone prior to her heartbreaking plan. In his fierce determination to treating her like a regular suspect, he orders generic food and she is notedly disappointed. Shoes are the next big beacon— Hae-joon wears the comfortable hiking variety for the more energetic paced cases in Busan— especially necessary for climbing steep mountains and chasing bad guys. In low-crime Ipo, he wears loafers. When Seo-rae is at his Busan home, she is donning house slippers, a signifier of the intimacy between them. In Ipo, she is wears heels and has her hair down as opposed to her earlier ponytails. Finally, chapstick and mints— typical precursors to kissing and kept in Hae-joon’s endless pockets— are found twice by Seo-rae. She knows his content pockets just as he remembers her phone password. She applies the balm on her lips and then his in the manner that echoes him applying lotion to her calloused hands. Their final face to face meeting has Seo-rae replacing his chapstick with her own lips, a purely poetic exchange that reads more like a bittersweet goodbye to possibility. So well done! 

At home in Ipo, Ahn— who believes Hae-joon not only is having an affair with Seo-rae, but also may have conspired to kill the second husband—leaves with June. Perhaps, in some fashion, June is the man Ahn has always wanted. In that instance, we have these four people who behave similarly to each other. Hae-joon and Seo-rae sometimes act as mirrors or polar opposites. Ahn and June are two peas-in-a-pod science nerds. However, only a few are courageous enough to confront the issue of moving towards the right destiny. Unfortunately, Seo-rae realizes that she must make the sacrificial choice not just freeing him, but herself as well. She is a criminal. He is a cop. So, the two most imperative women in Hae-joon’s life leave him. Ahn knows that he has been lying to her about Seo-rae and Seo-rae believes that she is a reminder of his lost pride in being a dignified policeman. 

Seo-rae and Hae-joon finally have it out in Ipo. While he is pragmatic in his choices, she is cryptic, confusing him completely. Is that because of the language barrier or another secret battle altogether? DP: KIM Ji-yong/MUBI.

Among the metaphorical repetitions and jarring parallels, the award-winning Decision to Leave (South Korea’s fitting choice for the Foreign Language Oscar for next year’s ceremony) is a wild, intimate ride from start to finish. Park Hae-il and Tang Wei’s charismatic performances are certainly the brilliant highlights of a mesmerizing, moralistic screenplay Chan-wook co-wrote with Jeong Seo-kyeong. KIM Ji-yong’s gorgeous cinematography— their first IMDb credit— just stays on your distraught mind long after the credits roll. The poignant music and sharp, gritty sounds too truly set the tone, lure your every sensory into this fascinating escapism.

Although the tragic conclusion breaks the heart to smithereens, the beautiful, dark Decision to Leave defines fierce yearning in its more sinful form, giving off a cautionary alarm to the predicaments a corrupted person can coax the innocent into if they’re not careful. Seo-rae bravely calls out the hypocrisy of the cop’s violent profession and the cop’s need for a stable home life with a docile partner instead of someone like her— a survivor only drawn to conducting violence for either those who wronged her or those suffering souls needing a way out. Seo-rae’s affect on Hae-joon alters him as much as he changes her, deepening a harrowing connection that cannot ever be given the necessary space needed to thrive. Hae-joon and Seo-rae are a pairing so vital, that it still hurts how they ended— as a guttural, unresolved case as cruel as the crushing deep sea. Ultimately, this ironic masterpiece of a film depicts two lonely people who found each other too late, whom under different circumstances may have been quite happy together. 

‘The Ice Storm,’ Reflecting On Ang Lee’s Artic Drama

 

The Ice Storm film poster. 

“The meaning of Fantastic Four was that a family is like your own personal anti-matter. Your family is the void you emerge from. And the place you return to when you die.”—Paul Hood contemplating on life whilst reading Fantastic Four Issue #141 The End of The Fantastic Four 

Based on Rick Moody’s novel, the characters in The Ice Storm are as insufferably cold and frigid as the title metaphorically implies. Set between New Canaan, Connecticut and New York City, two middle-class, white suburbia families cross boundaries with each other. These are privileged people— middle aged adults “raising” children who are clearly interested in adult actions— mainly sex, drugs, and alcohol. 

The film opens on Paul’s train. 

And it has stopped operating due to inclement weather.

Fresh off the highs of Sam Raimi’s Spider-Man and Peter Jackson’s Lord of the Rings trilogy, I first watched Ang Lee’s icy classic twenty years ago on VHS with the geeky hope of Tobey Maguire and Elijah Wood sharing scenes together. They don’t. Yet their characters are eerily similar. Paul Hood is an awkward intellectual who philosophizes life through a comic book perspective and smokes pot with his girl stealing roommate, Francis Davenport (played by David Krumholtz). Mikey Carver is a quiet eccentric nerd who is bad at sports and obsessed with molecular science and Paul’s sharp sister younger Wendy. Furthermore, Mikey’s relationship with his father Jim is frosty as opposed to Paul’s stiffly relaxed relationship with Ben. 

Sandy (Adam Hann-Byrd) and Mikey (Elijah Wood) serve guests in aprons at their parents’ dinner and later sneakily drink wine in the kitchen. The adults just never seem to watch their children’s behavior. 

On the surface, the Carvers and the Hoods appear civil to each other. Their marriages, however, are charades put on for the neighbors. Janey and her husband Jim Carver have lost the spark between them— likely due to his constant travels and bed “performance” capabilities. Elena no longer desires to be intimate with her husband Ben Hood. 

Elena (Joan Allen, right) offers to wash the dishes, but Janey (Sigourney Weather, left) nearly blows her head off with her declinations. Afterwards, she plays calm and collected, reasserting her “no” with “it’s quite alright.”

One of the most incredible cropping is this scene of observing retired servants Mikey (Elijah Wood) and Sandy (Adam Hann-Byrd) watching the adults drinking. 

While Elena is extremely timid with Ben, Elena and Wendy do not have the closest mother/daughter relationship either. In Wendy’s mind, Elena represents the rebellious notion, “you are my mother, but I don’t have to like you or be like you.” Wendy is an outspoken political wildfire, a shoplifter, and smoker all at the age of fourteen. And she is very, very interested in the male body in an imperviously wicked way. Polar opposite Elena wants to mimic her daughter— obtaining her lost youth, her lost pleasure. She seems a damaged product of her time— trapped in an unhappy marriage which likely happened at a young age. Yet Elena’s dreamy perception of Wendy is far from who Wendy truly is. 

Red coated Wendy Hood (Christina Ricci) through Elena’s eyes— a free spirited girl who can do anything, be anything. 

But in reality, Wendy is on her way to steal snack cakes…

The Ice Storm hits on heavy territory that may be too sensitive for viewers, especially in the frank and bizarre scenarios involving overtly curious children. By clinically revealing the natural inclination to explore the human body, the film discloses on the deepest, darkest intimate secrets of the young psyche. When Mikey and Wendy are kissing, they are not embracing or touching each other. They are joined only by their experimenting lips, merely approaching the science of this act without the emotional attachment. 

Close up on Mikey and Wendy’s outdoors make out session.

The wide shot angle. 

On the other hand, the unbalanced Sandy Carver— the most terrifying of the children— has the potential to become a vicious grownup. He already has this fixated quality about him— a fixation on violence and an unhinged fixation to Wendy. He appears to be the epitome of danger which is precisely what draws Wendy on in. They both have an unhealthy taste for walking down the wrong tracks. 

Sandy (Adam Hann-Byrd) aims his army soldier at the retreating Wendy. Wendy will later undress the soldier. 

Lines are drawn and some are deliberately trying to cross them. Janey is having sex with Ben, but Ben needs the soundboard aspect too. Predatory Wendy is the center of a strangely demented triangle— two brothers— a secret unboyfriend and a toy to play with. An envious Paul is trying to get a rich New York classmate’s attention, but uses drugs in a ruthless tactic. The teens are too corrupt to make positive choices (and it takes Paul a long while to leave a rape-y situation) and the adults are invested in their own psychological, midlife crises to offer parental guidance. Without such aide, the young ones are left alone raging on hormones and accessible alcohol. Obviously, they all need therapy. 

Janey and Ben are both deprived. 

Bored Janey barely notices what Mikey and Sandy are up to. Between ironically reading Phillip Roth’s When She Was Good (a novel about a severely moral woman), alone with an always traveling Jim, and seeking sexual pleasures from around the neighborhood, Janey is the definition of absent housewife. She tries to assert some authority over the youth though. When Janey spies Sandy blowing up aircrafts with dynamite or Wendy taking advantage of Sandy in her own bathroom, Janey tries to set them both straight on their unlawful behaviors— albeit unsuccessfully. 

Elena (Joan Allen) and Jim (Jamey Sheridan) are the last ones left in the key party house. 

During the weather warning, the local key party builds the climax. Everyone is so enthusiastic for the open relationship phenomenon that a woman even brings her son as her date. A man disgustingly wishes people brought their daughters too. There is no real shame, no ostracizing of this convoluted behavior. Maybe New Canaan residents are all sex crazed and must turn to each other in a nefarious Mister Rogers Neighborhood way. Still, Elena—who has easily figured out Ben and Janey’s affair—reluctantly attends something not in her repressed nature. Like a victorious cougar, Janey pulls out the son’s key and goes off wherever much to the embarrassment of Jim, Ben, and Elena. 

The morning after.

The Ice Storm is a complicated favorite for its compelling, abrasive narrative. The cast is perfect too— Sigourney Weaver, Joan Allen, and Kevin Kline along with Elijah Wood and Tobey Maguire. Another scenic pleasure included Christina Ricci whose Wendy mirrors her earlier Wednesday Adams in The Addams Family. Ang Lee’s daring direction and Frederick Elmes picturesque cinematography combines vividly well to the haunting music Mychael Danna composed. This here is real quality cinema. Heavy yet beautifully made.   

In a light afternoon, Ben (Kevin Kline) picks up Wendy (Christina Ricci) as though she were a child and not a blossoming teenager. 

In the late night, Ben (Kevin Kline) carries Mikey (Elijah Wood) to his car.

The man carrying a red coated child has heartbreaking symmetry. In one moment, Ben holds Wendy away from the Carvers house not just because her feet are cold. Ben naively believes that by shielding his daughter away from the dangers that boys like Mikey represent, that he could protect her innocence— unknowing that that concept is long lost. Ben had earlier given Paul a delayed “birds and bees” talk yet scolded Mikey for fooling around with Wendy. There is celebration for a father’s son to sow wild oats early on, but a daughter remains virtuous in a father’s eyes. By the end, Ben finds Mikey lying face down in a red bubble coat and lifts the cold body of the very boy he blasted. It delivers a tragic parallel between Mikey and Paul— these teenage boys so alike yet never share a moment together—that Mikey reminds Ben of Paul and doesn't necessarily need to voice the grievance aloud. 

Paul (Tobey Maguire) boarding off the train with his Fantastic Four comic, oblivious to the befallen.  

With a soft, clandestine tone surrounded in tremulous ice and whispering wood, The Ice Storm is a startling, eye-opening drama that dissects the roots of repression and sexual awakening. The harrowing credits roll on the sad underlying fact that when death comes, the dying have no choice (broken or not) but to return to the place they came from. 

Young Sisters Survive Abandonment in 'Treeless Mountain'

Treeless Mountain film poster.

Jin is the oldest of two sisters and the only one in school. After class ends, Jin plays pogs and she's quite good at earning a considerable stack. Due to having a little fun, Jin is late in picking up her little sister Bin from an upset caretaker. From the scene, it sounds as though the caretaker too has had enough of Jin and Bin's mother and must take frustrations out on the children. Jin and Bin's mother isn't happy either, having enforced Jin to leave the precious parts of childhood behind at way too early an age.

"Why were you late?" The mother asks.
Jin doesn't respond, likely fearing disappointment that she wasted that time playing games. 

This foreshadows the mother's role in the film, in Jin and Bin's lives. The girls did what was expected of them by the mother, but the mother reappears the moment "she's supposed to."

The mother (Soo-ah Lee), Jin (Hee-yeon Kim), and Bin (Song-hee Kim) set out for an uncertain future. 

Later on, the mother has been evicted and goes off with her daughters via bus to stay with her sister-in-law. The next day, however, the mother leaves Jin and Bin a pink plastic piggy bank and promises to return once it is filled. She either knows that they will not make enough change or that she will truly reunite with their absent father. Thus, this reveals that children alone do not make unbelievable notions-- adults living in fanciful worlds can harm the family foundation. After all, the mother has been treating Jin like a babysitter and less like a little girl. It is not that she is shirking motherly duties because she doesn't want them, she can't afford the harsh realities that come with parenting. Financial burden--even with a job--is too heavy a burden and she seems to have no where to turn. She could drop the girls off from place to place, but where can a mother go?

Bin and Jin still watch out for their mother each day and work hard for their drunken aunt-- a woman who scolds and yells. She barely gives them coins for their piggy bank. Suddenly, there are times, Jin is sent to bed without supper or their aunt is passed out drunk, leaving the girls with nothing to eat. They befriend a neighborhood boy and his sweet, affectionate mother (who gladly feeds them). In fact, the mother is like a mother they should have had, a caring, thoughtful, generous woman who always has a plate of cookies to spare. The cookies are comforting to Jin and Bin. Yet they don't want to keep using her. Instead, they find a resourceful way to support their hunger pangs and fill the piggy bank. It is the grasshopper--an ancient symbol of good luck-- that helps them.

Unfortunately, Jin and Bin will realize that sometimes adults say things they are powerless to mean.

Bin (Song-lee Kim) watches her sister, Jin (Hee-yeon Kim) prepare grasshoppers. They sell these for cheap to make money-- more so than their aunt can give. 

Writer/director/producer So Yong Kim (who has directed episodes of Queen Sugar, American Crime, Good Girls, and Divorce) has rendered a narrative rich in beautiful cinematography and laudable characters. The poignant closeups on Jin and Bin's innocent, doe-eyed faces shows that portrayers Hee-yeon Kim and Song-lee Kim expertly express the pains and sorrows of growing up motherless. Their performances are riveting and heartbreaking, great vehicles to drive the film forward as the characters move from the city life to pitiful poverty to the simplistic farm life of their grandparents. Also, the use of food is important-- the characters eating at the table, picky Jin's dislike of her aunt's food, Bin's compulsion to "eat anything," their grandmother making dough from scratch-- it is all relative.

Bin (Song-lee Kim)  and Jin (Hee-yeon Kim).

The brave, candid Treeless Mountain is an exceptional film about two little girls relying on each other for emotional, moral, psychological, and physical support. Whenever nourishment is lacking, Jin will comfort Bin and likewise. In a world that can easily leave girls behind (especially irresponsible adults), Jin and Bin have to toughen up and let their imaginations breeze into the wind. By the end, the resolution is a somber, appropriate tone to all that of which they have carried and learned from the people around them. Patience ultimately becomes their biggest foe and their greatest ally.

'Burning' Is a Shocking Thriller To the End

Burning film poster.

Recent fiction major grad, Jong-su works part-time whilst coping with writer's block and caring for the family property while his father is in jail for assault. He runs into former neighbor Hae-mi on a lunch break. Though it takes Jong-su moments to remember, the two have an awkward liason. Hae-mi is aloof, adventurous, and unpredictable as opposed to Jong-su's coy, meek personality. Before she goes to Africa (on a vapid, imperialist mission), she has Jong-su watch her cat, Boil. And the mysterious Boil eventually unravels a key moment.

Jong-su (Ah-In Yoo) runs around daily to inspect greenhouse.

Burning sets up a slow building tension that escalates to an unsettling disturbia. Hae-mi returns with a new friend, Ben. A jealous Jong-su can see their relationship has evolved to a much more intimate capacity, leaving him as a third wheel oddity. His curiosity of the rich, elusive Ben is worthwhile. Ben's sleek insinuation into the lives of two spacy young adults, using them both for sheer amusement like objects on a gameboard raises valid suspicion. Ben soon introduces Hae-mi and Jong-su--whom awkwardly stand out-- to his sophisticated socialite friends. Two worlds collide for Ben with Hae-mi and Jong-su merely setting the stage to entertain his fickle pleasures.

A striking visual of a young boy watching a burning greenhouse.

Burning contains exciting and jarring twists and turns that'll leave hypothetical guesses til the end. Director and co-writer Lee Chang-dong states:

"The leaping holes in the chain of events -the missing piece from which we can never know the truth- alludes to the mysterious world we live in now; the world in which we sense that something is wrong but cannot quite put a finger on what the problem is."

The character triad is a compelling and complicated weave and the chosen actors have crafted the relationships well enough. From glazed stares to pout lips, Ah-In Yoo finesses the quiet introverted Jong-su driven to a simmering madness. Jong Seo-Joen--in her first major role-- plays the naive, storytelling Hae-mi in an airy, effervescent manner despite Hae-mi's flawed, off putting insensitivity about a culture different than her own. Steven Yeun brilliantly oozes charm, sensuality, and danger into narcissistic Ben downright to the creepy laughter and bored yawns. He emotes such cynical precision that is almost frightening in Ben's loving fascination with setting fire to greenhouses. Yoo commiserates, entailing Jong-su's own past as a reluctant firestarter.

Nudity still conveys a strong attribution to male gaze. Whenever Hae-mi is nude (which happens on two separate occasions), her lithe body is the lure and attraction to the males. For example, after Jong-su, Ben, and Hae-mi smoke pot, Hae-mi takes off her blouse and languidly spins around topless. Jong-su's bare form, however, suggests a more constructive narrative. Although he frequently masturbates, especially in Hae-mi's room, his later nude finale conveys power, guilt, rebirth. At the same time, his nakedness is not humorous or self-deprecating as American cinema often ostrasizes male Asian bodies.

Jong-su (Ah-In You), Hae-mi (Jong Seo-Jeon), and Ben (Steven Yeun) revel in the view and smoke pot together on Jong-su's family property.

Burning references classic white male American literature (nodding to William Faulkner and F. Scott Fitzgerald) yet doesn't forsake Asian aesthetics for the Western gaze in this adaptation to Haruki Mumokari's short story, Barn Burning. The cinematography is an excellent backdrop to the intense drama, a thrilling chain of events leaves behind unhinged skepticism throughout twisted narrative. The minor fault is that some sequences are either stretched too long or not given substantial weight.

"So I creep--yeah." TLC came to mind during Jong-su's (Ah-In Yoo, left) amateurish surveilance of Ben (Steven Yeun, right).

Overall, Burning is sensational escapism and utterly deserves the honor of representing South Korea for the Academy Awards Best Foreign Language Film category. It would be an even greater triumph if Yeun and/or Yoo receive awards nods for delivering complex performances-- dismantling the stereotype that Asian actors are not expressive.

With fire symbolically scorching broken histories, abandonment, and evidence, turning structural bodies into char and ash, Burning will stun and disturb throughout suspenseful clarity.

Compassionate 'Okja' Strikes A Cord

Okja film poster.

Are there silent tears of the dead swirling on your plate?

Most likely.

Okja is an eye-opening film that asks tough moral questions, aiming to grab audience empathy. It is an honest, critical look at slaughterhouses, raising animals purely for consuming them without repercussions of the cruelty inflicted upon sentient beings. 

Okja and her caretaker Mija (An Seo Hyun) are a sincere pair.

The tale begins with false promises by the Mirando Corporation. They want to create a new brand of meat. Okja is one of several thousand genetically created super pigs raised in different pockets of the earth. She has been kindly raised in Korea by a sweet girl named Mija. They roam expansive mountains gathering fruit, playing games, and saving each other from harm. In other words, more outgoing than a housecat and much larger than a dog, Okja is a different sort of pet. Still, she is intelligent, affectionate, and trusting.

That is, until everything drastically changes for her.

Mija (An Seo Hyun) and the translator K (Steven Yeun) is a shocking scene.

When Okja is taken away, Mija gives a rampant chase that takes her away from her continental homeland all the way to America. Along this compassionate journey, she meets a secret animal rights organization who have their own agenda for Okja as well.

Jay (Paul Dano) and K (Steven Yeun) join forces to get Okja returned home with Mija.

Graphic in nature, Okja is filled with twists and turns that could change a few perceptions on meat industry. For example, the slaughterhouse scenes are viciously terrifying and painfully brutal. Between giant pigs behind electrical fences huddled together with little interactive space or the conveyor belt of them crying out because they sense upcoming torture, there are plentiful bitter pills to uncomfortably swallow.

Another glaring scene is when K told Mija to learn English. It is grossly offensive. English is the only language I speak and write. There is validity in having a native tongue, a rich history that is part of your own cultural makeup. As a black person in America, speaking English is the main part of colonialism's triumph. The language has authority over us. K is lucky to know Korean tongue. He is the only one in the van that can speak to Mija. That is an honor. How many of us wish we knew where our origins hailed? Knew the language of our ancestors? By the end, K understands and appreciates the gift that he has. 

Tilda Swinton (Lucy Mirando) is the perfect villain, especially considering that she stole what should have been an Asian role for Doctor Strange, but that's another story.....

In a world of mostly Asian extras, Okja features a terrific cast led by incredible newcomer, South Korean actress An Seo Hyun (technically not new, she's been acting since 2009). She is believably brave as Mija, daring, and heroic, charging into battle, sleek and purposeful, willing to risk anything, even her integrity for her beloved pet. Giancarlo Esposito is amazingly brilliant as Frank Dawson, playing both sides of the evil fence, a most charming schemer. Steven Yeun is given tons to work with and delivers a flawed character that some will hate and be appalled by. Also impressed by Paul Dano, Tilda Swinton, Jake Gyllenhaal (almost unrecognizable), and even Shirley Henderson's small role.

Okja's eyes have gone from warm to victimized agony due to many pains inflicted upon her, but she eventually recognizes her dearest friend.

Director/writer Bong Joon Ho (behind one of my favorite films, Mother) produced a solid piece with Okja-- moving, intense, and thought provoking as it simultaneously tackles on mass animal harm, and capitalism together. The pigs are beautifully rendered, especially the superstar Okja, whose eyes tell emotional stories throughout.

Okja asks, "where does compassion meet and sympathy end when it comes to animals?"

Despite its seemingly serene end, there is no happy, peaceful conclusion.