Bong Joon-ho and abyss in Korean cinema

Courtesy of Kseniya Petukhova

A few days ago I told my students that the difference between Park Chan-wook and Bong Joon-ho is that while the former tells his stories through themes and symbolism, Bong’s movies are far more direct and focused on pushing the plot forward through action. Though we might want to see signs and symbols in the stairs and so on, ultimately, Bong is telling stories through plot. He’s putting certain characters in a specific situation, and then seeing what happens.

And then, having said this, I was later forced to cower before the majesty of this director. I watched “Memories of Murder” for the umpteenth time with a room full of students. I glanced pensively around the room, wondering if the Muslim students in the front might find the rape and masturbation scenes too much or whether the blue-haired American would stay awake. I didn’t predict that the Ghanian woman would scream and fall loudly off her chair halfway through when a killer emerges from the undergrowth and snatches a victim but that just added to the tension in the room. They all loved the movie though many found the ending frustrating.

Meanwhile, having previously decried its absence, I found Bong’s symbolism: the abyss. A dark blackness that stands unapologetically in his films. A space devoid of light. Both psychological and physical. It is the train tunnel in “Memories of Murder,” the alley in “Mother,” and the basement in “Parasite.” That darkness is the host of that which we do not want to see. It is our shadow, as both individuals and a species. It is the place where the dark thoughts linger; where the wild things are. It is there in which the monster sleeps. As viewers, and for the characters themselves, we must beware. We must take heed of Nietzsche’s warning: If you stare into the abyss, the 한국을 abyss stares back. Investigate murder long enough and you will get a taste for it. And this is what Bong asks us to do. He shows us the black aspects of our nature, the ones which are usually absent in movies and literature, and then he does something horrific. Not only does he say that both the good guy and the bad guy have a connection to the abyss, we too, the audience, are connected to it in a way. We must reflect on our own shadows. Would we kill to protect our own children? Would we want to murder a suspect so as to stop them killing again? Would we steal for food?

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