Saturday, February 27, 2016

Like for Likes (좋아해줘) (2016)


Director: Park Hyun-jin

Writer: Yoo Yeong-ah

Production CO.: Liyang Film

Distributor: CJ Entertainment

Starring: Yoo Ah-in, Choi Ji-woo, Lee Mi-yeon, Kang Ha-neul


     At the very beginning, this film clarifies its relation to Facebook. The opening credits sequence, of which design reflects its orientation to Facebook, is followed by the first scene in which Kang Ha-neul (the musician henceforth) and EJ communicates via a social media service. This is an unnecessary introduction of relationship because, whereas the musician is deaf, he can converse with others quite naturally by reading their lips. Nevertheless, the director consistently posited Facebook at  several crucial narrative points to let it push the narrative forward. However, the film's view on Facebook is too optimistic to persuade spectators who already know its negative impact on modern society.

     Unfortunately, its excessive optimism is not the real problem. On the contrary to the filmmaker's direction, the actual significance of Facebook is so trivial that the spectator doubts the reason why it is frequently shown. At least superficially, the director tries to describe the phenomenon in modern society that the social network service generates. The characters strive to intrigue or test one another, and get depressed when they do not receive a desirable response. However, since the filmmaker has too much of ambition to praise the value of Facebook, he eventually harms the logistics of the entire film. The narrative is severely fabricated to combine distant characters, who hardly have met each other, through Facebook. As a result, the Facebook sequences turn out to be unfaithful to our reality, and what the spectator only sees are expositions of brand-new devices.

     At this point, one can argue that this film did not have to mainly deal with Facebook because it is basically a diegetic device to unfold romance. However, the romance itself is loose and unreasonable. For instance, the initial relationship between Kim Joo-hyuk (the chef henceforth) and Choi Ji-woo (the flight attendant or the attendant henceforth) was that of a tenant and a landlord. But after the chef breaks up with his girlfriend and the attendant was embezzled, the two strangers become housemates, only because they feel themselves "too pitiful". There is no pain from the aftermath of break, nor financial obstacles. Such elements are briefly suggested by direct quotes but have no impact on the characters. Given this, they seem like living in the wonderland where they don't need to labor and the verisimilitude of the film becomes void. This flaw is also observable from the other couples. The sub-narrative between Yoo Ah-in (the actor hereafter) and Lee Mi-yoen (the writer hereafter) has no concern of the effect after their revelation while the musician and Lee Som (the PD henceforth) 's love is simply explicated by love-at-first-sight.

     The romance of this film is loose because the filmmaker's direction was loose on a false assumption that the conventional melodramatic norms would function strongly. Then what is the norm?: fetish of absence.

     I call this "fetish" because various absences in this film were used to explicate the obsessions among characters. Below is a list of absences that exist in each relationship.

The actor & the writer: Absence of father
The chef & the attendant: Absence of mother
The musician & the PD: Absence of normal physicality (= disability)

     The second absence on the list actually belongs to none of them. It functions too histrionically to combine all characters. For that pitiful reason, the chef inevitably became a pretentious man to find the lost child. Among the three couples, the worst is the third one since the filmmaker fetishizes the musician's physical disability. Indeed, his disability is not truly understood by the PD but rather functions as an archetypal point that enables her to possess him. Eventually, the two reconcile at an airport but what she really cherishes turns out to be his facial appearance: "I forgive you because you are handsome". This is a pathetic commodification of disability, not an insightful consideration of condition of love.

     As a result, remained are close up shots of top stars and excessive emphases on product placements (PPL). Of course, it is a reasonable formula to present such close ups to let the film pay itself because CJ is the distributor, and it casted both Korean wave stars like Yoo Ah-in and other domestic stars. I have no idea if the director was too preoccupied to that formula or abandoned control over the production due to overwhelming intervention by CJ. Nevertheless, he blurred most of backgrounds by exaggerated use of soft focus. Ironically, such blurring was not completely bad because there was no trace of human living in those nascent locations. Those were rather like model houses for apartment promotion. Anyway, due to the excessive blurring, I thought that I was seeing rear projection scene that was loved by classical Hollywood filmmakers during the golden age. I praise the director's courage to revere the classical maestros in 21st century.

     At the same time, I was surprised that the focus did never miss any product placement. In this sense, it was the most hilarious moment when the writer quit her job after leaving a text: "Stop being distracted by PPL and focus on the quality of your work." Maybe it could be the director's sarcastic self-reflexive representation.

     Were the players' performances exceptional? So-so (but not all of them). However, all of them
merely exhausted their pre-existed image.

     I was embarrassed when some audiences left during the screening. However, some others were actively responding to the film panting and mourning, so I thought this film at least succeeded to satisfied a certain pool of spectators. I appreciate AMC Empire enormously for screening such film gently.




Monday, February 22, 2016

Marco Polo: Season 1 (2014)


Director: David Petrarca, et al.

Writers: John Fusco, et al.

Production Co.: Electus, Weinstein company

Distributor: Netflix

Starring: Benedict Wong, Olivia Cheng, Lorenzo Richelmy, Claudia Kim


   In this international era, there will be no better subject to deal with a westerner's adventure in Asia than Marco Polo. Some say that his travelogue was not real but merely a transcription of exotic fables. But let's forget about the historical righteousness. What we want to see is the splendor of the great empire through a merchant's eyes. Since he was not a invader, there's almost (but not completely) nothing to stop this drama to penetrate Asian markets.

   It is interesting to see a western character kowtow in front of a Mongolian King (Khan or Khagan) because it generates a subversive relationship between the west and the east. However, west-centric point of view is still observable. And it should be observable because it is basically an American TV drama. However his status is humble and circumstance severe, he is specially cared by Kublai Khan, investigates the hidden conspiracies around the throne, and frequently encounters romance wherever he goes. This is possible because he is an accepted surrogate of the spectator. This is manifested by a number of exotic, erotic, or luxurious sequences strengthened by the Khagan's quotes in the end of the very first episode: "A man who proves his loyalty to me can take whatever he wishes. You may not [...] Look, but do not touch." (emphasis added)

   However, the drama does not represent outmoded oriental voyeurism. Frequent representation of naked female body hints commodification of femininity. That commodification being said, it includes a broad range of activities such as prostitution, sexual servitude, negotiation, and espionage. Due to the commodification, a number of main female characters present their fragmented psychology. For example, Episode 6 starts with a flashback revealing how a female servant pretended to be her mistress, Princess Kokachin after her suicide. After opening credit sequence, the main episode shows her being adorned by her guardian. Her image is reflected on a mirror, but due to its crude surface, her reflection is inevitably distorted. This visually represents her ambivalent state. Though she is well treated by the Mongolian monarchy thanks to her noble blood, she is basically captured as a hostage. Whereas she socializes to adjust in the noble Mongolian society, she conspires to avenge her late mistress. Such immobility of her reinforces her relationship with Marco Polo. Laura Mulvey argued in her essay "Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema", in accordance with phallocentric psychoanalysis, "woman symbolizes her castration threat by her real absence of penis" so that "she raises her child into the symbolic"(712). Since she cannot transcend from her castrated status, she turns her child as her surrogate to fulfill her desire indirectly. Likewise, Kokachin's immobility is contrasted to Polo's mobility. Although they don't have intimate relationship yet, her gaze to Polo seems to contain jealousy and admiration.

   In a larger point of view, the narrative structure is fragmented as well. The narration of the drama is not solely focalized on characters in Mongolian Empire. The narration mingles around Polo, Mongolians, Chinese, and even Muslims (Kublai's ministers). It can be possibly perceived as being dispersed but in a positive point of view, this is a fairly progressive effort to shed light on figures who were overlooked in the great tide of history.

   On top of that, what is most significant is the linguistic incorporation of ethnicities and talents. The main players are Native Chinese or Chinese-westerner. Benedict Wong (Kublai Khan) is a Chinese-British, Olivia Cheng (Mei Lin) is a Chinese-American, Zhu Zhu (Kokachin) is a native Chinese. Two performers from other ethnic group were encompassed in this huge entity of "Mongolian" (Rick Yune (Kaidu) is a Korean-American and Claudia Kim (Khutulun) is a Korean). Chin Han, who played a poor capitalist in The Dark Knight, reconfigures a conventionally blamed feckless general-politician to a vicious and mindless but cunning chancellor Jia Sidao. However, this conflation of talents is not the central issue. What is more crucial is the rearrangement of the Eastern world in English. For example, there is a Mongolian character, who is supposed to be called "Bayan" in the native sense, is actually named as "One Hundred Eyes". (This is too silly. It is like translating Thomas Jefferson as "One of the twelve disciples who is son of Jeffer".) Not only their name but also metrics are readjusted in English criteria. In the middle of Episode 6, as Polo makes inaccurate shots, One Hundred Eyes says: "Untrue by a inch, untrue by a mile." I believe this reconfiguration represents Netflix's, or in a larger viewpoint, Hollywood's confidence of its cultural clout. In other words, it swaggers its ability to incorporate and reorganized what has been foreign to it. To be honest, this intimidates me because it hints a stealth inauguration of cultural power game between two big brothers. I have no idea if any of Chinese entertainment products showed such broad inclusion of foreign culture. There were several instances in which some Western characters aids or resists the hero but they were too trivial. Consequently, this drama makes me expect China's next move.

Work cited: Mulvey, Laura. "Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema" in Film Theory & Criticism. Ed. Leo Baudry and Marshall Cohen, Oxford University Press: New York, 2009. 711-722.

Friday, February 19, 2016

A.K. (1985)


Director: Chris Marker

Writer: Chris Marker

Production: Greenwich Film Productions, Herald Ace, Nippon Herald Films


     This is a visual commentary on Kurosawa Akira. Not about a specific work of him nor his general methodology of filmmaking but about his uniqueness as an auteur. Chris Marker follows the trajectory of production of Ran, Kurosawa's film in 1985. He does not begin his documentary on the first day of production. Nor does he conclude it at the end of the production. He only focuses on a few days during which Kurosawa shot spectacle scenes, which might have been the harshest part, in Mount Fuji. 

     What Marker really cares is several categories through which we can define Kurosawa's world. And ultimately, they reveal Kurosawa's personal ideas such as his preference of horses, perfection, wisdom, meticulousness. Several things in the film reminded me of certain "fantasies" of the film director. Kurosawa is depicted as a mobile artist. He relentlessly wanders around the set, talks directly with both main players and extras, cares his crew's welfare. I called this "fantasy" because, I feel, nowadays film directors are fixed in front of their monitor. Thanks to walkie-talkie, the film director can order his players on his chair. A director who moves to communicate with his crew is possibly considered inefficient or amateur. On the other hand, Kurosawa's work looks slow, labor-intensified as this documentary is. From this, I could feel confidence. Also his obsession to perfection. Thus this documentary did not need to comprehend the entire procedure of filmmaking. Because such confidence easily comes from a master's daily practice. To wrap up, in this sense, this documentary is, for me, nostalgic.