The year 1996 is often considered important for Korean cinema, and has even been described as the beginning of a second, post-political phase of the Korean New Wave. Starting in 1988, Korean auteurs such as Park Kwang-su, Jang Sun-woo and others began what has become known as the New Korean Cinema. Taking advantage of the democratization of the country, many directors began to confront Korean society and history from a critical, left-wing perspective that had been previously repressed and kept underground by the military dictatorships of the last decades. But by 1996, much of the revolutionary spirit of the 1980s had waned, and Korean society began a much less politically committed phase that really continues until today. In this situation, a director like Hong Sang-soo seemed the perfect fit. Instead of dealing with overt politics, his films always deal on a very micro level, detailing the everyday lives of his characters, especially their sexuality and relationships. This new type of realism has been embraced by film critics both within Korea and internationally, despite the fact that Hong has never had a great deal of success at the box office. Starting his career in 1996, Hong has been perhaps the most important Korean filmmaker of the last decade. I first saw Hong’s debut feature, THE DAY A PIG FELL IN THE WELL, about a year and a half ago. It was my first exposure to Hong’s work, and I left feeling intrigued but not overwhelmed. Since that time, I have seen all of his films, which now includes nine features as well as a recent short. More than most filmmakers, the more of his films you see, the better appreciation you have. I have a hard time deciding which is my favorite or even which is my least favorite, because his films are so consistent. Going back to re-watch his first film, it is striking that, although it is very much a Hong Sang-soo movie, it has many differences from his later films. In fact, I would argue that it is the most unusual of his films in comparison. The story is split into four sections, each focusing on a different character and how they are all interconnected. The film begins with Hyo-sop, a writer, moves on to Tong-u, a businessman, and then focuses on Min-jae, who is Hyo-sop’s lover, and then Pyo-kyong, who is both Hyo-sop’s lover and Tong-u’s wife. Coming after the huge popularity of Quentin Tarantino’s PULP FICTION in 1994, THE DAY A PIG FELL IN THE WELL fits into a whole mini-genre that explored non-linear storytelling featuring overlapping characters and worlds. Perhaps to get away from this trend, Hong would move into just split narratives involving two characters and would eventually remove the non-linearity from his films completely. Because of this, THE DAY A PIG FELL IN THE WELL (whose title refers to a expression meaning a day in which everything goes wrong) is much more part of a movement within world filmmaking instead of being as uniquely an auteur film as his later works.

This also explains its role as a transition from political to post-political. Although it focuses on the characters and their relationships, there is a wider view of Korean society on display in this story. Much more than Hong’s later films, one can view his first film (which, tellingly,  he co-wrote his four other writers from an original story by Koo Hyo-seo, unlike the original screenplays of his other films) as a portrait not just of these characters, but of the alienation of modern society and even as a social critique of the role of class. This extends to the differences in style as well. At many points, there is a modernist, discordant music, which plays over the opening credits and at other moments to punctuate the feeling of un-ease and dread. This type of obvious musical underpinning is uncharacteristic of Hong, but it is perfectly suited to the tale being told, which is itself more melodramatic and sensational than his other stories. By the end of the film, there is an eruption of horrible violence, committed by a socially marginal and frustrated working class male character. Again, this is the type of event, both in terms of spectacle (although we only see the aftermath) and in terms of broader political meaning that would eventually be eliminated from Hong’s films and from much of the New Korean Cinema as well.

And it is not just music that is more stylistically conventional. There are not as many long take sequences here as in his later films, which generally average at least one minute per shot. Here, there is an average shot length of 24 seconds. This is partly because there is a lot more plot to this film, and thus a need to cut between sequences and give many more scenes than usual. But Hong is also using editing to break down a sequence and provide a commentary on the action and characters. For example, below is a very typical Hong two shot:

But instead of holding on this shot, as would become the norm with Hong, he instead inserts a close-up of the female character grabbing the book manuscript.

Following this, there is then a cut to an over-the-shoulder composition from behind the male character, the type of classical construction and sequence breakdown that Hong would later avoid.

We even get more conventional action sequences filmed with a handheld camera:

This is not to say that this is a conventional film overall. Clearly, it is not, and like most overlapping narratives, it requires some patience to understand the connections. And Hong does not make these connections obvious on first viewing, and one needs to be attentive as a viewer to understand the world presented. But it is a film that provides some directorial guidance to the emotions being conveyed, as is fitting for the broader story that is also guiding us through contemporary Korean society and its modern alienation and frustration. This is what makes it such an important text in Korean film history, as it marks both a continuation with the previous New Korean Cinema while also exhibiting some of the traits that would make Hong the dominant post-political auteur. Which is not the same as calling Hong apolitical, as some critics and even Hong himself occassionally claim. If you believe in the old slogan, “the personal is political”, than all of Hong’s films have a great deal to say about Korean society, especially in terms of gender relationships. But it is post-political in that the period of direct activist engagement is no longer at its height.

No related posts.

Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.