A beginner’s guide to the films of Lee Chang-dong | Little White Lies

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A beginner’s guide to the films of Lee Chang-dong

31 Jan 2019

Woman holding a peach in her hands, examining it closely.
Woman holding a peach in her hands, examining it closely.
To cel­e­brate the release of Burn­ing, we sur­vey the South Kore­an writer/director’s ear­li­er work.

A cel­e­brat­ed aca­d­e­m­ic and nov­el­ist pri­or to his direct­ing career, Lee Chang-dong came to film­mak­ing rel­a­tive­ly late in life, mak­ing his first fea­ture in his for­ties. What unites all of his films is their exten­sive por­traits of char­ac­ters often at the mer­cy of cir­cum­stances beyond their con­trol, be they soci­etal and his­tor­i­cal devel­op­ments in his native South Korea, debil­i­tat­ing ill­ness­es, or some omnipresent force that seems out to get them. As evi­denced in his bril­liant lat­est, Burn­ing, Lee is unafraid to con­front the ugli­ness of human nature. To cel­e­brate the film’s release, we’ve put togeth­er a handy primer of his pre­vi­ous direc­to­r­i­al efforts.

Although his con­fi­dent gang­ster movie debut leans heav­i­ly on famil­iar genre beats, Green Fish sees Lee con­cen­trate on notions of fam­i­ly and his lead’s errat­ic men­tal nego­ti­a­tions more than explo­sions of vio­lence. Rather than being lured by greed, lead Mak­dong (Han Suk-kyu), a naïve young man des­per­ate for patri­ar­chal accep­tance, finds his way into a life of crime after manda­to­ry mil­i­tary ser­vice leads to no prospects upon his return home. Things inevitably go awry, but the exact nature of the film’s final gut-punch sequence comes as a sur­prise; the first exam­ple of Lee’s will­ing­ness to toy with view­ers’ emotions.

Lee’s epic sec­ond fea­ture remains his most ambi­tious to date in terms of sto­ry­telling scope. Open­ing with a man’s sui­cide on a rail­way bridge, the film jumps back in time across 20 years, show­ing what brought Yong-ho (Sol Kyung-gu) to this point of des­per­a­tion. Chart­ing in reverse his devel­op­ment from ide­al­is­tic stu­dent to mil­i­tary ser­vice to bru­tal police offi­cer to abu­sive mar­ried busi­ness­man, Lee doesn’t seek to redeem Yong-ho or explain away his per­son­al respon­si­bil­i­ty in some of his destruc­tion, but instead demon­strate how exter­nal forces in South Korea’s his­to­ry – includ­ing the mas­sacre in the Gwangju Upris­ing of 1980 – play their part in the grad­ual cor­rup­tion of cit­i­zens. A raw work that’s like div­ing into a fes­ter­ing wound. In a good way.

It’s rare to find a film where almost no scene plays out like you’re expect­ing it to, but such is the case with Oasis, in which Lee skates fear­less­ly between sen­ti­men­tal human­ism and provo­ca­tion. Hong Jong-du (Sol Kyung-gu again), an irre­spon­si­ble young man with a sug­gest­ed though nev­er clar­i­fied men­tal ill­ness, attempts to vis­it the wid­ow of the man he killed drunk-div­ing, only to meet her daugh­ter, Han Gong-ju (Moon So-Ri in a Venice prize-win­ning per­for­mance), who has cere­bral palsy.

This is arguably Lee’s most chal­leng­ing work as he doesn’t sani­tise uncom­fort­able ele­ments of the love sto­ry, and the emo­tion­al highs have dark under­tones. That said, it’s pos­si­bly the hard­est of his films to shake off, and with flour­ish­es of mag­i­cal real­ism – Han Gong-ju seems to imag­ine her­self with­out her dis­or­ders; Moon switch­ing gears in the same sus­tained shot – it’s also a styl­is­tic out­lier in Lee’s career.

As with Burn­ing and Haru­ki Muraka­mi, Secret Sun­shine sees Lee adapt an author (Chong-jun Yi) rather than present a screen­play entire­ly of his own cre­ation. The first of two Lee films ful­ly cen­tred on a female pro­tag­o­nist, this har­row­ing melo­dra­ma fol­lows Lee Shin-ae (Jeon Do-yeon, win­ner of Best Actress at Cannes in 2007) as she relo­cates her life to the town where her dead hus­band was born, with her very young son in tow. As she strug­gles to adjust, anoth­er tragedy strikes, send­ing her into an emo­tion­al tail­spin in a saga that probes ques­tions of faith, for­give­ness and rec­on­cil­i­a­tion. Jeon’s wrench­ing per­for­mance has earned deserved com­par­isons to Gena Row­lands in A Woman Under the Influence.

Pre-Burn­ing, this was Lee’s biggest suc­cess in Eng­lish-lan­guage mar­kets, fol­low­ing a 60-some­thing woman (Yun Jeong-hie) cop­ing with ear­ly stages Alzheimer’s dis­ease and the dis­cov­ery of a hor­rif­ic fam­i­ly crime. Beau­ti­ful­ly mea­sured, it’s anoth­er exam­ple of Lee’s skill with bal­anc­ing qui­et indig­na­tion at soci­etal injus­tices along­side a ten­der, nuanced char­ac­ter study.

Burn­ing is released 1 Feb­ru­ary. Read the LWLies Rec­om­mends review.

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