Korean Studies Internet Discussion List
KOREAN STUDIES REVIEW
Im Kwon-Taek: The Making of a Korean National Cinema, edited by David E. James and Kyung Hyun Kim. Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 2002. 294 pages
(ISBN 0-8143-2868-7, paper).reviewed by Roald H. Maliangkay
Leiden University[This review first appeared in Acta Koreana, 6.2 (July 2003): 171-176. Acta Koreana is published by Academia Koreana of Keimyung University.]
Im Kwon-Taek is the personification of South Korea’s post-war cinema. His enormous oeuvre, which spans no less than four decades and includes many controversial films, bears witness to the cultural nationalism, anti-communism and capitalism promoted by his government, as well as that of the populist minjung ideology that first surged in the seventies. Although Im’s films are generally regarded as nationalist and humanist, they never allow only one solution to the endless struggles of his protagonists. The questions as to what are the director’s personal ideological convictions and what are merely expressions of his life experiences underlie many of the issues raised in David E. James and Kyung Hyun Kim’s Im Kwon-Taek: The Making of a Korean National Cinema. Although the editors wrongly claim that it is the first academic book on Korean film in English (p. 9), it certainly is the first single volume in English that is entirely dedicated to the work of a single Korean director. It consists of no less than nine articles that look into the ideas behind Im’s films and shed light on the unique position of the director in Korean cinema. Besides these, it includes an interview with the director himself, a filmography, a handy list of important political and cultural events (1876–2000), a short but useful three-page bibliography of secondary sources on Korean film in English, and an index. Throughout the book, a large number of sharp black-and-white pictures help to bring back to mind many of the scenes discussed.
In his Preface, contributing editor James briefly explains how the volume has come about and summarises the role Im has played in the history of South Korean cinema. We learn that some six years have passed since the initial writing and the publication of the volume (p. 9), which helps to explain the somewhat outdated statements made regarding the present situation (see pp. 14–16, 25, 134 and 137), in which Korean films frequently top the box office list. What remains somewhat incomprehensible, however, is James’s characterisation of the high-tech action film Shiri (1999) as an “intricately constructed thriller” and as one that “advances newly generous attitudes to the North” (p. 15), but then there is no accounting for taste.
In the first chapter, ‘Korean Cinema and Im Kwon-Taek: An Overview’ (pp. 19–46) co-editor Kim recounts Im’s role in the history of Korean cinema. Apart from a rather subjective characterisation of Korea’s national culture, as one that “valued humanity and humility” (p. 22), Kim’s analysis is sharp and objective. He relates the importance of Im’s family background, the grim working environments under the military dictatorships and the significance of international film festivals, and describes how Im’s star continued to rise in spite of the working conditions. The narrative, regrettably, does not always flow smoothly. When on page 27, for example, Kim writes that the Fourth Amendment of the Motion Picture Law in 1973 “never really intended to defend national cinema”, he contradicts a claim that is not stated or suggested earlier in the text. In a similar case, on page 31, he says with regard to the 1980s that Im unlike other directors was able to benefit from the hugely restrictive working conditions, but fails to tie this into a virtually identical claim regarding Im’s work from the mid to late 1970s made on page 28.
‘Im Kwon-Taek: Korean National Cinema and Buddhism’ (pp. 47–83), James’s analysis of two of Im’s films on Buddhism, demonstrates the director’s partiality towards the ideology of S ŏ n Buddhism and provides an enticing insight into what makes his work so unique. It explains the dichotomy of a sacred yet socially detached landscape and a disgraced but socially engaging city that often forms a central theme in Im’s work (p. 64). His use of the female body as a metaphor is also discussed. James finds a paradox, for example, in his allegoric use of landscapes and female bodies for either the pre-colonial or ravaged post-colonial Korean nation, or the working classes, in that it may exploit these women visually (p. 58). In the final part of his paper, James explains how the association between sexuality and social service is much less consistent in Mandala (1981) than it is in Come, Come, Come Upward (1989). Rather than by this notion, however, I was more intrigued by the many important passing observations James makes. These include the successful packaging of Asian theatre in films to counter the capitalist dominance of Western cinema (p. 52), the frequently orientalist treatment of Buddhism (p. 69), and Im’s—to my mind highly unfair—depiction of Korea’s participation in the Vietnam War as “forced” (p. 72).
Eunsu Cho’s ‘The Female Body and Enunciation in Adada and Surrogate Mother’ (pp. 84–106) further explores Im’s allegoric use of women, this time in two films he made in 1988 and 1986 respectively. In these films, the women are mute; their inner suffering, or han , is implied and visualised, but not articulated. Instead, the viewer is treated to beautiful women positioned in aesthetic settings. Like James, Cho finds that the abuse of women in these films, while primarily intended as a catalyst for nationalist sentiments, rather contradictorily also serves to placate “primitive passions” (p. 91). She shows how the women reject the failing diction of patriarchal ideology and try to speak out in a language of their own. Although Cho’s overall analysis is thorough, I found that in the reading of scenes too little was left to chance. Interpretations of what may or may not have been conscious decisions on Im’s part were too often given as fact, without properly documenting Im’s own comments. The result is an academic treatise on works of art that ignores their creator. One of the interpretations, for example, that I strongly felt was insufficiently substantiated was the idea that in Surrogate Mother the parallel between the jolly transvestites in the mask dance and the protagonist giving birth suggests an empathy for the woman’s agony (p. 101).
In ‘The Politics of Gender, Aestheticism, and Cultural Nationalism in Sopyonje and The Genealogy’ (pp. 107–132) Chungmoo Choi examines the role played by colonialism, cultural imperialism, nostalgia, and cultural nationalism in two of Im’s films, made in 1993 and 1978 respectively. Rather than isolating the films from their creator and target audience, Choi looks closely into how the films reflect the social and political conditions of the years in which they were made. The main strength of this detailed study lies in Choi’s analysis of how the use of, for example, a particular gendering or an aesthetic, virgin landscape in the two films often supports a counter-hegemonic—yet curiously also at times hegemonic—imagery. Yet in dealing with specific scenes, Choi unfortunately also presents unevaluated interpretations as evidence. Although swayed by her hypotheses regarding the sexual tension between father and stepson, and in particular regarding the class distinction between father and daughter that is created by the scene of the former attending an elite activity, I cannot agree with her rather hurried comparison of the reunion between the two siblings at the end of Sopyonje with the return of the revolutionary son in North Korean films, nor with her near-patriarchal view that the daughter’s quiet reception of her father’s awful violence is intended as “a form of silent resistance that enables her to keep the flame of her love alive” (p. 121).
Cho Hae Joang’s ‘Sopyonje : Its Cultural and Historical Meaning’ (pp. 134–156) once more recounts the success of Sopyonje, this time focusing on the general public and the orientalist eyes with which many have seen the film. In what is arguably the only exclusively anthropological study in this collection, Cho looks into the mostly nationalist explanations for the film’s importance given by people from all generations. Using the words of both students and art critics, she points out the pitfalls of the retrogressive nationalism of han and the idea that the glory of indigenous traditions can overthrow cultural imperialism. Interestingly, Cho’s exciting study also demonstrates that the film’s success is very much that of pop culture. Citing essayist Yi Y ŏ ngmi, who finds that the younger generations certainly did not all appreciate the film for its nationalist importance, but simply because they liked the soundtrack (p. 144), Cho adds that some of her students even found the characters in the film “strange and mysterious” (p. 145). It shows that certainly not all Koreans enjoyed the film as much as the attention the film has received suggests.
As a perfect addition to Cho’s concerns over Sopyonje’s blind traditionalism and the mixed reactions it brought from its domestic audiences, Julian Stringer looks at the reasons behind the film’s failure to attract foreign audiences. In his ‘Sopyonje and the Inner Domain of National Culture’ (pp. 157–181) he argues in favour of the use of tradition and history to counter the hegemony of Western cinema, but notes that it may well be something that occurs within the framework of exoticism and orientalism (p. 159). Stringer explains how the sudden replacement of the actual sound of the brother and sister performing p’ansori with mood music in the climactic end scene of the film implied an “inner”—spiritual—nationalism, which many non-Koreans failed to respond to. Im’s film, he notes, poses a paradox in that it causes cultural reconstruction or “objectification” (p. 172), in other words, the invention of tradition for the purpose of increasing its appeal to modern society.
In ‘ Fly High, Run Far: Kaebyŏk and Tonghak Ideology’ (pp. 182–196) Yi Hyoin argues that Im’s films demonstrate that Im, whom he associates with a “weather vane” (p. 182), has not been the socio-political conscience he could have been. He explains why the socially disassociated, primarily ideological value assigned to the populist Tonghak ideology in Fly High, Run Far: Kaebyŏk (1991) evoked mixed reactions from leftists when the film was first publicly screened, in spite of, or perhaps due to the paradoxical portrayal of the Tonghak leader as a loser. Yi shows that Im, whom he quotes as saying that “ideology should not claim the lives of people”, eschews the solution of a violent antithesis in several of his films. He argues that this may be related to the struggles of his own family around the time of the Korean War and, in the case of Fly High, Run Far: Kaebyŏk, the numerous political upheavals in the world around the time the film was made (p. 188).
A welcome contrast with the studies of feminine allegories in Im’s narratives forms Kyung Hyun Kim’s ‘Is This How the War is Remembered?: Deceptive Sex and the Re-masculinized Nation in The Taebaek Mountains’ (pp. 197–222). In this study, which focuses on the sexual victimisation of male protagonists and takes Im’s 1994 film as its prime example, Kim analyses why and how this victimisation signals the need for patriarchal authority. He shows that in this epic story of the Korean War, Im once again leaves out any simplistic depiction of war violence, but instead focuses on social tensions and political violence among the local population in the south. Kim argues that, in the absence of patriarchal order, debasing sexual acts and sadistic violence, while confirming a lost masculinity, constitute—failed—attempts to transgress social predispositions. It clearly reflects Im’s view on ideology in conflict: the progression of the Korean nation cannot be achieved through destructive conflict but must be sought through liberal democracy and humanism (p. 216). Some may regard such a viewpoint as disassociated and unreasonable in view of the violent injustice suffered in the past, but it may also be, Kim notes, why Im’s films continue to reverberate.
Han Ju Kwak’s ‘In Defense of Continuity: Discourses on Tradition and the Mother in Festival’ (pp. 223–246) relates how Im’s 1996 film underscores the reunifying power of tradition. It is the story of a family that comes together to carry out the burial rituals for the deceased grandmother. Due to the confrontations and compromises their collaboration entails, many interpersonal conflicts are resolved. The narrative implies that a synthesis between 1990s modernity and tradition is possible, but that it is the meaning of the traditions that count, not their ruthless execution (p. 229). Through a comparison with Juzo Itami’s 1984 film The Funeral and Louis Malle’s 1989 May Fools , Kwak shows that in contrast to these respective films Festival advocates the value of living traditions in modern times and the importance of the family over the individual. The most notable aspect of the film, subsequently, lies in the documentary-like depiction of rites and the use of explanatory subtitles, undoubtedly as a means to educate younger generations of Koreans as well as foreigners about the social meaning of the ceremonial (pp. 227–228).
In the interview that concludes the book (pp. 247–265), Im explains how his life experiences have led him to choose mostly historical topics for his films and how many of his protagonists are influenced by people he knew in his own life. He talks about his inspirations and the messages he hoped his films would project, and his desire to counter American cinema. To allow Im the final say in this way almost perfects a wonderful project. Although some may find the overall writing somewhat turgid, this collection offers a wealth of novel insights and observations regarding Korean cinema, uses a high standard of English, and has a simple but effective layout. Moreover, it never tries to be a general guide to Korean films, and remains focused on Im’s work throughout. What puzzles me, however, is why the romanisation was left completely unattended, especially when one considers that it has taken so many years for this work to be published. The number of inconsistencies I stumbled over is enormous. Considering this is one of the first works on Korean film in English this enormous flaw, which renders many Korean names and references unreliable, downgrades the quality of the collection in its entirety. Because of this, and because of the outdated comments made regarding the current status of films in Korea, I somewhat hesitate to recommend this book to anyone unable or unwilling to verify the Korean terms in this collection, or to anyone primarily interested in what is going on in Korean cinema today. This collection is a rich source of ideas on the work of Korea’s most talked-about director, and I am sure that in that respect not only fans of his work but also those involved in world cinema or Korean cultural studies will certainly find it a very useful resource.
Citation:
Maliangkay, Roald H. 2006
Review of Im Kwon-Taek: The Making of a Korean National Cinema, edited by David E. James and Kyung Hyun Kim (2002)
Korean Studies Review 2006, no. 07
Electronic file: http://koreaweb.ws/ks/ksr/ksr06-07.htm