“Tale of Cinema” Directed by Hong Sang-soo
Undistributed Of Korea’s major directors, Hong
Sang-soo may be the least marketable. This is a tall order,
considering his relatively tame content contains none of the
extreme sadomasochism ““ a man mutilating himself by
swallowing a line of fishhooks in Kim Ki-duk’s “The
Isle,” another pulling teeth as a form of torture in Park
Chan-wook’s “Oldboy” ““ often associated
with the recent cinema from the country. But whereas such works
have been celebrated for their matching extremity of style, Hong
has never exhibited the flash and progressive approach that lend
others notoriety. His latest, “Tale of Cinema,” is no
different. Throughout his career Hong has, again and again, focused
on the relationships between men and women, as well as the minutiae
of everyday life ““ subject matter which would go down easy
for most audiences, if he weren’t so challenging about it.
Hong specializes in making his audience feel awkward, frequently
depicting static, uncomfortable social situations, and his films
are largely devoid of sentiment and likable characters ““
anything but feel-good movies. This is part of the reason, however,
that they are also so good ““ at his best, he produces the
kind of uncompromising, careful observation reminiscent of some of
the French New Wave. Both 2004 and 2005, in fact, saw him placing
in the top three in the “Best Undistributed Film”
category of the Village Voice Film Critics’ Poll, a testament
to both his artistry and his lack of broad appeal. As expected,
“Tale of Cinema” returns to the same kind of content,
themes and tone as Hong’s other works, patiently following
the crossing paths of men and women in modern-day Seoul. What is
unexpected about the film, and what keeps Hong from getting
tiresome, is its formal inventiveness. Without giving too much
away, a structural twist occurs during the film that flips the
whole thing on its head and forces the viewer to observe it in a
new light. The film opens, innocently enough, with a shot of the
Seoul Tower in Namsan, a landmark analogous to Seattle’s
Space Needle that is more of a tourist attraction than anything
else. It becomes a fitting image, one that pops up several times;
the revelation later that the major characters have never been
there parallels their almost pathetic want of meaning in modern
society. The first crossing of paths is between the confused and
miserable youth Sang-won and his former crush Yong-sil. Just about
all of their interactions are predictably awkward, but that
doesn’t stop the two from beginning a relationship based more
on desperation and loneliness than any kind of love: They meet,
drink, make clumsy attempts to connect through conversation and
have terrible sex in impersonal motel rooms. It’s clear that
neither of them is happy, and soon enough the two enter a suicide
pact, but then fail to successfully kill themselves after
purposefully overdosing on pills together one night. This first
segment, with its alienated characters and close attention to
detail, starts to display all the markings of a typical Hong film,
when he pulls the rug out from underneath the whole affair. Hong
accomplishes this without immediately indicating it to the
audience; before one knows it, things have shifted dramatically.
It’s a neat little trick bearing thematic ramifications that
affect the meaning of everything before and after. “Tale of
Cinema” is also more self-reflexive than Hong’s other
films, working on a metacinematic level as a commentary about the
relationship between art and life ““ its characters go to
plays and movies, and the liberal use of zoom throughout the film
breaks from the realism cultivated by the naturalistic acting and
dialogue. The film, ultimately, does contain the faintest glimmer
of hope for its characters, and the score is for the most part
light and buoyant. Still, despite its merits, many will find this
film difficult to love due to the aforementioned manner in which
Hong distances the audience. His male protagonists are
self-centered and morally deplorable, while the females are
difficult to identify with. Strong emotional attachment to the
narrative is discouraged, as is any sense of closure. It’s
refreshing when a filmmaker refuses to tell his audience how to
feel. “˜Tale of Cinema” observes the interactions of its
characters without judgment or emotional manipulation, inviting the
viewer to take away one’s own interpretations. Unfortunately,
it’s the kind of thing most would rather not see.
““ Alfred Lee