5 ESSENTIAL SCENES (FROM 5 FAVORITE FILMS)

Following are some of the most important scenes from the most important films in East Asian cinema. These scenes have, in some cases, single-handedly had their influences on the cinematic language. Some establish a style or technique, others have simply become responsible for helping to cement their filmmaker's name into history. Famous or not, these scenes have left their mark on the medium and the millions of viewers that have witnessed them. As a filmmaker, a few of them in particular are some of the most beautiful and inspiring I've ever seen. Enjoy

1. JOURNEY TO THE WEST




I'm starting off with a scene from one of the first Asian films I was ever exposed to, Miyazaki's Princess Mononoke. A fan favorite, Mononoke is up there with Spirited Away in terms of the filmmaker's signature works. In this more mature film, Miyazaki took advantage of exploring more mature themes and showed audiences that he was capable of crafting a moving, beautiful story geared toward adults. Mononoke is stunning in its animation, and in this pivotal scene near the film's beginning, Miyazaki seems to boast the lengths of his talent and shows us the sheer depth of the capabilities that he possesses. From an animation standpoint, this is one of the most important scenes in the master's illustrious career. Up to this point, the viewer had been introduced to some typical feudal Japanese villagers and a somewhat overblown, giant black pig demon. The film feels somewhat typical of Japanese anime up to this point. But it is in this scene, "Journey to the West", that Miyazaki's film begins to break away from the rest. Hisaishi's score, one of the best in cinematic history (in my opinion) gives the scene a certain weight that helps us understand and empathize with Ashitaka. Every shot is calculated. The sweeping vastness of the landscapes down to the detailed glimmering of the water. Mononoke is not exactly a recent film, released in 1997. Techniques in computer and hand-drawn animation have advanced since then, yet we are still able to watch this film and be amazed. This scene proves why Princess Mononoke is a pivotal milestone in modern animation.

2. FAREWELL




Ang Lee moved millions with the neutral ending of his masterpiece Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, leaving many in wonder and others in tears. What he did with this scene was to help establish a new strategy of conclusion, in other words, trailblazing a very new way of ending a film. American audiences had seldom been exposed to this type of ending, where what happened is not completely drawn out for them. Yet, with this lack of concrete evidence (if you will) came this incredible feeling of satisfaction. We don't exactly know what happened to Shiao Long; she could have died, or the story of the old man could have been true. But the tie-in, the bring-around of that story at the films end, is so satisfying that it almost seems to not matter. This is an ending where the viewer itself is meant to make the final decision, and I believe it tells a lot about a person in terms of how they interpret this ending. Setting the element of the unknown aside, the scene is visually stunning, and the classical fluidity as well as the subtle crossfades conclude the film perfectly. With the slow, soothing tunes of Tan Dun and Yo Yo Ma, the viewer almost floats along with Shiao Long into the unknown. It is an incredibly moving and influential scene, and helped revive the presence of Asian cinema in the Western side of the world.

3. PAINTERS


This borderline surrealist scene from Takeshi Kitano's Hana-bi is one of the key elements that helped to establish him as Japan's modern auteur and the heir to Akira Kurosawa. The scene captures Kitano's motives and his mindset outstandingly, taking time to dwell on mysterious, thought-provoking visuals, drawing parallels of extremes between characters, and really (abruptly) diving deep into the mind of his viewer, all with the comfort of a moving Hisaishi score. The scene and the film are very personal to Kitano, documenting fictionally a period in his own life where suicide and painting were prevalent thoughts. This scene may seem confusing by itself, but it is absolutely pivotal to the film's significance, commencing the symbolism between so many of the films motifs, like flowers, gunshots, and the human eye. The scene has an immense presence of experimental ideals, and its the alienating sense that this montage provokes that houses the film's true meaning. I think of it as the heart of the film, and the origin of its many layers of meaning. Mesmerizing scene.

4. FALL OF THE POPCORN




Likewise, this scene from Korean blockbuster Welcome to Dongmakgol is the center of the film's narrative significance. On the outside, the film is just a typical war comedy with a varying tonal color and many moving moments. It's Korean New Wave melodrama at its best. But underneath lies so much subliminal meaning, and in a country where critiquing the tyrant to their north is so dangerous, it's easy to understand why the message is so subtle. It's a lot that I won't get into, but more or less what happens in the scene is a direct result of the mindless violence butting heads with the innocent denial. A grenade, a symbol of the murder and violence that these warring men impose upon the innocent town of Dongmakgol, explodes inside the town's food supply shed. But while this is a true travesty for the villagers, the ordeal just becomes another instance of curious beauty as the popped corn float down upon the village like snow. Instead of crying, they dance and laugh and grasp the moment, and the warring soldiers are lulled to sleep. This ceasing of unnecessary violence, this realization of the beauty surrounding you seems to be a motive that countless Korean films take on, and is noble enough to be called the alternative for what the situation in Korea should be like today. The scene says a great deal about war and the division of brothers, and it turns a new page within the film (afterward the North and South soldiers begin to respect each other. And with a moving Hisaishi score, you can't go wrong. Very moving scene.

5. THE SIXTH STATION




I saved the best for last... This is my favorite scene in cinematic history, bar none. It has influenced and moved me in ways that I cannot verbally express. It is one of, if not the most renowned scene Miyazaki has ever produced. It is one of the most important scenes in the history of animation, simply from a narrative perspective. If I can use one word to help me describe this scene, it would, again, have to be depth. Here we are, absolutely engrossed in this eerily beautiful world that Miyazaki has created for us, consisting solely of the bathhouse and its grounds. Despite the immense size of this building, and the variety of situations that Chihiro encounters inside of it, there is a certain sense of claustrophobia that is created. We feel stuck here with her, with nowhere to run. But then she gets on this train that seems to float on water and an entire world is revealed to us. The amount of elements in this scene that make is so fantastic is uncanny. Every shot reveals a story that could be told. We see villages in the distance, bright neon signs that suggest a city. Miyazaki just slightly hints at the existence of these things, and we do all we can to pounce on them. But the train keeps going, and these beautiful landscapes and locales that we see appear suddenly disappear, never to be seen again. Miyazaki could make entire films based on the ideas represented in this scene, alone. A sense of maturity wafts in and the tone becomes so contemplative and reflective as Joe Hisaishi's absolutely intoxicating melody pushes the train softly on. The floating village. The house on the island. The little girl at the train station. Who are these people? What's happened to them? Who lives there? These are all burning questions, ones we need to be answered. But they never are. It's truly a rollercoaster of emotions watching the stunning movement of this scene unfold. I have never been engrossed by anything so much in my life. This scene has changed my life, I can honestly say it... It seems to mean something different for everyone. To me, this is Miyazaki's imagining of the afterlife, of the new life we live in after this one has passed. It is quiet, and it is beautiful. These floating paradises and endless seas seem to beckon to the viewers. Miyazaki has created a sequence of images that truly transport us. The vastness of this spirit world is shown to us, but only in brief glimpses. It's a place I wish I could revisit again, perhaps maybe one day, in a dream. This is Miyazaki's most accomplished scene, and holds an unfathomable amount of untapped potential and significance. Crossing my fingers he revisits it...

BAD GUY (나쁜 남자)

Directed by: Kim Ki-duk
Country of origin: South Korea
Starring: Cho Jae-hyun, Seo Won


As a pair, I decided to pop in the lesser known Bad Guy to complete my Kim Ki-duk double feature. The film, like all of Kim's works, is very explicit in the portrayal of its themes of and contexts. It chronicles a young college girl who is imprisoned into prostitution by this creepy, stone-faced mute. As the horrors of her new life unveil, the man (who works as some sort of bouncer for the brothel) grows protective of her. He is instantly shown as attracted to her from the beginning, when he sexually assaults her in the middle of a square in bustling Seoul. He then begins to watch her through a hidden vantage point while her "customers" have their way with her, frequently fighting off her frantic screams. The scene in which the girl loses her virginity is particularly relentless, and the camera lingers on the act, perhaps for too long. After that, the job seems to sink in, but the relationship between the girl and the "bad guy" only gets more complicated.

I am not a fan of this film. Frankly, both of the times I've watched it, I came out of it saying the same thing, "What a mindless movie." Obviously. director Kim's mission is to portray the odd relationship and sexual tension between the two protagonists. But the lack or\f moral and conscience in his approach really catches you off guard. The whole film is best described as claustrophobic. Everything is dark and slow. There are little signs of kindness or hope. Violence and graphic sexuality are around every corner. These are themes that are not foreign to East Asian cinema, and I am more than used to viewing them. But Bad Guy just did not click with me. In any other film there would be some payoff, some kind of reason that these things are happening. There was nothing of the sort in Bad Guy. Maybe I just flat-out didn't get it, but I don't think I wanted to. The film was alienating, puzzling, and disgusting, all in equal doses. It was hard to get through, and the typical stylized beauty that plays such a big part in Kim Ki-duk's films is missing, replaced with dank, dusky scenes. I can't say I recommend this one.

* / *****

THE ISLE (섬)

Directed by: Kim Ki-duk
Country of origin: Korea
Starring: Seo Jeong, Kim Yu-seok


It seems that, over the past decade or so, Korea has been consistently churning out the best cinema out there. In terms of creative context, technical innovations, and genuine performances, neither Hollywood nor any other industry can seem to match the quality and sheer quantity of great South Korean films. One of the primary figures in their cinematic success has been director Kim Ki-duk, a director and arguable auteur-on-the-rise who has produced some of the most stylized films this side of Wong Kar Wai. One of his art-house favorites The Isle displays the director's ambitions perfectly. The Isle is a simple love story with a pair on strong performances and an intriguing setting. Something that has become Kim's trademark, the visuals are absolutely intoxicating, and will completely engross the viewer. Acting as the art director, Kim Ki-duk had complete control over the aesthetic of his film. The setting and its context, a small placid lake and a half dozen floating huts, are mysterious and gripping in their own subtle ways. Little dialogue and a camera that dwells on the faces of the actors adds to the reserved tone of the film. But at the same time, this reserved sense in The Isle is completely contradicted by numerous instances of explicit sexuality or violence.

While The Isle is a beautiful film, it has also become notorious for its certain anomalies, specifi-cally its non- chalant approach to sexuality and its numerous scenes of animal cruelty (all which, according to Kim, are real). While, in his defense, all of these things do serve a relevant purpose, Kim did take a lot of heat and criticism for these apparently abrupt portrayals. In the film, a frog is stunned and then skinned alive. Fish are shown drowning as the water in their tank winds up missing. A bird is thrown into the lake while still in its cage. In one of the more eerily disturbing scenes, a large fish is caught and filleted alive, then cut loose and left to swim away. Later on, the fish is caught again, still just barely alive. In his own defense, Kim stated, "In America you eat beef, pork, and kill all these animals. And the people who eat these animals are not concerned with their slaughter. Animals are part of this cycle of consumption. It looks more cruel onscreen, but I don't see the difference. And yes, there's a cultural difference, and maybe Americans will have a problem with it - but if they can just be more sensitive to what is acceptable in different countries I'd hope they wouldn't have too many issues with what's shown on-screen." Kim's argument is very admirable, and I fully support the fact that many times American's are very unwilling to accept elements of other cultures. But there's still a little part of me that thinks, in this case, Kim went a little too far. I wasn't offended by the cruelty, per-say, but more disturbed by the actions of the characters and the effect to which those actions interrupted the hypnotic sense of the film. Each of these scenes is in place to draw symbolism between the protagonists and the animals, and this is evident to some extent. But as a whole the cruelty was just downright alienating.

The sexuality and violence represented by the human characters of the film also caught me off guard several times. As men float alone or with a friend in the middle of the lake, isolated from the world in some sense, they could begin to long for the company of a women. Kim seems to love exploring this concept of isolation, and it becomes the base theme of many of his films. Well, in the case of The Isle, all of the patrons are either very lonely or very perverted, and prostitutes (indicatively from some nearby city) are constantly showing up at the lake. Here, Kim includes numerous lines of blatant sexual dialogue and a few explicit sex scenes. Needless to say, he definitely gets his point across. In this case, and especially near the end, it is evident that Kim is using nudity as a vehicle of symbolism (perhaps portraying Seo's lifeless, nude body as a parallel to that of the filleted fish). But the instances that really proved unwatchable for many audiences were those in which the protagonists attempted suicide with fish hooks. After one swallows a cluster of hooks and the other places the same hooks "below the belt", Kim creates a gory scene of pain as gag-inducing visuals flash across the screen. It was reported that, upon seeing these scenes, many people actually walked out or became sick at the Sundance Film Festival. They were indeed hard to watch, and had me cringing. Basically, once again, Kim gets his point across here, but perhaps in a fashion far too explicit. The Isle was definitely quite the experience, even after seeing it a second time. The story is gripping and alienating at the same time, and perhaps its this oxymoronic paradox that Kim Ki-duk is attempting to pull off. While not his best film, The Isle impresses with its deep visuals and intriguing setting, but it's definitely hard to swallow in a few places (... no pun intended!).  

***1/2 / *****

THE MURDERER (황해) Preview + THE CHASER (추격자)

Na Hong-jin's icy debut

Directed by: Na Hong-jin

Country of origin: Korea

Starring: Ha Jung-woo, Kim Yun-seok

Young up and coming filmmaker Na Hong-jin turned a lot of heads with his directorial debut The Chaser, a strikingly dark film, black, even, that tells the story of a Seoul pimp searching for one of his girls whose gone missing. As ordinary as the premise may sound, the film is anything but typical. Tenured Asian film fanatics may recollect that prostitution and the relationships between pimps and their girls are common topics; Kim Ki-duk touches on this with Bad Guy and hints at it with The Isle, and even Akira Kurosawa insinuates such circumstances. But The Chaser is in a class of its own. It's very possibly the darkest film I've ever seen, relying on bold visuals, opaque twists, and gratuitous violence. It blends the darkest forms of suspense with the most disturbed ideologies or violence and action. If Fincher were to remake his opus Se7en in Korea, you might get about two thirds of the movie that Na delivers to us. Ironically enough, the alienating sense of grimy gore and the truly chilling performance of actor Ha Jung-woo actually compel the audience, and make us more and more curious. The twists in the movie aren't mind-blowing. Some of the scenarios may seem familiar with a much more exposed American audience. But the fact is, Na Hong-jin makes those facts obsolete, with The Chaser's solemn story, strong performances, and air-tight direction. I think that, arguably, The Chaser may be one of the most impressive debut-features in modern cinema, simply because director Na did not hold back. When you see a director's first film, often they seem to tread softly, trying to find their footing. But then you have a director like Na who goes all out on his first go around. It was definitely refreshing. To the South Koreans, Na Hong-jin is their next Park Chan-wook. He is a filmmaker who isn't afriad to tell the controversial, bold stories that are constantly thought of as taboo. The future looks bright for Na......

****1/2 / *****

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FB2LPzdxBHM

.... and even more so with his new film. The Murderer looks to adopt the same tone and feel of The Chaser. Even from the trailer one can tell that Na will challenge his audience's conscience with this taut. new thriller, starring Chaser star Kim Yun-seok. Can't wait .

THE GOOD THE BAD AND THE WEIRD (좋은 놈 나쁜 놈 이상한 놈)

Park Do-won, Yoon Tae-goo, and Park Chang-yi

Kim Ji-woon's The Good the Bad the Weird is an action-packed, star-studded blockbuster that may harbor a deeper meaning than its otherwise linear message. Like any American blockbuster, The Good the Bad the Weird is full of long, illustrious action sequences with a good amount of comic relief. In terms of technical structure, The Good the Bad the Weird is nothing different than most big budget, epic Westerns: there's a buried treasure somewhere in the Manchurian desert and three rival criminals all want it. Throw in some bolt-action rifles and the Japanese Imperial army, and you get a very entertaining, meaty action Asian Western film, with tons of gore to go around. Like Stephen Soderberg's Ocean's Eleven, Kim's Western takes three of the most famous actors in the country and puts them together; thus the film was of considerable acclaim among fans. But what sets The Good the Bad the Weird apart from most blockbusters and East Asian films alike is its inclusion of all three of the major Asian languages. The Good the Bad the Weird is very significant to the history and culture of Korea in that it takes place during the 1930's just before the Second Sino-Japanese War. The Japanese army had invaded Manchuria, an area occupied by both the Korean and the Chinese. Throughout the film, language shifts between Japanese, Mandarin, and the primary Korean. This is notable because the film gathers together actors of Chinese, Korean, and Japanese descent, and together they seem to make fun of more serious conflicts of the past that pitted them against each other. But why this is especially significant has to do with the film's title, The Good the Bad the Weird. Sure, it's easy to determine that Park Chang-yi is the "bad", since he's an assassin, and that Park Do-won is the "good" because he's hunting Chang-yi. And I suppose that Yoon Tae-goo would be the "weird", considering that.... he laughs a couple of times in dire situations. But realistically, all of the three characters are bad, because they all murder and steal. And, in a sense, all are good, in that they turn out to be fighting for innocent enough reasons (wealth, justice, etc.) And what's more, all of them could be considered weird. They all have their specific quirks and strange moments. What's more interesting to think about is whether or not the title acts as an analogy of the races in the film. In the eyes of the Korean filmmakers, obviously Korea is the "good", the malicious Japanese army the "bad", and the tribal/opiate Chinese the "weird". It's interesting to consider that this may be a reflection of the Korean view of its neighbors. Looking back, all of the Chinese characters in The Good the Bad the Weird are either strung out on opium, suffer hilarious deaths, or occupy some form of comic relief. The Koreans are always noble and the Japanese always the pugnacious. It may be a stretch, but it does seem to fit! Otherwise, The Good the Bad the Weird is a fairly straight-forward yet thoroughly entertaining movie, an obvious homage to the Clint Eastwood-starred spaghetti-Western classic.

The last standoff

***1/2 / *****

Directed by: Kim Ji-woon

Country of origin: Korea

Starring: Song Kang-ho, Lee Byung-hun, Jung Woo-sung

TREELESS MOUNTAIN (나무없는 산)

Jin and Bin atop their metaphoric treeless mount

Directed by: Kim So Yong
Country of origin: South Korea (2008)
Starring: Kim Hee Yeon, Kim Song Hee, Lee Soo Ah




Acclaimed Korean director Kim So Yong continues her exploration of young female protagonists with her next arthouse poster child Treeless Mountain. Following the the lives of two young sisters who are basically abandoned by their mother (who goes off to look for their estranged father), the film progresses slowly, taking its time to convey the emotional impact it has on the girls. Treeless Mountain almost seems existential in areas; the film has very little dialogue and focuses more on the facial expressions and movements of the young girls. Critics have criticized Kim's second feature film for being too slow, and I do agree that the film seems to sluggishly meander through many areas. The girls do a lot of walking, a lot of staring, and not much conversing. Treeless seems like a minimalist painting, in that Kim took a blank canvas and added only a few strokes of paint. The characters are very ordinary, the cinematography is not elaborate, and in areas the story verges on boring. It feels like a documentary, a day in the life of an average Korean girl, but it seems obvious that director Kim sought to make her audience feel just this. Treeless Mountain is truly an arthouse film, and although it's story is so simplistic, many viewers will not understand the real points Kim is trying to make.

The symbolic piggy bank

Treeless Mountain isn't exactly a feel-good movie. Like several East Asian films that I've seen, in general the children of the film are treated like stray dogs. The majority of adults speak to them in a very irritative tone, often with hateful words. Jin, a six year old girl in kindergarden, is seemingly expected to act like an adult, and when she doesn't handle one of the many responsibilities she has correctly, she is scolded. "Big Aunt" and even their beloved mother seem to be the biggest perpetrators in general, blaming Jin for the wrong-doings of her little sister and telling them to "shut up" when hungry. Specifically Big Aunt is very hateful towards the girls. She dines in front of them while they were vocally hungry, constantly refers to them as a burden, and even mocks Jin when she wet the bed. Obviously, Kim went out of her way to make Big Aunt seem hateful, but the same element seemed to exist in other characters as well. The mother, while having a couple subtly encouraging lines, spoke to her daughters with a distinct disdain. It was like she could never be pleased, even when Jin brought home a homework sheet that she was given an A+ on. It was never good enough. Even strangers in the street and older students were rude, knocking into one of the girls and telling her to watch out, or refusing to pay more than 10 cents for a bag of grasshoppers. These little things all add up to a somber tone that consumes the lives of the girls and, thus, the film. Perhaps this disregard to the comforting of children is a cultural thing among the Asian culture, but it seems ironic to me, since babies are treasured and doted upon so much. As a result of the constant negativity, I found it very difficult to cheer for Jin and Bin, and just found myself feeling so sorry for them. It was very depressing at points.

Running in search of her mother

 Kim So Yong does intend to introduce some amount of hope at the end of Treeless Mountain, when the girls go to live with their grandmother. The old women treats them so kindly, and the girls truly appear to be happy. The simple life that they begin to live with their grandparents seems to be a relief of stress for Jin and Bin. The girls no longer worry so much about seeing their mother, and the film end with Jin assuring Bin that they'd see her again very soon. The girls show a sign of maturity when they give their grandmother their hard-earned money so that she can buy new shoes. The piggy bank seems to act as a symbol of the mother's abandonment, and as they finally give it up, a stress is seemingly eased. The film closes with the girls following their grandmother, hand in hand, singing a song. These instances together would make it seem as if the girl's new mindset on everything is obvious to the viewer, but unfortunately this isn't so. In reality, the girls are only with their grandmother in the film for about 25 minutes, an amount of time not really enough to really see their change of heart for what it is. It was easy for me to see through facial expressions and symbolism this shift, but I can see it's ending being vague and abrupt to most people. With a very homely story, unenthusiastic characters, and not even a score to help drive the piece, Kim's Treeless Mountain does tend to drag on. But looking past its simplicity, one will see that Kim takes her time with the camera in order to dwell on the heartfelt, sincere acting of her child actors. There is definitely some value to be had in the adorable, honest performances of the girls, but Treeless Mountain may appear too plain and boring for many. 

**3/4 / *****

  

WELCOME TO DONGMAKGOL (웰컴 투 동막골)

Directed by: Park Kwang-hyun
Country of origin: South Korea (2005)
Starring: Shin Ha-kyun, Jeong Jae-yoeng, Kang Hye-jeong


I'm kicking things off with the Korean film that helped inspire this blog. Park Kwang-hyun's Welcome to Dongmakgol arrived to me during a time in which I was bored and completely uninspired. This film, fueled by its rich characters and its stoic cause, raised me out of that slump. Like most Korean films, Dongmakgol combines several genres (war, comedy, and drama), making for an incredibly unique cinematic experience. I approached it like any other film, yet partway through, I realized that Park's debut was slowly growing on me. At its end I was touched and, truthfully, near tears. Welcome to Dongmakgol  is one of the most heartwarming and heartbreaking films I've ever seen. With its strikingly gorgeous cinematography and an ensemble of talented actors, Dongmakgol is a film that really sneaks up on you. It planted a seed inside of me, one fertilized by a dose of empathy, one exposed to a world of simple beauty. At sudden points in the film, it suddenly hits you, and Dongmakgol truly shines. Lets dive in.

At its heart, Welcome to Dongmakgol is a satire of Korean conflicts and a critique on the Korean War. Through comedy and irony, Dongmakgol tells a story set in the darkest times of Korea's history. The nation's people are in the middle of a brutal cival war, one that left the country divided and changed forever. Park showcases the brutalities of war, showing the tragic points of view from both the Northern and Southern soldiers. At the film's beginning, the viewer is thrust immediately into the lives of the battered and wounded soldiers. The violence is sudden and massive, and an amount of empathy is undeniably established as the deaths of young Korean men are framed so strikingly on-screen. Upon close escape of death, and as the viewer has a chance to stop and breathe in relief, Park comes in and gets to work. With the fluttering of dozens of white butterflies, the soldiers enter the new world that will come to cleanse them of their impending stresses. A common motif throughout Dongmakgol, the white butterflies seem to float freely through the mountain skies like Japanese blossoms. They symbolize life, and the profound effect its simple presence has. This is the message of Welcome to Dongmakgol, that the warring people of Korea should simply abandon their violence and revert back to their heritage, life dedicated to beauty and simplicity. 

The villagers of Dongmakgol live innocent lives. Their world exists only as far as their village and the forests surrounding it. They neither know nor care what lies beyond the mountains cradling them, and nobly so. Kind and gentle like children, they know nothing of the savage war that rages below them, and they welcome any and all visitors with the utmost amount of respect and hospitality, like their ancestors did before them. This simplicity is their way of life, and the central theme encompassing Welcome to Dongmakgol. 

When the soldiers wandered into the mountains, the gravity of their duties vanished, and to the villagers, any war High Comrade Lee and Second Lieutenant Pyo sought to rage against eachother was a simple argument. Firearms were sticks, and grenades were painted potatoes; to the villagers of Dongmakgol, these outsiders were just making a lot of noise about a simple feud. Words could resolve it, as far as they were concerned. And in this, Park Kwang-hyun and his intelligent screenplay make their point. The war and the soldier's grievances are made a mockery of in the presence of the villager's smart remarks and general cluelessness. In reality, the village is rounded up and held hostage at gunpoint by two factions of mortal enemies. But instead of being alarmed, the villagers appear to be more annoyed than anything. They have more pressing things to worry about than some pointless conflict between five strangers, like the wild boar thats been ravaging their food supply. They go about their hilarious, slapstick conversations and thus, the soldier's situation becomes nothing more than a silly standoff. Before they know it, the Northern and Southern soldiers were standing their, grenades and guns raised, for almost 24 hours straight, several of them struggling not to doze off while they remain standing. The situation is ridiculous and hilarious, and as the soldiers are drenched with rain and the villagers sit dry, giggling at the silly outsiders, the viewer begins to get it.

THE POPCORN SCENE 

Eventually, though, the hostility between the soldiers does culminate in a violent resolution, and creates what I believe to be the central scene of Welcome to Dongmakgol. Still standing and completely exhausted, young Northerner Taik-gi fumbles a live grenade and the soldiers run for safety, Lieutenant Pyo attempting to save the village by jumping to cover it. Although it at first appears to be a dud, Pyo tosses it blindly backwards in relief and the grenade lands, ironically enough, in the Dongmakgol food supply, exploding on contact. The corn and potatoes that were meant to last the villagers through the winter were all gone, but instead of being an atrocity, the explosion became a thing of beauty as popcorn floated down upon the village like soft flakes of snow. The villagers beam and dance, beholding this amazing gift that the mountain provided them. In result,  one of the most significant and radiant scenes of the Korean New Wave cinema is born.

Popcorn falls on Dongmakgol

What makes this scene so successful is its clear symbolism and sudden shift in pace. Every physical element that upholds the popcorn scene is absolutely flawless, from the slow motion to the crisp depth to Hisaishi's angelic score. Upon exploding, it's almost as if the beautiful world surrounding it caused it to implode, and instead causing fear it caused joy. The air of simplicity that the village thrived on suffocated this man-made 

weapon of destruction. And as the popcorn fell, the soldier's inhibitions are forgotten, and they seem just as moved by the downfall as the villagers. Their acts of violence, even in the extreme of an explosion, were not enough to shift the innocence of Dongmakgol. Pyo, Lee, and their men seemed to silently realize this, and their attitudes were changed and more temperate throughout the rest

of the film. It was almost as if the popcorn hypnotized them; their hatred was released, and they pondered skyward in awe and relief. Relief, so much, that the exasperated soldiers were finally lulled to sleep. The popcorn was like a lingering stun spore, the straw that broke the camel's back. The raging bears were coaxed into hibernation by an act of simple beauty, showcasing Dongmakgol's central message. The villagers acted accordingly,

innocent and oblivious as always, despite their massive loss of food. They grasped the moment of beauty at hand and treasured it.  This was the scene where Dongmakgol truly began to move me. Master and legend of film score Joe Hisaishi composed music for the popcorn scene that absolutely gleamed like the sun. It showcased the emotion and the tone of the scene flawlessly. A true goosebump effect. It is in this scene that you begin to realize how intoxicating the atmosphere of Welcome to Dongmakgol is. You grow fond of the colorful characters and the pristine village that they reside in. And this emotional bond only grows from here, continuing to sneak up on you.

After their aggression is exhausted, things between the Northern and Southerners gradually improve, until respect and friendship is established, even between their zealous leaders Lee and Pyo. Any awkwardness is depleted as the men feast together on the boar they took down as a team. A simple human gesture of sharing food brought the warring people of North Korea, South Korea, and America

  together. Park seems to dwell on this turning point in Welcome to Dongmakgol, perhaps commenting how the little things can make all the difference. The film itself indeed seems to live by that motto, taking time to explore the subtle beauties of the living and the inanimate alike. The soldiers spend the next few months helping the people of Dongmakgol replenish their food supply, and in doing so grow close with them and their way of life. Similarities between Dongmakgol and Edward Zwick's epic The Last Samurai arose in my mind. An outsider with a violent past, his presence obligated in a foreign place, proceeds to grow and adapt to the natural beauty and simplicity surrounding him.

Once the soldiers in Dongmakgol have to leave the village in order to save it from impending forces, sentimental moments between them and the villagers are heartbreaking. In the more serious moments of the film, Park did a fantastic job of making me feel pity for the victims. When the village chief is brutally beaten. When Pyo's flashback and past in finally fully revealed. The death of Yeo-il. Even the heartbreak of young Taik-gi. To me, the projected emotion was not a stretch, and I was moved in various instances throughout the film. In Dongmakgol, the village idiot, of sorts, Yeo-il is mainly used as a source of comic relief. But she actually becomes a symbol of the care-free lifestyle and the presence of love in the world of Dongmakgol. Her dances in the rain and popcorn.

Yeo-il in the rain

Her bright smile as she wiped the faces of the tired soldiers. Her simple gesture of love to Taik-gi revealed in the film's end. These action gave the film and the village its color. The villagers may have called her crazy, but Yeo-il held a special place in each of their hearts. Her charm begins to do the same to the viewer, and once she is killed, something vanishes and Dongmakgol is no longer the same. Tragic defines it best.
Welcome to Dongmakgol is a beautiful film with a valuable message. While hilarious in parts, director Park has also discovered a way to move his audiences with instances of heartbreaking drama. To me, the film was inspiring, and reminded me why I love East Asian cinema. It is a layered piece, and if you let it, it's stunning world will suck you in. In the end, after an apocalypse of sorts for the viewer has occurred, the white butterflies resurface from the snowy mountains and, in a very Miyazaki-esque way of doing it, tell us that life and hope still remain. The ending is not entirely resolved, and most viewers will naturally want to see Capt. Smith return to Dongmakgol, but what happens to the villagers and the survivors is never known. But it doesn't need to be. As with many of Korea's greatest films, Dongmakgol ends subtilely and satisfyingly, giving the viewer the closure they need yet leaving them with a taste for more. I'll say it once more, Welcome to Dongmakgol touched me; it warmed and broke my heart in all the right ways. It is quite the experience.

***** / *****