[K-FILM REVIEWS] 날아라 펭귄 (Fly, Penguin)

It's almost a metaphor for the intents behind the long series of projects funded by the Human Rights Commission of Korea, the idea that a penguin could manage to fly despite its evident physical limitations, but the results have often been rather contradictory. Maybe cinematic flair wasn't really what the commission was after, and this was just the most accessible medium to raise awareness in regards to a few taboo subjects afflicting Korean society - without actually putting forth any idea or suggestion on how to change things, mind you. But it's interesting how these projects have always been rather tame in delving into such controversial themes (something that other films, particularly from the indie sphere, tend to do better), and how the slightly sanctimonious "official" badge they carry always seems to limit these often illustrious directors' output for this franchise. A look at the names and you'd expect otherwise, what with the inclusion of A-list directors like Park Chan-Wook, Jang Jin, Ryu Seung-Wan and Park Jin-Pyo, and plenty of interesting talents who participated in the making of these seven projects (four If You Were Me installments, two animated Anima Vision ones, and this). Again, a rather noble endeavor (if a bit of an ironic paradox, considering the current junta's practices), but maybe better suited for television, whose rhythm and sensibilities these shorts often resemble. 날아라 펭귄 (Fly, Penguin) is this franchise's very first feature film, but alas it seems to carry the same benefits along with this long-standing's project's most peculiar and recurring shortcomings.

It's curious, because despite director Im Soon-Rye's repeated involvement with the project (she directed one short for the first installment of If You Were Me, and starred in another one a year later, directed by Ryu Seung-Wan), she never managed to do as effective a job of depicting the conflicting social mores of the time as she did in her non-commissioned feature films, particularly her brilliant 1996 debut 세 친구 (Three Friends) and the glorious 와이키키 브라더스 (Waikiki Brothers). Now welcomed into the realm of commercially successful directors - thanks to her earnest but rather flat big hit from last year, the female Olympic handball team biopic 우리 생애 최고의 순간 (Forever the Moment) - Im seems to have lost a little bit of the edge which made her early work so refreshing and topical, despite now displaying a much more polished overall package. She's always been a very good storyteller, but maybe the experience she amassed changed her in some way - and I'm not limiting myself to the film world, as the simple effects of getting older can change a director's style quite dramatically, case in point the last two-three years of Hong Sang-Soo's work. Fly, Penguin reflects some of those changes, basking in the same low-key atmosphere and sparks of playfulness sprinkled here and there, but devoid of the underlying angst which populated her first two feature films - and, to a much lesser degree, her third. On one hand, the slightly complacent and antiquated wisdom which pervades the film might be a result of the format itself (it's still a human rights commission film, with all the pro and cons that come with it), but I'm not entirely sure it should all be blamed on that premise.

What this film most resembles is one of those one-two episode TV specials which are often produced during major festivities like Chuseok, Lunar New Year, or occasions like Father's Day: well meaning, classic storytelling with strong moral underpinnings and often good performances, but actually a precious very little to say about the theme which hasn't been conveyed a thousand times before. Despite being the first feature film of the now six year old series, we're still essentially dealing with an omnibus, the only difference coming from there being a single director behind it all. The four vignettes are somewhat integrated, but they still feel like distinct entities, with the only real trait d'union being the way in which those stories conclude, by overcoming stereotyping and embracing new understanding - certainly the core goal of this project, so in that sense Fly, Penguin can still be considered a mild success. None of these stories add anything new to the table, but the fact they're still topical to this day shows how little certain traditional mores have changed over the years.

The first segment focuses on Hee-Jung (Moon So-Ri), a working mother obsessed with her son's education, enough that she forces half a dozen special academies on him, and even makes weekends at home an "English-only" territory. It's a sort of in-joke about the government's ever growing obsession with the "global generation" and its many unhealthy consequences on the education of children and the stability of the average Korean family. Showing how grotesque and Draconian the experience at certain English villages can be with rather biting irony, this is perhaps the most successful segment of the entire film, but then again it fails to get to the message at the very core: the post-1988 Olympics obsession with English that Koreans have been displaying has its roots in the ruthlessly Machiavellian approach to education that Park Jung-Hee's regime has ingrained into the Korean psyche from the 1960s onwards. In Korea, the education of children is as much (or perhaps more) of an economic investment as it is a necessary pillar of the cultural growth of a child - so you don't learn English because it can enrich you intellectually and widen your cultural spectrum, but just because you'll eventually become more competitive in the job market (same goes for any other subject, really). The spurious emphasis on that aspect alone creates hordes of clones who can sputter Keynes' theories in quasi-academic English they perfectly memorized yet rarely understand, but youngsters with little creativity and who can't tell Shakespeare and Tom Clancy apart, all this pressure to make it big in the global market killing enough of their joie de vivre to make them eligible for a role in the next zombie flick. The film never really points out the fact that this practice is completely insane, but just that mommy's efforts are a tad excessive and risk negatively influencing her family's harmony, that is all.

We then move to the controversial social lifestyle which pretty much any Korean salaryman has to get used to: rookie employee Ju-Hoon (Choi Gyu-Hwan) quickly comes to terms with how conservative the working atmosphere can be - he's a vegetarian and can't have a single drink without health complications, so imagine how fun a company dinner would be, what with the torrents of soju, raw fish still moving about as it is being served (you'll pardon me the douchebaggery, but I was focusing a lot more on the yummy-looking live octopuses than Ju-Hoon's disgusted look) and whatnot. Again, the issue is not really that of being a vegetarian, but the bold attempt of going against group think, which can make you an influential visionary (if you've got the cojones to stand out), but much more often turn you into an outcast who can't get anything done. Because Ju-Hoon starts bringing lunchboxes from home instead of eating out with his colleagues, he's predictably ostracized, meeting a sort of invisible glass ceiling which essentially impedes a productive life in the company environment. The segment uses a conventional but effective (and in many ways realistic) expedient to allow Ju-Hoon his escape from a life of discrimination, highlighting how "caliente" Koreans can be on both ends of the spectrum. But then you wonder why it spent so very little time focusing on the room salon culture, nights spent out drinking until the wee hours of the morning to maintain the facade intact - forget the huge bills, it's livers and relationships that end up paying the ultimate prices. It is all fine and dandy, but when you consider that these issues populated many a 1990s Korean film, and the fact that they often dealt with it more realistically and ironically - best of all would be Lee Myung-Se's 1995 ode to salarymen, 남자는 괴로워 (Bitter & Sweet) - it all sorts of becomes preaching to the choir, too little too late.

Despite the predictably excellent work by Son Byung-Ho, the third segment is rather pedestrian. Son plays Kwon, the section chief in charge of Hee-Jung and Ju-Hoon from the first two segments. Although he always exuded that familiar air of company boss in the second segment, we get to see what might be leading him to look forward to all those nights out spent drinking: the man is a 기러기 아빠 (goose dad), a pater familia who sent wife and kids abroad to study (which again connects this story to the first segment), and remained in Korea alone, having to adapt to all the difficulties it brings to the table, but also coping with the responsibility of supporting a family you rarely (if ever) get a chance to see. Once his family returns for a brief holiday, he finds himself feeling like a stranger to them: his wife refuses to have sex, and his kids almost only speak English with their mother alone, essentially leaving him out of any discussion, not to mention any decision making. Im deals with the theme intelligently, but again she adds nothing to what is essentially a staple of short dramas on TV - I can count a good half dozen episodes of 베스트극장 (Best Theater) dealing with this theme alone. The fourth and last installment is also the least successful, a true shame because Park In-Hwan and Jung Hye-Seon (Kwon's parents) give tremendously naturalistic performances, as a couple which faces divorce late into their marriage, but having been introduced so late the story sort of comes out of nowhere, and it is never given enough time to blossom into something more effective, before the inevitable coda reunites all characters.

Fly, Penguin, which was partially funded by everyone involved in the shoot, is the kind of earnest, well meaning low-key filmmaking which has characterized the human rights commission franchise since its very incipit. There's nothing particularly wrong with this film, and acting is often excellent (particularly the aforementioned couple, theater trained actors like Park Won-Sang and Son Byung-Ho, and the predictably wonderful Moon So-Ri), offering the kind of minimalist performances that are rapidly disappearing from TV's increasingly over the top canon. It pushes the right buttons without making any shocking statement, but that's probably its biggest merit and most daunting shortcomings: we all know that the penguin is not going to fly anytime soon, but the rather sanctimonious "understanding is all it takes" code to it all doesn't really do anything to change status quo. Maybe the human rights commission - and the government along with it - should pour more of its money into quirky and eclectic works like 반두비 (Bandhobi), which does push the envelope and even adds some breezy cinematic flair to the proceedings (film which, perhaps for those same reasons, was nonchalantly ignored). But then again that'd be too risky. It would suggest that what these commissioned features are really aiming for is change....

RATING: 6

날아라 펭귄 (Fly, Penguin)
Director: 임순례 (Im Soon-Rye)
Screenplay: 임순례 (Im Soon-Rye)
Produced by: Human Rights Commission of Korea
Box Office: #189  - 21,684 Nationwide Admissions - 136,259,500 Won
Running Time: 110 Minutes
Release: 9/24/2009 (General)  
CAST: 문소리 (Moon So-Ri), 박원상 (Park Won-Sang), 최규환 (Choi Gyu-Hwan), 손병호 (Son Byung-Ho), 박인환 (Jung Hye-Seon), 조진웅 (Jo Jin-Woong), 백승도 (Baek Seung-Do)