They called her "dynamite," and maybe it wasn't such a bad pun on her career, after all. It was originally borne out of her tendency to, so to speak, see schedules as nothing more than strange symbols on her daily planner, something like the "art" you draw on a post-it when on the phone, and a "call Bubba 8282" becomes some kind of bizarro world version of a Picasso. She grabbed the limelight with the pathos of a raging lioness, sometimes with so much energy shows were halted mid-flight (fellow singer Kim Serena knows it all too well, when in 1971 she spent a few famous minutes on the stage floor with her trying to experiment the limits of hair pulling). Infamously enough, she was the first artist to ever be banned from singing by the Korean Singers Committee for an impressive three months, during which rumors started spreading wildly, in the kind of fashion which would make today's tabloid vultures look like zombies with no creativity. Except, well, they already are.
A particularly crazy one painted her as a possible North Korean spy, because she kept moving every few months, one of the tricks used by spies to elude controls. She was one of the sexiest women to ever grace the Korean musical stage, enough that folk rock legend Shin Joong-Hyeon went crazy for her voice right from the beginning, and wrote most of her successes. She had it all: voice, stage theatrics and the right look to make it big. One of her major hits was 1970's 님은 먼 곳에 (My Dear is Far Away), which became the title of a popular TBC drama from the same year. But now Kim Chu-Ja's great vocal talents have found a new, peculiar dimension, in Lee Joon-Ik's latest 님은 먼 곳에 (Sunny), titled (in Korean at least) after her biggest hit. Ahh... I love the smell of Korean folk rock in the morning.
It's interesting that, the moment Chungmuro's eternal "anarchist" Lee Joon-Ik decided to tackle historical events a little closer to home like the war in 'Nam, he did it through music, and his very first film dealing with a female protagonist. Interesting because Lee, unlike someone a la Kang Woo-Suk, doesn't turn ideology into "controversial" potboilers for mass consumption. Take a look at 실미도 (Silmido) or particularly the putrid 한반도 (Hanbando) and you'll see through Kang's ploys pretty easily: sensationalism and ad-hoc controversy are thrown at the wall hoping they'll stick, since pushing the darkest buttons of the masses (nationalism, the Korean inner "something" that clicks a certain way when Japan is involved) does at least put asses in the seats.
After all, despite being two very different films of very different quality, at the core there's very little difference between last year's two summer blockbusters, Shim Hyung-Rae's 디워 (D-War) and 화려한 휴가 (May 18): one prostitutes genre with flashy CG and even worse nationalism surrounding the film, and the other sells its nation's painful modern history to make a tacky Hollywoodian melodrama with a touch of flag-waving. Those two, or most of Kang's so-called meatier films - you can add 신기전 (The Divine Weapon) to the list, even if he just produced it - have really very little to do with ideology as a point of view. Oh, it's a point all right. A selling point, nothing more. It's like t&a for the finger-cutting, "I-give-a-shit-about-Dokdo-only-when-Japan-is-trying-to-steal-it" bleeding heart ajeosshi of the world.
Then, what is different about Lee Joon-Ik? Something equally simple: he uses mainstream sensibilities to immerse films in his (non-mainstream) ideology about life. Yes, life, because this is not simple politics we're dealing with. Watch a Lee Joon-Ik film and, first and foremost, what you'll go home with is the thematic consciousness that always surrounds his work. It's a bit of political slant (rather to the left, admittedly), a huge dose of philosophy not only about life but also regarding culture itself, that "street cred" of outsiders who tell stories from the inside, because they're honest enough to see through the smoke and mirrors. It's like watching someone's thoughts unfold on the screen. Be it turning the Three Kingdoms' continuous diatribes into an anti-war satire about regionalism, turning the life of Joseon history's most hated despot into a Shakespearean mother complex play, or singing odes to 40 something men who lost their "mojo" through music, Lee always uses conventional foundations and leaves you with rather conventional messages. But that's the beauty. It takes balls to say something obvious, do it with sincerity and power, and not sound like a condescending businessman with a camera in the process. Lee can do it increasingly well, with the narrative panache few people in Chungmuro can show.
He's a strange case all right. We talked at length about his past as a producer, the amazing story which led to 왕의 남자 (The King and The Clown)'s all time No. 1 record (later broken by Bong Joon-Ho's pet monster) and his sensibilities as a filmmaker (the "shoot fast and don't waste money" mantra), but what is becoming increasingly obvious is that this man is speaking to Korean audiences in a way that few other directors of this era can. And, no, I'm not simply taking a look at the box office and making a point. Take Kim Jee-woon, Park Chan-Wook, Bong Joon-Ho... those star directors pretty much always do rather well at the box, their films are acclaimed at home and well known abroad. But Lee Joon-Ik is not a stylist, he doesn't have any particular virtuosity to show in "diegetic" terms, if you pardon the smelly fit of film theory. He doesn't tackle extremely controversial themes (the "gay" fanfare over the clowns is mostly ill-advised claptrap initiated by the western critic types), nor opens doors hiding taboos with his stories. So what on earth is it that makes it all work so wonderfully?
Lee, methinks - wait for the bold statement - is the 2000s equivalent of a Bae Chang-Ho, or even an Im Kwon-Taek in the making. Before Im became well known in the west around the 80s, he was a very prolific auteur disguised as a journeyman (he shot just about everything between the 60s and early 80s). His films were rarely impressive from a visual standpoint, but you always could feel his hand and vision. Same goes for Bae in the 80s, shooting some really glorious stuff - the unforgettable 고래 사냥 (Whale Hunting), still one of the best Korean road movies of all time, is the highlight - that always oozed a certain narrative vibe and atmosphere despite the lack of aesthetic finesse. Lee throws simple themes at you (war is man's senseless game; Yeonsan went batty because he was an artist caught in a political maelstrom without momma helping him; 40-something males need to find happiness, and so on), but then he tells a story with the vibe of a great novelist.
There are moments in Lee's films that echo of that 사람냄새, the smell of people that makes you forget you're watching a film about a certain period, and make you feel as if you were hearing a friend's anecdote, sitting on the grass staring at the sky. That's not going to excite those looking for bombastic action, or even the artistic virtues of a Park Chan-Wook. But he's telling stories that are connecting with people remarkably well (not a single one of his films after his "rebirth" have flopped. One was an amazing success, two others easily broke even, one lost just a few pennies and this one went red in the very low 7 figures, but it's nothing to fret about), with alarming frequency and a trait d'union of quality that's just a pleasure to experience. Sure, Lee still hasn't found the masterpiece that christens him as a "director to watch" on the big wigs' lists... but, really. Who cares? He certainly doesn't, and the people doesn't seem to either.
Take Sunny, for instance. I was a little worried about this film, not so much because of the 7 billion won budget. It was more a concern about Lee's future, as he's the kind of filmmaker who easily turns the page if something doesn't work, perhaps his producer DNA making its presence be felt. That is because he dropped one heavily political sageuk because of the funding bubble problems a few years ago - the eerily promising 백탑파 (The White Tower Clan) -- and, sure enough, already dropped a possible future item set in the Shilla period because of the slight impasse of this film at the box office.
With his first "stylish melodrama" 매혹 (Spellbound) out of the window again because of funding problems, one gets the idea the producer in Lee is blocking some energy of Lee Joon-Ik the director from emerging, constantly keeping an eye on market trends and audience response. That is not to say he's one to jump on the bandwagon, everything but. And, obviously, dropping an item will do nothing to his prolific career, since he's constantly at work looking for new stories (and, sure enough, he's already working on his next film). Thing is, the reason Lee still hasn't found his masterpiece might be that. His films are becoming increasingly more polished as time goes on, the message he's trying to convey becomes more and more effective, and he's driving his themes home with the surgical precision of someone who knows what works in cinema and what doesn't. But you always feel there's something waiting in the backburner that could truly make him take the next step, just like what 만다라 (Mandara) meant to Im Kwon-Taek in 1981.
At first glance, Sunny might feel like a very commercial film on paper, apparently mixing two killer applications like the war in Vietnam and melodrama. But it is neither a film about war perse, nor a melodrama. Hell, this is not even that so-called step into feminism Lee could have taken. It's actually the opposite, as Sunny is not only a rather streamlined mix of all the themes Lee has shown through his past works, but also the most "masculine" of his films. Sure, a strong female character leads the film, and everything gravitates around her, both in a narrative and cinematic way. But Soon-Yi and Sunny are just an ideal of a woman, something Lee uses to show men's own mea culpa, and the desire to understand their women a little better. I really liked Lee's comments about his intentions through this film of "discovering women." You might remember he was always accused of rarely featuring women in his films, because he admittedly didn't understand much about them in the first place.
Making a film where a woman plays such a pivotal role is a sign Lee, who commented on many occasions he's more interested in exploring the unknown, is trying to approach the other sex through cinema in a much more direct way. But that doesn't really mean Sunny is a realistic portrayal of a female during 1970s Korea, nor that many of her choices make sense in that kind of context. It's more of an emotional vehicle for men to reflect on their misdeeds, a mea culpa running at 24 frames per second. And if you think about the Vietnam war, then mea culpa is a pretty important word. Sure, we had the 하얀전쟁 (White Badge) of the world, but that was more a personal story starting from the war background, just like Jang Sun-Woo decided to focus on the personal wounds left by the Gwangju Massacre through his masterful 꽃잎 (A Petal). We need to jump all the way to 2004 and Gong Su-Chan's badass 알포인트 (R-Point) to find anything remotely "progressive" about Korea's involvement in the Vietnam War, but again it's just a tangential theme.
The guilt trip many Koreans Lee's age are going through about Vietnam would be a hot topic, but it's still a little early to be completely honest about it on the big screen (as in, "we went there to make money and shot a shitload of Vietcong baddies. Yay"). What Lee probably referred to, when he pointed the finger at Hollywood's Vietnam War flicks, is that those were superficial guilt trips masquerading as indictments of the war, trying to give a certain emotional spin to the events, but always from a rather ethnocentric, quasi-imperialist way. What Lee does here is certainly showing things from an Asian point of view, but more than pointing fingers in an historical sense, it all goes back to his initial intentions. The fact Sunny and the band end up spending time with the Viet Cong, the fact they, too, are portrayed as real people, and for once it's the Americans that get the short end of the stick is even a little refreshing. What I really liked, though, is that human touch added to it all, and the fact Lee doesn't really fool himself. That "what is you Koreans' version of peace, coming here and making money?" scene is quite a brilliant example. It's politics and it will be slightly controversial in the west, sure, but it's done in a really honest way by Lee, unlike the flag-waving slant you'd get in a Kang Woo-Suk "offensive."
It's as if the mother complex of Lee's past films was finding its sublimation here, as Sunny becomes mother, saint and - possibly - whore all rolled into one. Those could have seemed like obsolete dichotomies in other films, something you'd rather find in the hostess flicks of the 70s. But seen here, it's a rather different story. Lee called seeing Soo Ae half naked dancing on stage "sublimity" more than anything having to do with sex or gender. And that's really the key to understand this film. There's a scene in the middle which will lose many viewers, particularly those unfamiliar with Lee's previous works. It's very subtly shot, extremely well acted (by Soo Ae, at least), and never really gives you any explicit incipit of what might happen, but it's going to drive feminist types batty, thinking this is exactly "that type of film." That is, something objectifying women, painting them as some sort of distant divinity, and pounding on the criticism of just about every male in the film just as a counterpoint.
What you'll lose if you take that line of thought from that point, though, is that there's something truly honest about the way the whole thing is told. You never can explain why on earth Sunny would go all the way to Vietnam for that man, but then again you can't explain things like affection and attachment, even if it's separated by layers of "tough love," the social fabric and customs of the time, and so on. As the search goes on, intertwined with Sang-Gil's descent into the horrors of war, it becomes a sort of philosophical take on history from the female perspective. It's not easy to explain, particularly as those elements will not find the same "punch" in the west, which has different cultural colors about gender roles. But what you're getting here is a sort of moral play about the regret of men filtered through their biggest mistake (war), and a "what if history was written by women" slant coloring it all. The balance changes, priorities transform... it all feels familiar, but strangely fresh.
I do understand talking about the film in those terms sets up a kind of minefield, and it's probably the reason why this film was loved by men 30s and over, and even hated by many younger females, who usually dominate box office demographics. It's not easy to filter out the iconoclastic portrayal and get to the point, exactly because the history of Korean cinema has been littered with so many "mines" regarding the portrayal of women, you tend to misunderstand at every angle. What really sets apart Sunny, what allows to go beyond some icon or ideal of woman on a pedestal is her mother-like strength and adaptability. Sure, she's a glorified narrative device before she can ever become a person at the end of the day, but it all somehow works, particularly in that perfect finale, one of the best final 10 minutes you'll see this year. When I think of Sunny, it's as if Lee Moon-Shik's mother from 황산벌 (Once Upon a Time in the Battlefield) went all the way to the Hwangsan Plain in the middle of war to find her son, knock some sense into him, and bring him back home, whatever the other warlords were thinking. It's not the kind of enlightenment Lee probably hoped (it's a very "male" film), but I think it's quite the evolution, as being honest about oneself is the first step on the road to enlightenment.
Outside of those themes, the strong storytelling and the message, what really stands out about Sunny is the production itself. I've been impressed in the past by particular scenes shot by Lee, but they're generally of the 마당극 type. That is, festival-like atmosphere, drenched with smell of real people and tons of energy. You get those here as well, particularly when Sunny sings in front of the Korean troops. But even more impressive is how his mise en scene and sense of spectacle improved. There's only a few battle scenes here, and they're mostly tangential, but it's all tremendously well shot and makes a great impact. Shot in Thailand for a meager 3 billion won, the scale and tempo of those scenes adds to the experience immensely. This is certainly a "director's" film, but the acting is very strong, particularly the leading trio of Soo Ae, Jung Jin-Young and Eom Tae-Woong. They're not towering performances, but there's a certain panache and gusto to all three that's a joy to watch, particularly Eom, who does great things with the relatively short time he's given, and Jung Jin-Young's sparks of energy. Praising Soo Ae would feel kind of obvious, as she's like Venus to entire films' moons (ahh... of all planets now, why does Venus have to mess up perfectly fine puns?). It is clearly her best performance to date, and I'm starting to see the kind of maturity that could bring her into new, exciting territories. And... she still looks a whole lot like a young Jung Yoon-Hee -- not the TV starlet, the 70s movie star -- which is never a bad thing.
Released this summer right before the Olympics, as Kim Jee-woon's 놈놈놈 (The Good, The Bad, The Weird) was doing monster business, Sunny is not the kind of bombastic and insane fun the kimchi western will give you. It's a quieter, darker, in many ways more bittersweet work. But I think, in the long run, the narrative elements and strong message of Lee's film is going to last much longer than those Manchurian escapades. Sunny is not a masterpiece, but it just might be Lee's best film yet. It has the kind of exquisitely low-key opening just like you'd expect, but also what's probably the best second half of the year. I don't even want to call it great, because that would mean I'd probably forget it in a couple of years. This is more like going back to the Bae Chang-Ho of yore: simple, tremendously well told, and always leaving you with a smile on your face, and even a few tears. How do you call that, glorious?
RATING: 8
님은 먼 곳에 (Sunny)
Director: 이준익 (Lee Joon-Ik)
Screenplay: 최석환 (Choi Seok-Hwan)
D.P.: 나승용 (Na Seung-Yong)
Music: 방준석 (Bang Jun-Seok), 이병훈 (Lee Byung-Hoon)
Produced by: Tiger Pictures, Achim Pictures
Int'l Sales: Showbox/Mediaplex
126 Minutes, 35mm 1.85:1 Color
Release: 7/23/2008
CAST: 수애 (Soo Ae), 정진영 (Jung Jin-Young), 엄태웅 (Eom Tae-Woong), 정경호 (Jung Kyung-Ho), 신현탁 (Shin Hyun-Tak), 주진모 (Ju Jin-Mo), 이주실 (Lee Ju-Shil), 박윤호 (Park Yoon-Ho), Nate Harrison, Al Harlow