But have you noticed how many Korean films - and I'm not merely limiting myself to genre pictures - seem to despise telling you who the bad guy is (if it exists at all)? How many works thrive in that ambiguity, those foggy moral vapors that sort of make you question the very (visceral) fundamentals of many a genre. Think of 살인의 추억 (Memories of Murder), and how it makes the search for its seemingly formidable culprit the catalyst for a loving, irreverent and slightly grumpy ode to those glorious and terrible 1980s. Sure, the tension builds and the urge to find the maiden-killing machine is all the more pressing as the minutes pile on, but the closer you get to the credits, the more you're reminded of seemingly ancillary issues, little strokes which all put together end up filling Bong Joon-Ho's genial cinematic canvas with what that bittersweet decade meant for Korea. And when Song Kang-Ho reads those all-important test results, in the midst of nature's wrath raining down on those poor souls, you can understand the feeling. His words, ungracious as they may be, perfectly exemplify what many Koreans felt during those dark days. 씨발, 모르겠다. Shit, I don't know (what to make of this anymore).
Then, you have horror films which suggest - God forbid - that humans might indeed be a little scarier than maundering teenager ghosts with an endless bad hair day, chronic back spasms and a penchant for white gowns. What is scarier in 알포인트 (R-Point), the Vietnam War version of Sadako, or the fire, hell and brimstone you see inside Son Byung-Ho's eyes, one second before his madness explodes on screen? It is a peculiar facet of the collective Korean cinematic psyche, particularly when you stop to think about how often it ends up drenching even the most innocuous of genres, like monster flicks. Without the need to mention the ゴジラ (Godzilla) series, most Hollywood films dealing with the matter always seem to ooze a certain "code;" one of justice, a sense of responsibility and commitment its heroes are forced to display. It doesn't really matter whether they're insipid, goody-two-shoes renditions of the human conundrum, or irreverent anti-heroes swearing a storm. The justice is buried somewhere deep down their fabric anyway, maybe taking turns with whatever is left of that sixpack.
In that sense, a quick look at Korea's two most recent examples, Bong Joon-Ho's 괴물 (The Host) and Shim Hyung-Rae's 디워 (D-War), and you'll see the basic difference. In Bong's film, the Happy Meal-sized creature is just a very expensive supporting character, a narrative catalyst for a much more important satire on Korean society, whereas Shim basically put some kimchi on the t-bone steak, watering down the coke with some good old makgeolli, the old school Korean drunkard's medicine of choice. Those pseudo-Hollywood mores are only briefly interrupted by bleeding-heart touches of Korean identity, until the ultimate tearjerking expedient graces us, the slapping of ye olde Arirang on the ending credit sequence. The idea, then, is that the Hollywood monster flick will somehow throw you a villain to contend with, and some form of justice-abiding protagonist(s) to cheer for. It doesn't matter whether the monster shows more humanity than what you've come to expect, or if our hero has enough warts to risk not living up to his name. He will end up having to face his calling, and fulfill his divine commitment. which is kicking ass. But then comes something like 차우 (Chaw).
I'll let the cat (or, well, boar) out of the bag straight away and warn you that, if you're expecting the visual quality of The Host, you better give up any hope before you approach this little fella. Considering the times, Chaw (which means "trap" in Chungcheong dialect, and obviously a rather non-standard English variant of "chew") is still quite a big budget production, as its 6.6 billion won pure production cost is anywhere between two to three times the budget of your average 2009 Korean production. A good half of that money was spent on animatronics, stuntmen with costumes, and particularly the work of former ILM alumni and Hollywood CG guru Hans Uhlig, who also recently worked on 해운대 (Haeundae). Since they only spent about a billion on the CG and didn't have much time to work on it - by comparison, The Host spent at least five billion and a few years of production - the results are not surprisingly poor. A few scenes do work, but composition and editing generally will tell you whether you're watching pure CG, animatronics or a couple of poor souls wearing a costume. Of course, one should be realistic. Water, fur and fire have always been the most difficult elements to properly animate, and with that kind of money, it's already surprising this much was achieved. But there's a catch.
The fact the wild boar is not scary (and at times even ends up looking cute) eventually helps thematic consciousness much more than a perfect rendition of the squealing beauty would have done. Because, and here we go back to that Korean predilection for running against the genre's current, this big group of people going after the big bad boy is not really the point. Or maybe it is, but the struggle is not painted through the usual dichotomies of the genre. Just think about the "monster" itself: a wild boar. Not a gigantic gorilla, nor a majestic snake, or a scary alligator. No, a glorified swine. Wild boars scaring off Koreans in the countryside is by now old news, but recently the little fellas even ventured into the streets of the capital, so it all makes Shin Jung-Won's choice all the more realistic. What really shines in Chaw is everything surrounding the genre elements, even though such elements might be considered a failure, if isolated from the whole. And that starts right from the foundations, including the village itself.
You'd think, reading the basic synopsis, that we might be dealing with a Korean rendition of Jaws: strange deaths ruin the quiet of a lovely, innocent little Korean village; well, what do you know, it's a chilling wild boar! Horror, apprehension and stuff. A formidable team of piggy hunters is assembled, after which shootouts, explosions, heroic deaths and an exhilarating finale ensue. Lots of dead bodies, blood drenching the limpid waters of our angelic village, but damn it. The bastard is dead. We win. Yee-hah. Confetti, sixpacks and wild sex. The end?
Nope.
And, really, if you're even remotely familiar with Shin Jung-Won, that won't be much of a surprise. This is the man behind that curious melting pot known as 시실리 2km (To Catch a Virgin Ghost), which put virgin ghost horror, jopok comedy and satirical black comedy tropes in the cauldron, and ended up with something not entirely good, but definitely unique, crazy, and quite definitely fun. Chaw takes that concept to new heights. I emphasize the impact of the film's thematic consciousness because it simply oozes from every inch of film stock. The village itself, aptly christened "crime-less zone" Sammae-ri, is pretty much the complete anti-thesis of the cherubic paradise on earth the mendacious city slicker sensibilities of things like 집으로 (The Way Home) and even 워낭소리 (Old Partner) always fill the viewer's minds with. Take one of the first scenes, in which a young damsel peacefully riding her bicycle in the night is hit by a van. The two drivers are shocked by the sight of this trembling young victim in a pool of blood, their faces bathed in the terrifying cold sweat of concern. Until they nonchalantly throw her body down the hill, serving our little ungulate its first midnight snack.
How about the village headman and the rest of this curious' place leadership, eager to deal with this indomitable beast as soon as possible, but not because of the increasingly worrying body count, but rather in apprehension for the bad reputation this all will stamp on their longtime project, that of turning their little isolated oasis into a weekend's salvation from boredom for many a Seoul slicker with fat purses. How about our own "heroes" themselves, including a city cop who just came down to the countryside to find some quiet and solace - a pitch-perfect Eom Tae-Woong channeling Yang Dong-Geun in 마지막 늑대 (The Wolf Returns) - and a biologist (Jung Yoo-Mi) who dreams of great discoveries that will make her famous. It's not just a noble, heroic fight against a force of nature that one man alone cannot contend with. It's the greed, selfishness and hypocrisy of those little creatures known as men clashing against each other, making wild boars their latest, unlikely victim (we're told they are a fruit of strange genetic experiments during the colonial period, and the wanton disregard for nature's equilibrium shown by the villagers).
What is fascinating about this all, then, is the "anti-heroism" Shin approaches the blockbuster canon with. Taken at face value, a lot of what he does might seem to come from the Spielbergian blockbuster canon (especially his films from the 80s) - even more evident in the second half, when the final battle between the wild boar and the main characters ensues. But right when things seem to be headed that way, he pulls the plug at the last second, and leaves you with moments of hilarity, of insane surrealism, and of thinly veiled social commentary which will only filter through if you think about the big picture, and forget genre tropes. You'll get a professional hunter (another cult-like performance by Yoon Je-Moon) communicating via telepathy with his dog in Russian (complete with subs in Cyrillic. Yay), a one man fight with the hairy rugrat from inside a bulldozer, as a sort of bizarro-world Alien homage; you'll get crazy women with a penchant for Gothic apparel, opium and an obsession with being called "Mommy," even if the recipient ends up being around her same age. And that's just the tip of the iceberg.
Shin Jung-Won's brand of comedy is not easy to explain, and it's certainly not universal. I'd equate it with listening to something like EoEoBu Project: part genius, part drunken mumbling. Its rhythms are awkward, often surreal, like a rush of insults in Chungcheong dialect, where you keep wondering until the end whether someone is joking with you, or is about to punch you in the face. A lot of it is dialogue-based and won't translate well, but even that would not be enough to justify this chaos. Yet, you know what? It works, wonderfully so, in all its B-movie like glory. The idea of using the narrative skeleton of a monster flick to put the spotlight on the real monsters (people who believe to be leading a perfectly normal life, ignoring their inhumane greed, selfishness and opportunism), and then play with the sentiments of its viewers until the very end is a brave and worthy endeavor, particularly in a period when so many "project films" insult the viewers' intelligence. Seems to have worked pretty well, considering the surprising success at the box office.
Is it a good film? It depends on what you're looking for. If a proper monster flick with solid production values is what you demand, you'll damn the day you've ever approached something like this. If you instead want to see something completely insane, driven by a grumpy, crude, reckless but endearing thematic consciousness, a fabulous cast and the kind of eclectic energy you rarely see in this kind of setup, then this might be the most fun you'll have in quite some time. Either way, it's something you won't likely forget, something with a soul. After all, isn't that what cult films are made of?
RATING: 8
차우 (Chaw)
Director: 신정원 (Shin Jung-Won)
Screenplay: 신정원 (Shin Jung-Won), 김용철 (Kim Yong-Cheol)
D.P.: 김용철 (Kim Yong-Cheol)
Music: 김준성 (Kim Jun-Seong)
Produced by: Soo Jack Films
Int'l Sales: Finecut
121 Minutes, 35mm 1.85:1 Color
Release: 07/15/2009 (12 and Over)
CAST: 엄태웅 (Eom Tae-Woong), 정유미 (Jung Yoo-Mi), 장항선 (Jang Hang-Seon), 윤제문 (Yoon Je-Moon), 박혁권 (Park Hyuk-Kwon), 김기천 (Kim Gi-Cheon), 고서희 (Go Seo-Hee)