Samaritan Girl (2004)

***NOTE: The following analysis/review may contain SPOILERS regarding some detail in the film, but not to the extent of making the film viewing experience any lesser.*** 

Now this one seemed like a straightforward evening watch, even for a Kim Ki-Duk film. But trust the guy to completely overthrow your expectations and take you on a journey you may never have experienced before. "Samaritan Girl" (2004) is yet another exotic dish from the Kim Ki-Duk kitchen, made from a recipe that is entirely his own. You just need to have the palate for it, and you will find yourself wholly appreciating what the South Korean auteur dishes out.

"Samaritan Girl" tells an unusual tale of sin and redemption that is both disturbing and sensitive at the same time. Two teenaged girls, resort to prostitution in order to raise money for a trip to Europe! Of course, they are very young and far too naive to realize the gravity or the consequences of their deeds. In a sordid arrangement, one of the girls, Jae-yeong (Yeo-reum Han) actually engages in the act, while her best friend Yeo-jin (Ji-min Kwak) does the job of setting her up with clients and acting as a lookout in order to warn about possible police raids. An incident with one of the clients, however, proves to be a watershed event that would change their lives forever.

For a plot premise that may seem like it would tread familiar grounds, "Samaritan Girl" changes its course significantly, at least twice, thereby totally subverting viewer expectations. It unfolds in an episodic fashion, over three parts with title cards: "Vasumitra", "Samaria" and "Sonata". The symbolic connection of these titles to what transpires in each episode serves as a means to comprehend the central thematic content of the film. 

On a broad level, "Samaritan Girl" is all about carrying the burden of another; of paying for the sins of others. It is a direct biblical reference to Jesus Christ bearing the cross, also depicted literally in how in one scene, Yeo-jin carries an injured Jae-young on her back. It is no coincidence that Yeo-jin's father (Eol Lee), the cop mentions the story of a rotting crucifix which bears a bud almost miraculously.

The first episode talks about Vasumitra. In an old Indian legend, Vasumitra was a prostitute, whose clients all became Buddhists after sleeping with her. A carnal act, considered sinful, had somehow brought about a spiritual awakening in them. Jae-yeong, fascinated by this legend is practically obsessed with Vasumitra, and aspires to be like her. Sure enough, she manages to make an emotional connect with each client, ever smiling after each job and doing much more than just sex by engaging in some actual heart to heart talk!

Jae-young feels practically no remorse and in fact enjoys what she is doing, more so because of the connections she makes with her johns. Yeo-jin, however, reels under the guilt of being party to her friend's exploitation, and is the only one to feel the moral weight. Yeo-jin's jealousy is palpable as well, but Kim Ki-Duk keeps it deliberately ambiguous as to what kind of jealousy it is. While Yeo-jin obviously yearns for sex, she is perhaps morally bound, at least at that point of time. But her open admittance to Jae-yeong that she can't stand to see any guy touch "something this beautiful", and their naked baths together, hint at a definite homo-erotic attraction and a sense of possessiveness on Yeo-jin's part.

So where does Vasumitra fit in? Only after the baton is passed on to Yeo-jin in a dramatic turn of events, when she embarks on her path of supposed redemption. One of the outcomes of her actions is a visible change in the clients, as they either feel shame or regret their actions, experiencing a moral awakening and rekindling bonds with their daughters or loved ones! From filthy beasts to humans experiencing a kind of spiritual awakening; the Vasumitra legend mirrored! In a way, now Yeo-jin plays dual roles, of Vasumitra and of a Samaritan (Samaria), in her act of repentance.

The decision to sleep with each of Jae-young's client's is somewhat of an arbitrary move, that initially seems to be a product of a lack of maturity at a vulnerable age like that. Her twisted ideology is questionable, but perhaps this is her way of indirectly experiencing physical pleasure with Jae-young; a vicarious means of seeking sexual gratification from her best friend; that she desired but could never bring herself to seek out.

This inability to confront or speak out one's feelings is a trait that would continue further with Yeo-jin's father, a cop who inadvertently discovers that his daughter is out prostituting herself. The tough detective, himself investigating the killings of teens in shady motels, is now reduced to a broken, helpless father. A shattered man, he ultimately turns into a sort of watch dog, following his daughter's clients, and intimidating or shaming them. The incapacity to break the ice with his daughter on the matter, turns into a violent rage that the clients have to bear rather than the daughter, who is in fact the one inviting them on her own free will. Subsequently, these men find themselves at the receiving end for the sins of Yeo-jin!

The first few frames show a computer chat session, where it all starts and the girls fix meetings with their clients. Kim Ki-Duk perhaps aims at showing the ill effects of advanced technology and how they have created distances between human beings. It is alarming how the girls don't even know who's on the other end and yet agree to give themselves to them. The comfort of being bold from behind a screen has perhaps caused this inability to connect on a direct, personal level, directly reflected in Yeo-jin's dad's reluctance to confront her. It all stems from the advent of technology and the way it is gradually establishing its roots in our environment. The scene in which he puts headphones around here ears to wake her (and also in a surreal sequence later) seemed a little off-kilter initially but finds a significant overlap from this angle.

And therefore, what better place to connect, than the countryside, at one with nature and away from industrialization and technology? Maybe this is why, in the final chapter "Sonata", when Yeo-jin's father decides to take her on a trip to the country to her mother's grave, they are finally able to actually connect with their spiritual selves and to each other on an emotional level, without even bringing up anything that happened prior to the trip. The outing turns out to be a turning point in the lives of these two tormented souls; a moment of moral awakening, a means of catharsis and the ultimate gateway to salvation. Tears of regret are shed, sins are washed off, and there are realizations that enable both of them to attain their peace, in a culmination that is heartbreaking.

That final frame is bound to leave an indelible mark in your memory much like the rest of this haunting story. It's amazing how much meaning is conveyed merely through symbols, gestures and body language of these characters that you can't help but empathize with.

This is gold standard Kim Ki-Duk with his signature storytelling style with somber music, great images and a strong communication of his usually rich themes in his unique visual language.


Score: 9/10

The Bow (Hwal) (2005)

***NOTE: The following analysis/review contains SPOILERS regarding some detail in the film.*** 

It is quite likely one of the cutest faces on the planet; that of a young, sixteen-something girl, an inhabitant of a lone houseboat in the middle of the sea. She has the most expressive eyes, flawless skin, a sweet smile that brings a smile to your face, and an innocence that warms the heart and fills it with joy. The girl, as we know later, has been brought up on this boat since the age of six by its owner, a sixty year old man. The boat is in total seclusion, managed by the old man and the young girl. They make a living by inviting tourists and fishermen to use the boat as a platform for some deep sea fishing.

The boat serves as a microcosm of the old man's world and one of the pillars of his existence. The other pillar is the young angel, his reason to live. Rumour has it that he intends to marry the girl when she turns 17. Tourists on board gossip about it. There are also doubts as to how she landed up with the old man. Some say she was kidnapped, others say she was found by him! While the tourists chatter about them, the old man simply looks on with a steady gaze and keeps a good eye on them. Some of them try to get fresh with the girl. Anyone who gets all touchy-feely with her gets threatened by an arrow, shot with great precision and timing from the old man's bow.

Yes, he is an expert archer who uses his bow as a protective device and also converts it into a soul-soothing, healing, musical instrument that produces some heavenly, ethereal notes. Additionally, the old man is an expert fortune teller. He tells people their fortunes by shooting arrows at a painting of the Buddha while the young girl sways on a swing between him and the painting. It is presumably the finesse with which he manages to avoid hitting the girl, and  the subsequent pattern formed by the arrows that predicts the future of his patrons!

This is abstract-realism at its finest. The boat, the vast open sea in all directions, and the clear blue skies above; this remains the only setting, the universe of Kim Ki-Duk's strangely fascinating, but quiet and lyrical film. It is like a chamber drama set entirely in a boat. The boat is their own private paradise in the middle of nowhere and the old man is its God. The whole business about being confined to the boat, not being connected to the outside world, lack of dialog, a feeling of being lost in the vast surroundings, and using a bow and arrow for protection, makes it an existence that is quite surreal and of the primitive kind.

The old man takes care of the girl like his child. It is a strange, silent bond, for neither the girl nor the old man ever speak throughout the film. The atmosphere in the film is similar in spirit to "3-Iron" (2004). We only see the two whisper. He bathes her in a small tub, her growing age and physique notwithstanding. We creep out when we watch this scene. It's a baffling relationship, but it certainly isn't "Lolita"! Never once does the old man come across as a horny child molester.

He, instead, appears like a sweet, caring old man with a friendly face. The bond they share is so pure and tender, it is difficult to point fingers at him. It is love alright, but a love that we aren't quite able to fathom. He is possessive about her, and doesn't stand her getting friendly with other younger men on the boat. He marks the calendar everyday, gradually counting down to an impending wedding day. But when a young college lad shows up as one of the tourists, the equilibrium is shattered and their quiet world threatens to come to an end.

"The Bow" is a coming of age film of another kind. Here, the child who has been kept isolated from external influences suddenly finds herself exposed to them. There is an instant connect between the young lad and the girl. He gives her his headphones. She has never heard any other music than what the old man plays with his bow. So enamoured is she of him and the little souvenir, his music player he gifts her, that she hears music in the headphones even when they aren't connected to any player! At sixteen she is like a little baby who just about takes her baby steps and begins to learn about what exists beyond her marooned world.

Attention to detail about behavioral changes, post the visit of the young lad, is simply extraordinary. The girl doesn't like the touch of the old man anymore. She cowers when he tries to bathe her. She doesn't lend him his hand when he tries to hold it whilst in bed. She deliberately makes passes at tourists to make him jealous. She sees an airplane pass by, which instills a desire in her to fly away to freedom.

The writing here is all the more commendable, considering all emotions and feelings are conveyed only through wordless gestures and expressions. The girl with a perpetual smile on her face, now begins to sulk with the old man around. His presence suddenly starts to irk her. The sulk turns into a wide, joyful smile when the young lad approaches again. The sight of his arrival makes her ecstatic. The happiness is palpable. It is beautiful! 

Of course, all this is much to the ire of the old man who cannot stand his stable system being messed with. The viewer is left wondering how the disturbed environment will stabilize again. The final act of the film takes us by complete surprise, but it also helps makes the rest of the film, its symbols and its peculiarities fall into place in a spiritual whole. Presumably, the old man understands that he does not stand a chance when pitted against a much younger man and comes to terms with the reality that he can never keep the girl happy as his bride. 

And hence in a carefully thought out decision, he decides to depart from this world, but makes it a point to be the one to take her virginity? It is quite perplexing what happens, but just as soon as the old man jumps the boat and commits suicide, the girl breaks into the kind of spasms that make one believe she is being made love to by an invisible force, perhaps the ghost of the old man. The arrow that he shoots in the sky, is probably the one that comes back and anchors itself in the middle of her legs, and the girl soon bleeds (popping the cherry?)! 

The young man  gives a  bewildered look, one that probably matches with the audiences' expression as well! But it certainly makes a lot of sense in the metaphysical context. The bow-arrow is arguably a phallic symbol of power, vitality, protection and manhood for the old man. He comes back to establish his ownership upon her, but lets her go as soon as his purpose of existence is served. He has made the girl his, and then departed from the universe.

The fact that a weapon that can hurt is also capable of making music of such sublime quality that it puts the girl into a trance, reinforces its role as a potent device that commands and controls. The presence of music is the backbone of the film. It is what gives the film its heart, its emotions. It is what makes us connect with the film's events and feel them. This feeling is enhanced by the beautiful, dazzling imagery. It's almost like a painting in motion. The russet gold sunset, the loneliness at nights in the backdrop of the dark blue skies, the bright sunshine of the morning and the primary reds make for some striking visuals. 

Certain films capture your heart, and command your attention through your feelings, your senses. These are the films that you automatically immerse yourself into, much like a dream that occurs in the middle of your sleep; something which you have no control upon. It feels like your reality. And when you wake up, you have that expression on your face that makes you long to go back. 

When you start watching Kim Ki-Duk's "The Bow" (2005), it becomes one of those immersive dream-like experiences. It becomes your universe. You become a part of it. Just see it to believe it.

Score: 10/10

Time (Shi Gan) (2006)

Time heals, but in some cases, it destroys everything. South Korean auteur Kim Ki-duk illustrates this with a tragic tale of two lovers and also takes the opportunity to sardonically criticize a contemporary trend. In "Time" (2006), however, he abandons the lyrical/experimental style of "3-Iron" (2004) and follows a conventional mystery/thriller structure with perhaps, much more dialog than any of his other films. Despite a more formalist approach this time, the director ensures that his product stands out nevertheless, and throws a curveball at his unsuspecting audiences with twists that transcend literalism and border on the metaphysical. 

Ji-woo's (Jung-woo Ha) girlfriend, Seh-hee (Ji-Yeon Park) is of the extremely jealous type. His amiable behaviour with other women becomes a reason for her to throw childish fits of jealousy. Far too possessive about her boyfriend, she becomes a nervous wreck, paranoid about losing him to some other. A lack of self-esteem about her own looks ("same boring face") burrows its way into her psyche, and in a rather drastic and irrational decision, she goes under the knife in order to get a new face, so as to secure her boyfriend's supposedly dampening interest in her. But at what cost?

With a primary focus on the central character of a whiny, and sometimes unreasonable and difficult woman, Kim Ki-duk examines aspects of jealousy, ennui and growing insecurities in a relationship. Given Seh-hee's temperament, it isn't unconvincing that she takes an impulsive decision and goes to extreme and practically stupid measures to achieve something that she herself isn't in full realization of. The doctor mentions clearly that it will take six months for full recovery. And hence, she disappears from Ji-Woo's life without a word and absconds for six months, comes back with a new face (Sung Hyun-ah), and tries to get close to him with a slightly altered name and identity.

Ji-Woo doesn't seem to be the flirtatious kind. He is simply a normal, handsome fellow who enjoys the attention he gets from other females and sometimes reciprocates by checking them out or engaging in amicable chats with them. His heart still lies with Seh-hee and this is apparent from the very tough time he faces without her. He gets drunk, mourns her disappearance and tries to console himself when another woman tries to seduce him, saying "we are all human". Heartbroken and lonely, he makes several unsuccessful attempts at dating.

Ambiguities abound, in Kim Ki-duk's strange narrative, but not with the intent of perplexing. A lot of events are cut short, information is withheld and an episode thread simply abandoned without explanations, creating more conundrums. For instance, a glass window suddenly breaks in a motel room where Ji-Woo is being seduced by a young girl. Later, a reunion with an old crush of Ji-Woo's goes awkwardly wrong for an unknown reason. Kim Ki-duk lets us fill the blanks in these areas, and the choice of keep things under the veil is a decision that works in rendering an even more mysterious aura to the story and even plugging potential holes.

It's Seh-hee's motivations that are puzzling, and the viewer is baffled just as Ji-Woo eventually is, about the intent of her actions. Seh-hee is possessive about Ji-Woo, doesn't want him to even look at other women and vice versa, and yet, gets herself a new face in the hope of rekindling their relationship. But doesn't this desire, belie her primary concern that Ji-Woo shouldn't get attracted to other women and be in love with Seh-hee forever?

This inconsistency is also in tune with the bizarre sequence involving a mask, used to a very unnerving effect. The new See-hee turns up with a mask of the old Seh-hee and asks Ji-woo to take it off, trying to explain to the best of her abilities why she did what she did. A bewildered Ji-woo is not surprisingly, freaked out when she says that her new self was jealous that he couldn't forget her old self! There is no way to reason with this behaviour. It doesn't make much sense, but knowing that we are dealing with an unreasonable character, anything is plausible.

In a genius move of writing, Kim Ki-duk introduces a diametric shift in the situation in the final half hour of the film and keeps things appropriately fuzzy, and thus manages to maintain an edge and prevents it from succumbing to predictability. If the intelligent final act makes you applaud the director's craft and command over his narrative, the shocking culmination will make your jaw drop.

"Time" is the kind of film that works on many levels thanks to its narrative full of layers that go deeper than those involved in any kind of surface surgery. Despite being a thriller at its core, laced with a doomed romance, soapy melodrama and wry humour, "Time" touches upon existential themes of identity and the loss of it, the relative insignificance of one individual in an ever-growing urban whole, given more emphasis in the haunting final frame. The plot and these themes also evoke memories of two Hiroshi Teshigahara classics, "The Man without a Map" (1968) and "The Face of Another" (1966).

For its central premise, the filmmaker taps the subject of his home country's growing obsession with cosmetic surgery. According to many recent news reports, Seoul in South Korea is a big hub, with an entire district devoted to plastic surgery clinics. If statistics are to be trusted, one in five Korean women opt for plastic surgery, to look younger in a race against time, or simply because they aren't happy with their natural features. Through his characters, who seem to take plastic surgery for granted as an easy tool for morphing into another person, Kim Ki-duk subtly attacks this narcissism in humans and advocates natural and inner beauty, stressing upon the obvious and simple fact of life, that beauty is only skin deep and no matter what you do to your surface, you are the same person within, and nothing can change that.

Kim Ki-duk's absorbing storytelling style, power-packed performances from the lead cast Jung-woo Ha and Sung Hyun-ah, and vivid cinematography are the assets of "Time". Beautiful, poetic images have always been a strong point of Kim Ki-duk films, and "Time" showcases a good number of symbolically rich images. On two separate occasions, both lead characters are shown kicking a huge tree, perhaps venting out their frustration against it because it seems to be eternal, standing the test of time, unfazed, while the rest of them continue to face the effects of the passage of time with their ups and downs. There is an extensive use of mirrors and distorted reflections, even characters filmed from behind glass objects. These distortions directly reflect an artificiality of these characters; that they have ended up becoming warped images of themselves.

A sculpture park by the beach is a location frequently used, and it has a variety of art pieces on display. In one scene, See-hee lies down next to the sculpture of a man and caresses it, insinuating that she gives a lot of weight to the superficial and perhaps, the artificial. One other such sculpture is that of two giant hands with a small staircase like construction that ascends towards the sky but ends abruptly with no concrete shape or destination. Several recurring images with characters sitting within these hands perhaps drive home the final word; that ultimately there are the hands of fate, and no matter what you do, you cannot mess with nature.

Score: 9/10