Back when this year started, it was considered groundbreaking when Bong Joon-ho’s Parasite (2019) won The Academy Award for Best Picture. No international film prior to this year had won the category and opened up a realm of opportunity for just about any title to win the category. Not only that, but it raised awareness to a series of South Korean filmmakers who were also deserving of attention. Pockets on Twitter have suggested that this recent trend be called Korean New Wave (like French New Wave), if just because of how many masterpieces have been coming out of the country on an annual basis. Among those listed is Park Chan-wook, who has definitely had some success in The United States, but I honestly can’t see winning an Oscar.
The most recent title that most will recognize Chan-wook for is The Handmaiden (2016), which was such a creative construct that it even had altered subtitles to reflect the different languages spoken. He is a filmmaker who continues to impress me every time that I press ‘Play’ and see what madness he has created. His sole English film, Stoker (2013) ranks among my favorite films of the past decade, which perfectly blends horrific violence with this melodramatic beauty that goes down smooth. Of course, this is a long way of asking a very embarrassing question: why did it take me so long to finish The Vengeance Trilogy?
At least when I was starting college, Chan-wook was considered to be a high point of world cinema. There were a handful of titles that my friends discussed. You HAD to see Oldboy (2004) for how insane it was. You couldn’t believe that a film this dark and grim could be so courageous in its story. Maybe it’s just a cultural difference, but the story of revenge is one that finds mankind losing their humanity until all that’s left is a soldiered husk, fighting their way towards sanity that they’ll never achieve. Oldboy is definitely the masterful center to this entire equation, but what I wasn’t expecting was its concluding chapter, Lady Vengeance (2005), happened to be even more heartbreaking.
By the time I got to Lady Vengeance, I realized that I had averaged a five-year gap between all three of the films. I can’t exactly tell you why, especially since this is officially the fifth Chan-wook movie that gets a glowing review from me. However, I found myself settling in for a movie that would push boundaries further. Whereas Oldboy had a masochistic streak about the folly of man, this time it was about something more insular. Oh sure, there’s still a ton of violence and assault, but Chan-wook has decided to turn this story into a glossy magazine, full of eye-popping visuals (her pink eyeshadow is radiant) and a story that takes even more risks. It may not be nearly as profane or strange as Oldboy, but it’s a miracle that he made these two films in successive years.
The whole story starts with a humorous scene. A group of caroling Santas is outside a prison welcoming the recently freed. As they hold out a reward, symbolizing a turn towards purity, Geum-Ja Lee (Yeong-ae Lee) smacks it out of their hand. She is our Lady Vengeance, the woman whose notorious record sends innocent bystanders into a frenzy, wondering why anyone would dare to hire such a hostile woman. After all, she had murdered before and will do it again.
It’s a scenario made all the more heartbreaking when you realize that South Korea is a collectivist society. They reward teamwork and following orders. To them, Geum-Ja Lee is a deviant, an outsider. She is an easy scapegoat for all of their fears regarding the collapse of society, believing that she is someone that wouldn’t be afraid to slice their throat. As much as this is a quest for sympathy from a child narrator, it’s as much a study on how we treat ex-cons who simply want to move on with their life. The pain of past actions lives inside, evading any change of public forgiveness. She is who she is and that in itself is a burden that adds to a tragic conclusion.
What should be noted is that in the world of Chan-wook, revenge can’t be handled with kid gloves. There is a need to get your hands dirty, and he pulls it off with some of the most meticulous shots in the whole film. Constantly he finds Geum-Ja Lee’s placing people in vices, shooting feet. She is crouching in society, waiting to attack her targets. The film isn’t afraid to show everyone who wronged her, encompassing a trauma inside that she’ll never escape. Their deaths may bring some satisfaction, but it’s the effort to get back to the childlike wonder that she is aspiring to – desiring to remember a time before revenge consumed her life.
As mentioned, there is a strong level of style to the whole experience. The film trades languages, featuring Korean subtitles that build from the outside in. There are shots where a pan to the sky featuring the message “You have no mother” continues to pan to an upside-down car. There are transitions that feel cleverly transplanted onto flexible surfaces like magazines: an idea reminiscent of the later film Scott Pilgrim vs. the World (2010). So much of the film is filled with this style that dazzles the viewer, finding the psychological study becoming a clash of happiness and darkness, creating an ultimate creative study of depression.
The world of Lady Vengeance is unrelenting. Geum-Ja Lee constantly finds herself in oppressive positions, finding an inability to escape the daggers being thrown at her. When looking back at her child that had been wrongfully taken away, she finds barriers of language keeping her from connecting to an adoptive family. There is a loneliness in her that begins to explain how she acts out. Everything is methodical, trying to sell the revenge as a form of strength, that she can reach this fantasy of being satisfied. But alas, she is like Angelica Schuyler in this scenario.
To a lesser filmmaker, this story would be hacky and cheap. The idea of damaging a woman for the sake of revenge is a tired trope. Considering that the American alternative of the time was torture porn, the track record for making this story more than trashy is a miracle. Then again, Chan-wook comes from a South Korean style of filmmaking, not relying on overanxious action beats and quick reactions. Everything he does is designed to give the audience thought, asking us why this moment feels painful. What is it ultimately saying about Geum-Ja Lee or even society at large? Is she really the worst person in the world if there’s worse individuals, notably Mr. Baek (Min-Sik Choi) threatening the sanctity of childhood innocence by filming their murders?
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| It also has great posters |
As much style that is thrown in here, where the violence is perfectly edited in like an exclamation point midway through a sentence, it’s easy to forget that Chan-wook is more interested in the drama of this character. There’s desperation in her soul as she progresses through the violence, finding herself working up to a finale that is harrowing. Mr. Baek is a figure who seems unrelenting, suggesting that there is no justice in society. As Geum-Ja Lee confronts it, she is rattled with her own memories, the fears of seeing the humanity inside of this awful individual.
It’s why she brings in innocent bystanders to seek revenge. They’re the ones who have been judging her this whole film. What’s horrific here is not the violence (more alluded to than shown), but the way that Chan-wook cuts to them as the audio track becomes insufferable. The faces of horror reflect a loss of sanctity inside of them. In one of the most effective pieces of editing in the whole film, a hanging cuts moments before to a person passing out on the floor from trauma. They want their revenge, but few can think to act it out, especially as Mr. Baek taunts them with horrible rhetoric.
As much as this could be argued as irresponsible, it’s perfect as a way of conveying the different ways that humanity judges itself. The previous two entries in The Vengeance Trilogy were more asking audiences to understand the protagonists’ desperation. It’s in trying to get kidneys in Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance (2003), or the horrifying reveal of time passing in Oldboy. Here, it starts by looking inward before turning the moral argument to the people, asking why we hold rage in our hearts, to begin with. Why do we turn away from the chance for purity and safety in a collectivist society? Sometimes it’s just too difficult.
There’s no doubt that the film is visceral, maybe even unpleasant at times. However, Chan-wook is not obsessed with glorified violence. Everything has a greater point of why it’s shown. This is a story first and foremost about character, understanding the motives behind the actions. The style compliments a divide that exists within the framework, even informed by a hyper score, orchestrated at moments of highest inspiration. There’s no denying that it’s a dazzling work and one that only makes the pain inside all the more tragic.
To be transparent, I watched the version on The Criterion Channel and loved it. This is one of those films that feels like I should be seeing it for a third or fourth time by now in my cinematic history. I’m in awe of what I just witnessed and I wonder if the intensity will hold up if I ever rewatch it. Frankly, I feel curious to revisit more Chan-wook (or watch more?). For now, I feel curious to watch the “Fade to Black” version of Lady Vengeance which supposedly fades from color into black and white photography. If the description is right, all color doesn’t disappear at once and I can only imagine adds a psychological component to everything.
Whatever ends up happening, I will continue to kick myself for taking so long to get through The Vengeance Trilogy. Not since Krzystof Kieslowski’s The Three Colors Trilogy have I found a spiritual trilogy that was so connected in its style and themes that it creates a deeper cathartic experience. Of course, both are aiming for different goals, but they’re ultimately masterful examples that hide clues for the other films that make them essential to a bigger picture. The world of Chan-wook is a bleak one, but it’s only to emphasize how vengeance makes fools of us all.
I love Lady Vengeance not only for the ride that it takes you on but for having the brilliance to end not on a big moment where the heavens open up. It’s one of personal reflection, bringing the journey to an end with heartbreak. If you don’t have even an ounce of sympathy for her by this point, then Chan-wook didn’t do his work. She may not be totally redeemable, but you understand how much she sacrificed to reach this point. It’s a moment that will make you want to sit quietly in the theater, thinking about what you saw, what it all means. Everything feels new when you leave the film, and it’s ultimately one of finding better answers. It’s only through this experience of marvelous escapism that we can seek to understand the worst about ourselves in the hope that we become better. I hope it sticks for you, too.
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