Sorrowful Beauty: Cinema And The Korean Han

There’s something about collective struggle that makes it a bottomless well in terms of inspiration. No matter how dark and murky, we have constantly used art to make sense of it. Koreans know a thing or two about collective struggle: much of their recent history has been marked by geopolitical conflicts, leaving its population marked by suffering and sorrows, but forevermore hopeful.

 Korean cinema can be categorised into four movements.

The Golden Age of Korean cinema started, at odds, during the Korean diaspora. Movies made during this period almost entirely relate to this conflict or the ones that preceded it - the Japanese occupation in Korea or both countries’ involvement in WWII -, often presenting the enemy, North Koreans and Japanese alike, as unanimously barbaric and morally corrupted. The poor nuance was a reflection of the ongoing ideological fight against communism.

The so-called Dark Age spanned from 1962 to 1987 and was characterised by state-controlled cinema, censorship, and uniformity in the content produced and screened.

Films from the Korean First New Wave follow the early removal of censorship. Their ideal is to move away from nationalistic films adhering to the government's political stance and instead focus on the working class as the protagonist, now adopting a socially critical stance.

The general atmosphere is one of isolation, poor interpersonal communication, or estrangement within families, highlighting the resentment and bitterness of the working class towards oppressive forces.

The Second New Wave starts when the removal of censorship was finalised. The focus then shifts towards a sense of spectacle mainly to satisfy the masses and guarantee profitability.

Korean cinema starts to pick up internationally, and everything from scenography and montage to iconography grows more complex.

Despite the indisputable differences between the movies of these periods, there are a number of recurrent scenic and narrative processes. The good characters’ energy always seems to change as soon as the antagonists come into play: agency and liveliness are lost. Plots regularly include a progression from oppression to hope, whilst also focusing on a single individual in their larger surroundings of a group, turning the storytelling one of a simultaneously personal and collective struggle in the face of repression.

 The quasi-totality of Korean cinematic oeuvres was born out of a time of conflict or oppression, or of healing from painful reminiscences of the country’s history.

This ties in with the cultural concept of Han: a feeling of oppression, resentment, and grief sometimes intertwined with hope, intrinsic to all Koreans and present in all art forms. Originally imposed by the Japanese occupants and used as justification for the invasion, it heavily contrasted with the optimism and joyfulness of Japanese arts. The Japanese saw just how infused with melancholy, sadness, and suffering Koreans and their art were, and interpreted it as helplessness or a need for superior governance .

The label imposed by the oppressor was however soon embraced by Koreans: the loss of, or the estrangement from Korean culture fed a yearning to reconnect with their Korean-ness.

EVERY KOREAN HAS A SAD STORY

– THE GOOD IN THE GOOD, THE BAD AND THE WEIRD BY KIM JEE-WOON

Interrelated with Han is the almost obsessive need for revenge.

Park Chan-Wook ignited Korea’s knack for revenge movies with his Vengeance Trilogy. This approach to revenge is particular in that it hits ordinary people, forced into violence because of hopeless circumstances. Characters are acting desperately in an attempt to restore some form of balance while any possibility of it can only be present in their delusional state of thinking. This question is particularly well expressed in the trilogy, where the characters’ despair leads to a never-ending succession of vengeful acts enclosed in a loop. One’s revenge is another’s reason to seek it themselves.

By completely blurring the lines of morality, the Vengeance Trilogy asks us if justice is attainable and whether it even existed in the first place.

From its depiction in cinema, revenge may be interpreted as a way for catharsis in itself, but also highlighting how little respite revenge may actually give to the individual. In fact, revenge in Korean cinema often appears impossible or unsatisfying.

Finally, vengeance participates in deconstructing the dichotomy of good vs evil and explores the value of integrity (or its loss thereof) as we may very well become vile when fighting the vile. This leaves us to ponder whether there really is a way out.

One specificity of cinema and storytelling is its ability to condense time: weeks, months, and years can all unroll in a single opus. This participates in viewers’ emotional purge, as it allows for a more accurate representation of the depth of the human experience, and it deepens the attachment of the viewever to the characters as they start to relate to their life’s unfolding. It also allows for emotive build-up before the release.

The cinematic Han and catharsis that it engenders both provide an outlet for collective grief. This art form can help viewers confront their repressed and misunderstood feelings, allowing them to attain a deeper understanding of the human condition and a new level of spiritual maturity (Hyun Jin Moon, What is Han?).

Horror, violence, and death all contribute to the sense of spectacle in Korean cinema and are reminiscent of the Ancient Greek tragedies – ones where the viewers eventually realise how comfortable and relieved they feel from the comfort of their seats. The point of these tragedies was initially to function as warnings, in order for our societies to avoid erratic and destructive behaviours.

Cinema does that: even when the film is over and the spectators leave the room, we still take a piece of it with us. After watching the characters lose everything they had left to their violent vendettas, spectators will inevitably wonder if they should put their need for revenge to rest and seek closure instead.

And this is precisely the point of catharsis in cinema – transforming emotions into thinking.

Cinema eased our impulses and repressed emotions and ultimately leaves room for further introspection.