Il Mare - Hyun-seung Lee (2000)

It’s as if Keanu Reeves is Il Mare, Sandra Bullock is The Lake House, and Roy Lee is the magical mailbox, except I haven’t seen The Lake House and I don’t want to compare Reeves to the original South Korean film. Roy Lee, the Korean American producer responsible for tainting so many great, East Asian films with American remakes such as The Ring, The Grudge, Eight Below, The Departed, and the upcoming My Sassy Girl, can also be blamed for The Lake House—the movie that probably prevented too many Americans from seeing Hyun-seung Lee’s popular romantic drama. But I won’t judge a movie I haven’t seen (even if I am against it in principle), so I’ll stop my rant here (for now).

Il Mare’s Korean title Siworae offers the best summary of the film, translated as “time-transcending love.” The English title refers to the name of the ocean-side house where the two main characters live alone, but not together, unfortunately, since there’s a two-year gap between them. Just before the new millennium, Eun-joo leaves a Christmas card in the mailbox when she moves out, beginning a correspondence with Sung-hyun, who lives in the same house, only in 1997. At first the letters confuse the pen pals, but then they realize the time-traveling capabilities of the mailbox they share. The romance between Eun-joo and Sung-hyun revolves, then, around the challenge of crossing the barrier of time that separates them.











Ji-hyun Jun, in her role preceding My Sassy Girl, gives an unrecognizable performance for anyone familiar with her animated role in the romantic comedy. This softer, more reserved Jun is just as charming, but her unbearable loneliness is what really complements the drama. Jung-jae Lee also proves his versatility as an actor, playing an emotionally vulnerable leading man that’s very different from his other role in 2000, an awkward, perverted Internet addict in Asako in Ruby Shoes. For such a premise, it’s incredible that the two actors form a believable chemistry while sharing essentially no screen time—a fascinating twist on the genre.

The cinematography isn’t anything too fancy, kept simple while showing off the large environments and households that the characters inhabit, emphasizing their isolation. There are also some sequences where the editing plays around with the space the couple share, as if collapsing time so they can physically connect. The whole time-traveling aspect never gets too gimmicky, luckily, and is highly engrossing until the very end. None of it seemed confusing to me while watching—it all just sort of drifted past me as I enjoyed the film. But when it was over, thinking about the chronology and the converging time-lines, it hit me like, “wait…what?!” Depending on your interpretation of Il Mare, this deceptively simple film can become absolutely mind-boggling. But I guess that’s something time-travel movies can pretty much guarantee.

My Sassy Girl - Kwak Jae-yong (2001)

I know it’s frustrating that I keep picking films that aren’t available in the US, but that’s part of the reason I’m reviewing My Sassy Girl. While it does boggle me that South Korea’s highest grossing comedy in history doesn’t have a Region 1 DVD, it’s no big surprise either. The Korean films that actually make it across seas, like Oldboy or The Host, tend to be directed towards a more global audience, and have art film-ish qualities. My Sassy Girl, on the other hand, is a fresh, heartwarming romance with original humor and loveable characters—the kind of movie Hollywood wishes it thought up first. So although it was never distributed in the States, Americans who mysteriously never got a chance to see this film will have an opportunity to see the remake, a version made just for them, due sometime this year.

My Sassy Girl is based on the true accounts of Kim Ho-sik, an Internet poster who documented his experiences with his insane girlfriend. The film follows Kyun-woo, an unassuming college student who stumbles upon the belligerently drunken Girl in a subway. It’s possibly the most unflattering introduction of a female romantic lead I’ve ever seen. After a very messy and unpleasant train ride, Kyun-woo ends up carrying the passed out Girl all the way to a hotel to nurse her back to sobriety. Over the course of the movie the two develop a very sadomasochistic relationship. The Girl is unbearably bitchy, physically abusive, yet irresistibly appealing—everything a guy could hope for.











The two leads are really what highlight the film. Tae-hyun Cha as Kyun-woo plays the perfect opposite of Ji-hyun Jun. Cha’s facial expressions alone are half the comedy as he reacts to the truly bizarre behavior of his girlfriend. Most of the credit, however, belongs to Jun. Her ability to overcome a range of horrifying faces, constant attitude, and otherwise unattractive behavior with an unfailing charm is an incredible achievement. In a film like this, her role is critical in capturing both the nightmares and hearts of the audience. Even her catchphrase “Chigole?”—“You wanna die?”—is as endearing as it is threatening. Never did I question why Kyun-woo would fall for a girl like her.

The characters are multi-dimensional, the story always keeps you guessing, and it never pushes the melodrama too hard. The film is extraordinarily entertaining, the kind of movie that’s the perfect pick-me-up on a gloomy day, one that even people who hate subtitles would enjoy. My Sassy Girl is a great reminder that when the South Korean film industry steps up against Hollywood, it isn’t messing around. Of course, the fact that Americans can’t even see this film without importing an expensive DVD through Amazon or eBay is another good reminder that Hollywood’s hegemony, especially in business practices, aren’t exactly challengeable. So if not for the comedy or the acting, I think this film should be seen for the general appreciation of contemporary Korean cinema...especially before Elisha Cuthbert sasses it up in America.

Tampopo - Juzo Itami (1985)

My choice to write about this film definitely reveals a trend in my recent reviews. Sure, they’re all Japanese, but more importantly, these three works are examples of films/series that have honestly affected my life. For me, a great film isn’t necessarily one that I would give a 10/10 to on the traditional scale. The works I’ve been reviewing are hardly flawless, but I love them because they don’t need to be—technical imperfections, the occasional poor performance, or even an overuse of tired clichés—none of that matters so long as I can take a part of the film into my own reality, whether it be a tentative belief system from After Life, or an emotional scar from Crying out Love. Tampopo, however, gave me something even greater…it changed my life forever.

Itami’s film is bizarre and hilarious. Publicized as “the first Noodle Western,” the main story follows two truck drivers, Goro and his sidekick Gun (a young Ken Watanabe), who stop at ramen bar, only to be disappointed by the worst bowl of noodles they’ve ever had. Touched by the determination of Tampopo, the owner and single mother, Goro (an expert on roadside noodles) agrees to help her create the best bowl of ramen in Japan. Yet this is only one, small element of the movie—an ensemble cast brings countless vignettes that add even more satirical flavor to the main story, from a rich couple’s erotic, food-based foreplay to an old lady’s obsessive fruit-squeezing crimes.











The commentary on Japanese food culture is rich, but there’s still a lot of humor for those who aren’t familiar with the topic. However, the comedy is still fairly inconsistent, delivering a few awkward and just random moments. “Quirky” is definitely the best way to describe Tampopo. It’s a blend of Western and social satire, with a touch of romance, action, a sprinkle of French New Wave, and a free cooking lesson on the side.

Tampopo is one of those rare movies where half the time you’re not exactly sure what is going on, where you’re being led, or why certain things are happening; yet you couldn’t care less. It’s an insane ride, giving you so many different tastes that the end leaves your mouth watering. If this review is making you hungry, then I’m getting my main point across. You’ll never want ramen so bad in your entire life than after seeing this movie.












Which brings me to the reason I love Tampopo: it set me on a quest to find the perfect bowl of ramen. I didn’t search very far, but I finally feel like I found the place (at least it’s local). If you want the recipe for a perfect evening, then skip lunch, gather your best friends together, watch Tampopo, then head over to Little Tokyo in Los Angeles (I don’t care how long the flight is) and find a little ramenya with a yellow awning called Daikokuya.

Thanks to this film, I found my favorite place to get ramen in LA. I can’t think of a better example of a life-altering movie than that.

Sekai no Chuushin de, Ai wo Sakebu (2004)

This is my favorite Japanese Drama I've seen so far (granted I haven't seen too many). The series, translated to English as "Crying out Love in the Center of the World," is 12 episodes long (including the special epilogue episode), and was, as far as I understand, fairly popular in Japan. It won a bunch of awards and had good ratings, so along with my roommate's high praise and recommendation, I figured it would be a prime example of a J-Drama series to watch as an introduction to the format.*

Before starting it, my roommate who recommended the series warned me that it was sad, and I mean really sad. I don't cry during movies very often, and when I do I only get teary eyed, so I wasn't very concerned. I'm not ashamed to say, then, that I have NEVER swelled up as bad or as frequently as I did watching Crying out Love. This series is intoxicating, depressing, and touching. While obsessing over this series, it started to affect many areas of my life—I neglected lots of homework and even had trouble sleeping after watching particularly rough episodes before bed. I really don’t think I’m exaggerating when I say Crying out Love is the saddest thing I’ve ever seen.












The story focuses on Sakutaro, a man in his mid 30’s who has wasted his life away mourning the loss of his high school love. The romance is told through flashbacks, how he meets Aki, pretty much the perfect girl (funny, smart, caring), the times they spend together falling in love, and the inevitable tragedy that occurs. The story is fairly conventional, but the acting is very good, and it’s elegantly shot. Yet I think the real strength of Crying out Love is the score: the memorable songs and motifs that unexpectedly burrow their way into your brain, emotionally shattering you at the most pivotal and dramatic moments, with a heartbreaking musical swell or a bittersweet montage. Yes, it’s dramatic…yes, I’m sure you can even call it corny at times...but it’s insanely effective.

Crying out Love isn’t particularly groundbreaking, nor is it a huge technical achievement. Even the storytelling is ordinary and at times borderline cliché. I think it’s fair, though, to claim that this series had a huge emotional impact on me, and there’s no way I can deny the craze it put me through for that very bizarre, tortuous week of my life. It’s emotional masochism at its best.


*If you have trouble finding access to this series, you may want to try searching for the film adaptations: there's a Japanese version by the same name AND a Korean version called My Girl and I. I haven't seen either of these, however, so I won't vouch for them. I've heard the TV series is the best. Just don't resort to downloading. That's illegal. *cough*

After Life - Hirokazu Kore-Eda (1998)

I watched Kore-eda’s After Life in class this semester, my only prior knowledge being the topic of the film, made apparent by the title. Although in Japan the title is ワンダフルライフ, Katakana for “Wonderful Life,” it’s obvious why Kore-eda wanted to change it for its international release.

After Life is very much an art film—it takes place in a sort of old facility where the deceased, with the help of the staff members that work there, recall their favorite memories so they can be reconstructed as films and relived for eternity. Not only does the film delve deep in the human attachment to memory, but it also questions the recreations we form in our mind, and even the ability of the film medium to represent dreams and reality. Yet After Life is never over-dramatic or pretentious, a great risk for dealing with such intense themes.

Kore-eda is incredibly subtle, and he puts his background in documentaries to great use. The cinematographer Yutaka Yamazaki, a veteran documentary photographer, lends a realistic aesthetic that really compliments the themes and mood of the film. Supposedly many of the people interviewed in the film were actually non-actors interviewed by Kore-eda during pre-production. The dialogue, then, feels improvised, and the stories that the deceased tell are real and touching. At times the film even feels more documentary than fiction, until you remember that the interviewees are ghosts in a world after life.



This film really grew on me after my first viewing, and I’ve since re-watched parts of it. The emotional journey is very fulfilling—ranging from melancholy, to frustration, to humor, to nostalgic bliss. And surprisingly, the film does a very good job of answering all the technical questions about after life that could possibly detract from the realism of the film, like “Who are the people working there?” or “What happens when people can’t choose a memory?”

I highly, highly recommend this film. It’s deceptively moving, and it’s definitely one of those experiences that linger around, forcing you to ask yourself things you didn’t really want to deal with before. I’ll conclude by saying that if I had to believe in an after life, this is the one I’d hope for the most.