If you have seen 2019’s Parasite, then you might be interested in Korean cinema. And that’s a good thing. Far from the melodramatic and often saccharine K-dramas, Korean movies are on a different plane of existence. I daresay, Korean films are some of the best in the world.
If you’re looking to delve into the rabbit hole that is Korean cinema, allow me to introduce you to 2018’s Burning. A precursor to Parasite, Lee Chang-dong’s Burning was a critical darling, competing in most of the same awards as Parasite did in the next year. It just so happened that Shoplifters and Roma came out the same year as Burning, and the latter was somehow lost in all the chaos.
Honestly speaking, Japan’s Shoplifters is more of a spiritual predecessor to Parasite than Burning. Still, I believe that Burning’s critical success paved the way for Korean movies to be taken seriously on the international stage. It’s a must-watch for anyone who loves movies.
Burning, based on Haruki Murakami’s short story Barn Burning, stars Yoo Ah-in (Sungkyunkwan Scandal, Chicago Typewriter) as Lee Jong-su, an aspiring writer. He becomes entangled in a weird love triangle with his former classmate, Shin Hae-mi (Jeon Jong-seo) and her new friend Ben (Steven Yeun).
Right off the bat, let me just say that Jong-su is a Murakami character through and through. If you’ve ever read his books, you’ll recognize Jong-su. He’s the loner-type fixated in an enigmatic woman of the world. Hae-mi is also another character who can comfortably exist in Murakami’s world, with her propensity for having childhood memories that only she can remember. Ben is more of a wild card and belongs in a Korean revenge movie as much as he does in a Murakami book. It makes for an interesting dynamic between them.
Working odd jobs and taking care of his family’s declining farm, Jong-su is poor. Besides his writing, he seems to have no other interests. He has no support system. In contrast, Ben is wealthy and has a seemingly great group of family and friends. This fuels Jong-su’s insecurities despite already having intimate relations with Hae-mi. Jong-su, Hae-mi, and Ben hang out all the time, and Jong-su can’t help but feel like the third wheel.
It all comes to a head in what I consider to be Burning’s most pivotal, if not its best sequence. Ben and Hae-mi decide to visit Jong-su on his family farm on a whim. They hang out and share a joint, and while Hae-mi is passed out, Jong-su and Ben reveal their deepest secrets to each other. Ben tells Jong-su that he burns a greenhouse every two months and decides to just accept this part of his personality. He also divulges that he has picked the next greenhouse to burn, and it’s near Jong-su’s farm.
Soon after, Jong-su and Hae-mi argue. Hae-mi leaves with Ben, and this is the last time Jong-su sees her. Before then, the plot has been on a slow burn, with every element simmering into what I thought is a Murakami-esque tragic romance. But from this point on, the movie transitions into a surreal crime story reminiscent of revered Korean revenge movies, although a tad less violent and more philosophical.
Jong-su’s search for Hae-mi leads him to confirm for himself his worst suspicions about Ben. As he points out to Hae-mi earlier in the movie, no one seems to know how Ben makes his money. Jong-su also never finds any burned greenhouses despite Ben’s confirmation. So, what did Ben really mean when he said he burns greenhouses? In true Murakami-esque fashion, the answer comes from Hae-mi’s cheap watch and her cat, Boil. But it also follows a common theme in Korean movies: taking the law into your own hands. As the credits roll, Burning leaves more questions than answers.
The movie would not have worked nearly as well if it weren’t for the actors’ performances. For most of the film, we’re only watching Jong-su, Hae-mi, and Ben interacting with each other, so their actors need to be able to carry their scenes. Yoo and Jeon (Mona Lisa and the Blood Moon) are in their element all throughout. Meanwhile, your view of Yeun’s (The Walking Dead, Okja) performance will really depend on how you interpret his character.
As an American actor, Yeun gives his character an otherness that is, for all intents and purposes, deliberate. Yes, he is ethnically Korean, but he still gives off a distinctly different vibe than the other actors. In a way, it shows his range. We’re all so used to seeing him as good guy Glenn Rhee, but here he’s pulling off a calm, collected, even sociopathic character with ease.
He only really flops when it comes to line delivery. He delivers Korean dialogue correctly and with the right emotions, but sometimes he lacks the confidence of a native Korean speaker. Again, depending on how you perceive Ben’s character, it adds to his otherness and the unsettling feeling surrounding his character.
I would be remiss to mention the social commentary in Burning. What great Korean movies usually have is cutting social commentary, but they manage to weave it in organic or entertaining ways instead of beating you over the head with it. As with Parasite and its ilk, class and social status is where it all begins and ends. Ben faces no repercussions for his supposed arsons because he’s wealthy. No one wants to look for the missing Hae-mi because she’s cut off from society. Everyone thinks she’s just hiding from debt collectors.
At its core, Burning is a poignant romance and a thought-provoking crime drama about burning desires hidden in a calm exterior. It’s a great movie and a turning point for Korean cinema that every film connoisseur should experience.
How about you? Do you love Korean cinema? Let us know your favorites in the comments.
Comentarios