Take Care of My Cat (고양이 부탁해)

Take Care of My Cat

Take Care of My Cat, Jung Jae-eun’s quietly, unassuming film, tells the story of five friends who have recently finished high school and are moving out into the working world instead of entering college. Because of their less-than-ideal positions in life (impoverished, unhappy, and unappreciated), the young women are thrown into uncertainty as to what will become of them. Compounded with this uncertainty is the growing feeling that they are falling out of touch with each other. Wrapping this all together into an extremely presentable package is the director’s intelligent and modern approach to filmmaking.

These troubling forces drive the group to attempt to reconnect and find balance by meeting once a month; however this is really “an admission that something is changing” (Take). When Jae-eun proposes that friendship almost inevitably deteriorates, she really strikes a chord with global audiences of almost all ages—most importantly it will attract older generations that might not relate to the more modern style—because it’s something everyone has experienced. Often films, such as Reign O’er Me, explore the reconnection of friends after a long period of time; instead Take Care examines the painful process of falling out of touch. It can often be very crippling at a period of great change in one’s life, but such as is the eventual case of Ji-Young who loses everything, it can be extremely liberating too.

Jae-eun’s smart style leaves a memorable impression in the way that enhances the realism of the film and allows the audience to better identify with the characters. One thing she tactfully avoids is the stereotypical Korean melodrama. Instead of spilling tears into fluffy pillows the characters deal with their problems by smoking cigarettes, taking walks, drinking, bickering, and stubborn silence. Melodrama represents the ideal excitement the audience seeks, but Take Care offers a stark and more relatable realism as a substitute. Despite choosing not to employ the melodrama that is often popular with Korean youth (and also seen in many Hollywood films about young people), Jae-eun still takes a hip stance in the presentation of her film. As Anthony Leong notices, her “slick…use of on-screen text to highlight the text messages that the girls send to one another over their cell phones and contemporary beats in the film’s soundtrack” offer a fresh delivery that appeals to the younger generation (Leon)g. Finally the employment of realistic, gritty locales stands out: from the crowded underground flea market to the cramped alleys of Ji-Young’s neighborhood to the run-down depiction of Inchon’s port. Straying from My Sassy Girl’s bright Seoul lights, Jae-eun’s choice of setting brings out the quiet desperation of the characters.

Take Care smartly handles its heavy subject matter, staving off melodrama while still leaving the audience with a warm sense of hope at the end. This subtle nature is probably in part responsible for disappointing box office returns, but those who have seen it certainly enjoy the film.

"Take Care of My Cat." Love HK Film.Com. 2002. 10 Apr. 2008 .

Leong, Anthony. Korean Cinema: the New Hong Kong. Trafford, 2003. Anthony Leong's Media Circus. 10 Apr. 2008 .

Hero

For those who think that the only movies coming out of China are kung-fu films, Hero is only further proof; but for those who are convinced that kung-fu films (and action films in general) are comprised of wanton, gratuitous acts of violence, Zhang Yimou's 2002 offering begs to differ. The picture serves up not only striking beauty in every frame (as my professor challenged us...'find one frame that you could not frame as a poster on your bedroom wall') but also depth and profundity not often associated with the genre.

Hero's beauty, from the first scene to final fadeout, can be attributed to numerous sources. Impossible to ignore, the film's stunning choice of colors paints each frame with vibrancy and fills each shot vitality. One memorable scene pits Moon (Zhang Ziyi) against Flying Snow (Maggie Cheung), both dressed in red against the back drop of golden leaves that turn crimson as the final blow is struck. Christopher Doyle's work behind the camera also definitely deserves a mention. Every angle is carefully calculated to evoke strong emotions in the audience: when the camera cuts to the stone wall and pans slowly across to the gate-turned-pin cushion littered with arrow shafts you can't help but hold your breath and hope that Nameless will mystically evade death as he is clearly capable, even though you can feel the cold clench of inevitability somewhere in your gut. Only skill comparable to Doyle's could have conveyed this painful certainty by showing merely the silhouette of a man and elicited a stronger response for it.

This brings me to my next point, the depths of this film. I already mentioned the use of colors once, but it deserves a second mention for the motif it brings to the film that would give my high school English teacher cause for pause. Now I'm not a Lit major so I can't elaborate upon the meaning of each of those colors (also I imagine culturally China may believe certain colors to represent different emotions than we would associate them with in America), but it is evident that every tint and tone was exhaustingly labored over before being settled upon.

The film bears a heavy message: sacrifice for the greater good. Many suggest this is in line with communist values or promotes China's territorial designs on Tibet and Taiwan. I haven't gotten this feeling after seeing Hero three times, but rather than argue with this existing viewpoint I'd rather laud the movie for reaching audiences around the world with the same message, even if that message is interpreted in many different ways. Hero also speaks with Machiavellian undertones of unification of China under the kingdom of Qin. This is a controversial stance suggesting that the violent and bloody means are justified by the ends of joining "all under heaven" beneath one flag.

There's really much more that could and should be said about this film, but two words will have to suffice: watch it.

In Between Days

So Yong Kim’s directorial debut, In Between Days, is a stark portrayal of the painful experience that is young love and, in the words of the pseudo-titular Who song, “Teenage Wasteland.” Unlike other coming of age films however, this film presents the unique perspective of youth who are not native and don’t fill stereotypes. What is also unique to this film is that much like Salinger’s Catcher In the Rye, it might be better described as an experience than a story; it does not begin or end, the audience is simply intruding on the life of two friends via Kim’s camera. All of this coalesces to perfectly capture every teenagers search for a sense self, framing a story rather creating one.

The protagonists, Aimie and Tran, are South Korean immigrants to a non-descript, bleak North American city, struggling to find their identity. The most painful part of this struggle is the couple’s repeated failure to realize and express their feelings for each other. Again and again the two come agonizingly close to relating their true emotion but instead watch each opportunity pass with blank expressions and off-hand remarks. Instead of ripening these chances sour and wedge a deeper and deeper divide between Aimie and Trane; “[e]ach infinitesimal gesture has dramatic ripple effects, requiring an equal and opposite reaction for transgressions perceived…and this acting out is sympathetically conveyed for what it is: a balm on the wound” (Mitsuda). For example, when Aimie sees Tran talking with girls at a party she responds by going out for a smoke—she never smokes—with Steve, another Korean immigrant. Later she tells Tran she kissed Steve solely to test his reaction. With each of these new perceived transgression their feelings wax and wane more and more erratically out of harmony. Finally, as the last scene fades to black and the credits roll the audience is simultaneously jerked back to their own reality and also left abruptly hanging as to whether their relationship will continue or simply wither and die.

What most coming of age tales, bildungsromans for those literary buffs, don’t address is the aspect of growing up in a foreign country. Kim’s piece presents the difficult process of becoming an adult from the hybrid perspective of a Korean living in a Western (American) society. New York Times’ writer A.O. Scott seems to get it when he declares, “Aimie does not seem to fit comfortably into either her own skin or the world she inhabits.” This confusion is faced by many young Korean immigrants each day. Some choose to Americanize and cast off much of their ethnic ‘baggage;’ others run the opposite direction, clinging tightly to their heritage by joining cliques and clubs focused on creating a safe-haven for karaoke bars and soju against the sea of American culture that threatens to claim new immigrants. Still, there is a third group that is capable of the seemingly miraculous feat of remaining neutral between these two titanic forces. It is not entirely clear which of these three Aimie and Tran belong to: they party with Korean kids, but many of them are rather Americanized. What is clear is a sense of teenage isolation that’s intensified by the protagonists’ disconnect from much of the society around them.

Kim’s camera work is worth noting for enhancing the melodramatic loneliness even more. Long, static shots of wide space filled only with a lone apartment complex and telephone wires are voiced over by Aimie as she imagines dictating letters to her father, who left the family. These images radiate and illustrate the teenage wasteland. Kim also makes use of extreme close-ups to create a sense of acute intimacy with Aimie in her most personal moments. Shot with a handheld camera, these scenes feel similar to a video diary, and the audience seems to be an intruder upon a very personal moment. In general, Noel Murray lauds Kim for choice of shooting locations, remarking that “[i]t couldn't have been easy to find a climate that so resembles adolescence” (Murray).

All in all, using her minimalist style Kim has succeeded in rendering a brilliant representation of what it is to be a teenager, and the world has recognized her ability to create a work so relatable with numerous awards. Some films are best viewed in a certain mood, but it is truly unique one that can produce one of its own, regardless of the audience’s disposition.

Mitsuda, Kristi. "Neither Here..." Reverse Shot. 9 Apr. 2008 .

Murray, Noel. "In Between Days." The AV Club. 6 July 2007. 9 Apr. 2008 .

Scott, A.O. "In Between Days." The New York Times 27 June 2007. 9 Apr. 2008 .

Not One Less

For those familiar with Zhang Yimou's 2002 hit Hero, Not One Less may give you cause for pause. It's not a martial arts epic, it doesn't tout big name stars, it lacks sex appeal, and perhaps most importantly to Americans: Quentin Tarentino is not presenting it to you with his blessings. The film is a striking portrayal of rural life in China. Memorable for it's documentary-like manner and endearing nature, Not One Less is a must-see.

Zhang Yimou's decision to create this film in the style of a documentary was a good one as it enhances the realism he is trying to achieve. Yimou attacks his objective of attaining pseudorealism in a variety ways. Few of those portraying characters in the film would be considered actors; they are simply people behaving in the same manner as they always do. The restraunt owner is a restraunt owner, the TV station manager is station manager, and so on. At the end of the film the credits roll, revealing that almost all of the characters bear the name of the person who plays them; the province from which the actors come from is also included, adding to the feeling of realism that begins to sink in after you finish watching. Yimou's mise-en-scene, or lack there of, also leaves a strong impression. The movie is shot in real locales without interupting the day-to-day life of those flowing in and around the camera's view. It emphasizes that life's not about beautiful people in beautiful places doing beautiful things.

And perhaps it's this epiphany that makes the film so endearing. The school children's incredibly cute performances give the film a warm feeling. Once Zhang Huike is gone and Teacher Wei begins to bond with her students, they behave charmingly well: working together to solve math problems, share coke, sneak Teacher Wei onto the bus, and at the end take turns writing on the board with the new chalk. Children in Hollywood often act with a sweetness that is oversatured, but those in Not One Less lacked polish, and that's what makes them even sweeter. Teacher Wei is another endearing person in the film. Her rosy cheeks and stubborn determination win the audiences hearts. When she finally makes her way onto TV, each silence is painful and you pray for her to speak. Her performance (and I hesitate to use the word) is spectacular and truly memorable.

Not One Less is a film with the unique ability to both warm the heart with charm and also leave a lasting impression by presenting the stark conditions of rural China. It's evidence that not all Chinese movies involve kung-fu, and that's not a bad thing.

Swades - We the People

To Americans, Swades must epitomize Bollywood: singing, dancing, drama, overacting. And honestly, I didn't really mind. Maybe it was because my viewing experience was broken into three separate segments or perhaps because I started to watch the music sections at 2x speed, but the movie was pretty enjoyable.

Despite being rather campy, the film had a strong running theme: water. Mohan's work at NASA is project manager for precipitation analysis. Once he heads to India, water is not only a problem for many members of the community (such as the weaver/farmer) but also the solution when Mohan designs a hydroelectric turbine to provide the village with its own, independent power source. There are other scenes such as the one where Mohan is bathing in water from a bucket or the pool of water in Charanpur where Mohan and Gita dip their feet. The most striking impression of water though, for me at least, was the bottled water Mohan took everywhere with him. It symbolizes Mohan's rejection of the culture, and it is not until he finally drinks from the natural water that he has returned home.

As an American, the other scene that stood out to me was the one that pitted Mohan against the village elders in a debate about the merits of Eastern vs. Western cultures. The liberal values that we take for granted are strongly opposed by the local community. It was difficult for me to see the merit in what they said and I found myself often nodding my head in agreement with Mohan, but I do understand that I was examining a culture built strongly on tradition from the vantage point of a very progressive society. In the end, Mohan seems to realize not only that he longs for India, but also that he can do more good there than he can in America. Whether he will seek to develop India socially or intellectually is not revealed, but I imagine a bit of both.

A decent flick, some catchy singing and dancing, and general feel good themes are brought down by the over-indulgent plot and emotions expressed with the subtly of a sledgehammer. Is it worth three-plus hours of your life? Not in one chunk, I imagine, but broken up and viewed over a span of time Swades is rather palatable. The verdict: chew before swallowing.