Did I Really Namedrop Spielberg and the Coen Brothers in this Thing? Yeah. Yeah, I Kinda Did

Gwoemul (The Host) ( 2006; d. Joon Ho-Bong, s. Kang Ho-Song, Hie-Bong Byeon, Hae-il Park, Du-na Bae, Ah-sung Ko). I owe it all to The Kidd. I read the good reviews of Memories of Murder, the first American release from Joon Ho-Bong, but I don’t know that it would have sprung up to the must-see list without a little prodding from him. And keep in mind that The Kidd and I very rarely agree on movies. We nearly got into a fistfight after V for Vendetta, for god’s sake. Nobody should fight after V for Vendetta.

If you haven’t seen Memories of Murder, stop right here, go rent it, and then come back. I’ll wait. Seriously.

Welcome back.

Now that you’ve seen it, you know that Memories of Murder plays like the Coen Brothers with a social conscience. The artful and unique camerawork, the juxtaposition of humor with truly harrowing scenes, and the emotional distance recall Blood Simple or Fargo. But Joon Ho-Bong adds to it by clearly using the vehicle of the serial killer to talk about the relationship both between North and South Korea, and between South Korea and the West. And he does this through imagery—there is no pause for metaphorical clarification. I know about as much as W. about the Koreas, but it’s clear that the time and place of this serial killer’s arrival are well chosen, and that the director sees something particularly Western about the serial killer phenomenon.

And now The Host ups the ante. Considerably. The camerawork remains bold and assured. The comedy remains deadpan and very, very funny. The director remains at a distance when it comes to making moral judgment. The darkness remains...well, dark. This time, however, the storytelling is audacious and the characters are not merely vehicles for symbolism and amusement. You can stand up and cheer in this movie (and trust me, we did), while at the same time acknowledging that it's more than sheer plot device when the firebrand brother who participated in democratic protests while in college is coming to a final conflict with an American-borne monster loaded up with Molotov cocktails.

Mixing the emotional beats of Spielberg with the cynicism of stylists like the Coen Brothers usually gets you, well, a mess.This movie, however, is funny, scary, and smart. Each character gets his or her chance to shine, including the monster—not that the monster becomes anything but an eating machine, but it has moments of both clumsiness and unexpected beauty (the CGI is tremendous, minus the end—this monster lives and breathes). Like Spielberg, the movie isn’t afraid to exploit the clichés for the sake of a good story (you don’t show a bow and arrow in the first act without having it go off in the fifth act), but like the Coen brothers, it’s not afraid to exploit those clichés for the sake of twisting your assumptions and giving you a truly thrilling and unexpected experience—not because there’s some awkward twist at the end, only because you’re truly unsure where this ride is going. Also, like the Coen brothers, Joon Ho-Bong knows how to make proper use of really weird dudes.
And, yeah, it’s another big monster ravaging a city movie, and yeah, that monster is the product of American influence in the area, but you know what—Godzilla’s got nothing on The Host.

This is a movie about crisis and hope. A movie about human mistakes, and the consequences of those mistakes leading to higher and higher escalations. About people trying to do the right thing, and blocked by a series of missed identifications, faulty assumptions, and resultant disasters. It’s probably one of the best post-9/11 movies of the year (sorry United 93 and World Trade Center), if only because it points out the arrogant American assumptions of late are only the latest in a string, and that arrogance is not only an American trait (although we seem to be particularly good at it—this is also the best use of bad white guy actors I’ve seen outside a Paul Verhoeven movie).

In a week when I got to see Scorcese return to form in a huge way, it was a privilege to watch another great appear on the scene. My world just got a little bit bigger. And when’s the last time you said that coming out of a horror movie.

And before you accuse me of wretched excess, think how'd you'd feel if I left in the references to Kubrick and The Third Man.

Next Time: Shark Attack 3: Megalodon

P. S. I know I haven’t been doing this for a while. Blame it on Lucky Number Slevin. I’ll be back with the roundup of a terrible summer soon.