Secret Sunshine

Lee Chang-dong's exceptional "Secret Sunshine" is the single most emotionally ravaging experience of the year. It is an instantly sobering, brutally honest character piece on the reverberations of loss and a graceful memento mori that resonates with a striking density of thought, yet remains as inscrutable as the emotions it observes. Through its layered naturalism and stunningly trenchant view of small-town dynamics, Lee implicitly deconstructs the traditional Korean melodrama by pulling apart the cinematics of excess and ripping to shreds the arcs that shape its characters and grounds the proceedings into a crushing grind of stoic realism.

"Secret Sunshine" remains an immensely compelling, fluid work throughout its 142-minute runtime. Its bravura first hour is filled to the brim with subtextual insinuations, remarkable foreshadowing and adroit reversals of tone brought about by humanistic capriciousness. Adapted from a short story, Lee infuses the film with his sensitivity for the sublime paradoxes of life, last seen in his transgressively comic and irreverent "Oasis". Understanding how personal revolutions are forged when views of our universe are changed, Lee not only sees the emotional cataclysm of a widow's sorrow through an inquiring scope but also feels the tumultuous existential currents that underpin the film when religion becomes a narrative scapegoat in comprehending the heinousness of the human experience.

Do-yeon Jeon's ("You Are My Sunshine") Best Actress accolade at Cannes in 2007 is well deserved. Her performance as the widow Shin-ae remains an unrelenting enigma. As a character pulled apart by forces beyond her control, the sheer magnificence of this performance is central to the film's turbulent nature. With Jeon essaying one cyclonic upheaval after another, there's a tremulous sense of collapse that the film, to its credit, never approaches. Instead it finds a delicate balance that saps the charged theatricality and subsequent banality from ordinary tragedies and its fallouts. She becomes the centre of the film's universe as well as ours. Filmed in glorious hand-held CinemaScope, the film demolishes the cinematicism of frames and compositions by becoming visually acute just as it is quietly harrowing when the camera never relinquishes its gaze from Shin-ae through times of happiness, guilt and remorse.

Lee captures the details of life in the small, suspicious town of Miryang – the awkwardness of communal situations, its uncomfortable silences and its devastations spun out of personal dramas. Shin-ae's interactions with the townsfolk rarely inspires dividends, especially when they are merely done out of obligation to fit in for the sake of her son, Jun (Seon Jung-yeop). The one recurring acquaintance is Jong-chan (Song Kang-ho), a bachelor mechanic of uncertain intentions who helps her en route to Miryang in the film's enchanting open sequence set to a captivating stream of sunlight. Song has situated himself as a comedic anti-hero in South Korea's biggest films but his nuanced, low-key delivery here purports the director's thought process of never having to reveal more than plainly necessary.

If pain is ephemeral, then grief can never truly dissipate. And Lee finds complexity in subsistence. When Shin-ae attempts to head down the path of reconciliation only to be faced again with unimaginable heartbreak, she unsuccessfully employs the fellowship of evangelical Christianity as a foil to her sorrow. But Lee knows better than that when he understands that religion, in the context of the human canvas of strife and misery, is never a simple solution. But Lee never rebukes the essence of religion as he realises the value of salvation for some through a higher power even if it serves a form of denial in others. The scenes in its latter half which deal with religion doesn't allow itself to become aggressively scornful, which is a feat in itself considering how many filmmakers let the momentum of the material take over from what they need to say to be true to its story and characters.

Lee's first film since his call to office as his country's Minister of Culture and Tourism is an uncompromising dissertation on human suffering. In a film so artless and genuine, it arduously reveals that there's nothing as simple as emotional catharsis, just the suppression and abatement of agony. "Secret Sunshine" leaves us with tender mercies pulled out of evanescence, and points towards a profound understanding of despair and faith.

Initially, I would have thought that Secret Sunshine had something critical to say of religion (and here being Christianity), and wondered if it would be something of a rant against the ills of blind faith, or the manipulative power of those who are supposedly holier than thou. Surprisingly, it was none of the sort and was largely non-judgemental, putting in place events as a matter of fact, and allowing the audience to draw their own judgement and conclusion.

And I can't help but to chuckle at the role of Song Kang-ho, a man who's taken a liking for widower Shin-ae (Jeong Do-yeon), and starts going to church when she does. The reasons for church going are many I suppose, either to find inner peace, to seek help, being afraid of eternal damnation in the fires of Hell, to reaffirm faith, or even things like wanting to get married in a church, or to skirt chase (I kid you not). But to each his own reasons for turning up in church every Sunday and participating in prayer groups for fellowship, what is indeed dangerous, is when the underlying ulterior motives, do not get satisfied, and that's when frustration sets in. Or when you discover how hypocritical man can be, portraying one face inside the house of God, and displaying yet another outside.

Shin-ae and her son Jun moves to the town of Miryang, which is the birthplace of her deceased husband. Wanting to start life anew, she opens up a piano shop to give lessons, though in discovering her new found freedom and in a moment's lack of good judgement, has another tragedy befall her. And that takes one hour to get to. Secret Sunshine really took its time to get to this point, where things then begin to get slightly more interesting with Shin-ae now taking to embracing religion to deal with and accept her current state, reveling in the comfort that religion, and fellow believers, can offer.

What began as crying out for sympathy turns into acceptance and belief that religion offers that silver bullet to solve the ills of all mankind, and sometimes you wonder if it's because of your personal myopic view of what the almighty is doing for you, that you begin to adopt a somewhat selfish opinion that everything's good going your way, and in Shin-ae's case, her magnanimous attitude in wanting to forgive others who had trespassed against her, forgetting something very fundamental that it the feeling can cut both ways too.

The last act is probably the most fun of the lot as it says plenty, where most of us can identify with - why me, and why not someone else, as we rage against our faith and start questioning, unfortunately, with no hard and fast answers available. It is then either we fall by the wayside, or continue with destructive deeds so rebelliously. But somehow the plug gets carefully pulled in Secret Sunshine so as not to offend, and what could have been an ugly character mouthpiece, got muted.

If you bite into the hype this movie is generating, then perhaps you'll realize only Jeong Do- yeon's excellent portrayal is worth mentioning, as she totally owns her role as the widow Shin-ae who is probably the most unluckiest person on Earth in having to deal with that many tragedies over a short period of time, and if you look at it carefully, most of which are of her own doing. Watching her transformation, is worth the ticket price, and despite having my personal favourite Korean actor Song Kang-ho in the movie, this is something he just breezed right through.

There are a few stills on IMDB from the film, one in particular where the lead character (played by Jeon Do-yeon) is sitting in a Church. I looked at that picture a year after I watched the film and tears came to my eyes. This woman doesn't just play the role, she becomes it. There is no other way to explain the grief she expresses. You know when you are watching an incredible performance when for moments, if not the duration, you are hypnotized into believing you are watching someone truly experiencing what they are sharing in a performance. I can only imagine the potential traumas of "channeling" such a performance. In an interview by another actor (Michael K Williams), he talked about tools that are available to actors to allow them to comfortably return to reality without the stress (ptsd) from going in "too deep". Jeon Do-yeon's performance reminded me of that interview because I wonder how she did not "crack-up" after this film. You do not simply switch on and off without being affected unless you are extremely talented. I repeat, EXTREMELY talented. It is not enough to say Jeon Do-yeon is the best (that I am aware of) from South Korea; she is among the absolute best on this planet!

The acting is great. The concept of God, His presence and fight with Him. The movie about grief, mourning, faith and survival. The enactment of a game of separation and loss that became all too real and you can feel it. The pain and loss of loved ones and can we be able to cope it? The directors view of God, is it up in heavens or where we are living...

I love how Lee Chang-dong tells a story. I went in to this completely cold, and he had me hooked for all 142 minutes. I can't say I loved it, especially as it compares to some of his other work - it's just so unrelenting in its examination of grief - but its powerful moments which are deftly delivered will undoubtedly have real staying power. Among those is that scene in the prison, when through a beatific smile a man who has committed genuine evil claims to have been forgiven by god, which made the film an interesting examination of faith as well.

Those with faith sometimes claim that without it, any immoral act would be possible, but here we get the inverse. To have faith and believe your acts can be absolved can lead to the same depravity. The young woman navigating stages of grief as well as trying to process her evolving thoughts about god, starting with "if there is a god, why would he allow evil in the world to innocent children?" touch on things about the human condition that are impossible to reconcile, and may make you feel as tortured as she is if you think about them. To his credit, Lee never turned this into a crime story with a twist, or a revenge story, instead simply dwelling on the aftermath of something terrible happening to a good person.

There are clearly moments when religion is being critiqued, such as when the protagonist blares "It's a Lie" by Kim Choo Ja over the loudspeakers during a congregation, but it's notable that it's not completely portrayed as negative. The gentle arc of Song Kang-ho's character, starting from being a creep who jokes along with his buddies in aggressively harassing ways to a woman in their workplace, and ending with turning down an offer for sex and saying that attending church helps make him feel peaceful, was deeply humanistic. Throughout the film, the performances from Song and Jeon Do-yeon were fantastic, more than keeping up with a deep, emotionally complex script.

This is one I admire more than love, but I could see that changing over time. It certainly had me thinking about it for a long time afterwards, and Lee Chang-dong continues to be a director I'd see anything from.