Kape neuwareu

A diptych proclaiming its sources as Goethe and Dostoevsky, two writers, here at least, divided by colour and monochrome respectively. The film opens with a wonderful medium close up of a young woman/girl, eating a double cheeseburger. The shot is held for the entirety of the process, the young girl is sanctified by the neon world in which she is standing. This shot had me, after seeing a lot of very ordinary films that week, in rapture. The clarity of the cinematography and the audacity to engage me in what is a very long film (197 minutes), in fact its length may in fact be its genius. The first half in glorious colour, examining the nature of thwarted desire, the second half in magnificent monochrome dealing with thwarted desire. A film packed with beautiful images and intriguing juxtapositions offers the viewer a re-view of Christian iconography as striking as renaissance painting, the delight as we follow characters both enigmatic and engaging is eventually turned into a duet of spectator and spectacle with a soundtrack dancing around the pas de deux. From the family romance as critique of melodrama (Sirk, anyone?) to the restless journey to the end of the night, the film demands attention.

This movie can be easily described as self-indulgent or too artsy with it's extreme length, long shots and unexplained sequences. After watching it I wondered what is the point? Romantic angst and it's relation to depression? Human's existential crisis and our folly attempts to find meaning in love? A commentary on art and it's irritating inability to fully display our inner world as completely as we want it to?

The more distance I got from the movie, the more I thought about the experience of watching it, the more I started to like it. The more I found it resonating with me throughout my daily life, as I think more and more about the characters. I think about what it means to watch someone eating. I think what it means to look out of the window of a car at the streets of Seoul. I think about unrequited love. I think about how Moroccan dance reached Korea. I think about the frustration of observing someone repeat your mistakes.

Most importantly, however, I think how some movies are meant to be felt not grasped. The narrative is simple, useless, almost like a distraction from the art itself. I shouldn't be obsessed with understanding every reference and the purpose behind each scene. Instead focusing on the emotions that are elicited and asking why did this make me feel this way? The depression, the bleakness, the mental illness that is portrayed in art, does it serve to remind us of our suffering or to liberate us from them by offering us a fresh perspective on our inner world?