(2008)Phillip MaherThe American title of Korean auteur Yang Ik-joon's feature debut will conjure thoughts of Jean-Luc Godard for cinephiles, and although Yang insists that he was not consciously referencing Godard's classic when he chose the English title, the comparison is apt. Both films transform the limitations of an absurdly low budget into stylistic triumphs, as they depict a charismatic, low-level crook who seems unwilling to surrender his criminal temerity in order to transcend his marginalized status. But further insight can be gained by contrasting the literal translations of the endemic titles of the two films -- Godard's À Bout de Souffle is an idiom, equivalent to "at the end of the rope" or "end of the line," while Yang's Ddongpari is a concrete term meaning "sh*t-fly," which is used as an insult for the most repugnant people. Thus, while Godard tends to romanticize the notion that his protagonist's crimes are logical extensions of an audacious and autonomous spirit, Yang portrays a similar character as vulgar, coarse, even scatological, and utterly subject to the cycle of masculine violence which pervades Korean society.
Yang, previously known only as a second-tier actor in Korea, served as the director, producer, writer, editor, and star of the film, a multiplicity which at least allowed him to shave his already whisper-thin budget by abbreviating the credits sequence. He plays Sang-hoon, a street thug with a volcanic temper who communicates solely by swearing, spitting, smoking, punching, kicking, or swearing. The swearing is worth mentioning twice because the film's dialogue is absolutely saturated with profanity, and it is difficult to overemphasize the shock impact of all those curses in Korea, where certain words are regarded as strictly taboo. Sang-hoon is an average working stiff, only instead of punching a time clock, he punches people, such as those who owe money, or pesky student protesters, or his own co-workers, or anyone else unfortunate enough to veer into his path. When he accidently spits on a schoolgirl named Yeon-hue and she demands an apology, he punches her too, but he at least has the decency to wait by her prostrate body until she regains consciousness, before buying her a beer. Thus begins a tentative friendship which will provide Sang-hoon (and the audience) with a tantalizing glimpse of release from his relentless displays of aggression. This perpetual antagonism, so strange and distressing to us, is mundane and mammalian to Sang-hoon, an essential defense to ensure survival in a hostile world where men who are impoverished and impotent in the social realm routinely use domestic violence to assert their supremacy at home. Flashbacks of Sang-hoon's childhood reveal the genesis of his banal savagery, which is being replicated in the present within Yeon-hue's family, and will eventually lead to a future collision which is no less harrowing because of its inevitability. Anyone who can watch the climactic scene without cringing and averting their eyes must be numb to the interior rush of their own blood.
Although this is his first feature film, Yang has produced and directed several short films, and his experience and expertise behind the camera are as apparent as his power and poise in front of it. He employs the few cinematic tools at his disposal to provide moments of subtle, symbolic style, such as when he delicately tunes the focus and lighting of a shot where Sang-hoon breaks down and cries on Yeon-hue's lap, so that the digital image actually sharpens as the light diminishes and the scene fades out. Yang also displays a skilled attention to the film's pacing, as he periodically diffuses the accumulating tension with moments of diversion and levity, allowing us to laugh and cautiously catch our breath, though we remain hesitant to openly enjoy the film as we await the next inexorable trigger of Sang-hoon's tripwire rage. Hence, the film transcends mere drama or entertainment, as Yang masterfully transmits the sense of permanent alert that cripples his characters onto the audience. This exceptional film is the exact opposite of the escapist fare typically put forth by contemporary Hollywood, which helps explain why it has no theatrical distributor in the United States, despite having won more than 20 awards on the international film circuit.
A violent man learns compassion when he starts to care for a young woman in this independent crime drama. Song-hoon (Yang Ik-june) is a hired thug working for underworld kingpin Man-shik (Jeong Man-shik), whose money buys only so much of Song-hoon's loyalty. Song-hoon has a violent streak and he's not afraid to strike out against those who would turn against him or his boss, making him an enforcer to be reckoned with in the South Korean underworld. But Song-hoon's life begins to change when he meets Yeong-jae (Lee Hwan), Man-shik's newest underling. Yeong-jae has a teenage sister, Han Yeon-heui (Kim Gol-bi) who is as good-hearted as her brother is corrupt. Soon-hong and Yeon-heui get to know one another, and his affection for her brings out a compassionate side in his nature that he's never been willing to acknowledge before. As Soon-hong falls deeper in love with Yeon-heui, he begins considering leaving his old life behind, which is more difficult than he ever imagined. Ddongpari (aka Breathless) was the first feature film from writer, producer and director Yang Ik-june, who also stars as Song-hoon.
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