In 1899, an American traveler visiting Korea with an early movie projector in his baggage had the opportunity to present a motion picture to Emperor Gojong. The strange moving images mesmerized the emperor, who then profusely rewarded the traveler with numerous gifts for sharing this extraordinary experience. In June 1903, an advertisement appeared in a local newspaper announcing the presentation of a short film containing scenes from Europe, America and Seoul. Some 100 years later, Korea today has some 1,567 movie screens and can boast an annual movie attendance in excess of 132 million. At a time when Hollywood films dominate movie markets across the world, the share of the overall market in Korea captured by domestic productions exceeds 57 percent (as of 2004). For this reason, even major Hollywood blockbusters are launched in Korean theaters on dates carefully chosen so as not to coincide with the debuts of domestic films. More talented young people are joining the Korean film industry every year, dreaming of that big break and undeterred by the prospect of years of arduous work ahead that often pays little more than a pittance. There are a number of towering figures in Korean film history that serve as role models emulated by these budding young filmmakers. These pioneer directors blazed a trail that enabled their spiritual successors to create the heyday that Korean cinema is experiencing in the 21st century. In early 2004, a phenomenon never before heard of shook up the entire Korean film industry. Within the period of a single month, two Korean films successively broke box office records by drawing 10 million moviegoers in a country with a population of 45 million. Directed by Kang Woo-Suk Silmido, is based on a true story about a 1971 mutiny by a special commando trained on Silmido Island to assassinate the North Korean leader. Taegukgi, directed by Kang Je-Gyu, tells the tragic story of two brothers pitted against each other during the Korean War, one fighting for the North, the other for the South. Of these two consecutive box office phenomena, Silmido was the first to attract an audience of over 10 million. In fact, spectator turnout over the 58-day period that the movie played totaled over 11 million, taking the industry totally by surprise. Not just a blockbuster, S i l m i d o had wide-ranging repercussions, spawning new cultural, social and political debates about what constituted cinema in Korea. TOE-TO-TOE WITH HOLLYWOOD On the heels of this mega-triumph, before the film industry even had time to digest its incredible fortune, Taegukgi opened in theaters, breaking the record held by Silmido within 39 days of its opening. In all, 11.7 million moviegoers saw Taegukgii. Since both films were rated PG-15, this translates into an attendance of one out of three Koreans for each film, with two out of three Koreans seeing one of the two. These record-breaking hits have made Kang Woo-Suk and Kang Je-Gyu two of the Korean film industry's most bankable directors. Kang Woo-Suk confidently predicted at various pre-opening interviews that Silmido would pass the 10-million mark in box office turnout. Although Gwak Gyeong-Taek's 2001 film Friends broke attendance records by drawing 8 million spectators and sparking an intense cultural debate, most journalists and industry insiders felt that Mr. Kang's audience projections were totally unrealistic. However, having a serious track record to back up such confidence, his predictions were more than simply bluster. After having made his debut in 1988 with the melodrama Sweet Brides, he released Fortune Smiles at Fools Too ( or "Happiness has nothing to do with report cards") in 1989, and Two Cops in 1993, both of which were big successes. Helped by these hits, Kang soon garnered a substantial reputation in the Korean film industry, which enabled him to incorporate Cinema Service, a film production and distribution company for both domestic and foreign films. Cinema Service, founded entirely with domestic capital, soon went toeto- toe with conglomerate-owned studios and Hollywood-based direct distributors to emerge as a frontrunner of the Korean cinema boom. RENAISSANCE OF KOREAN CINEMA For several years, Kang Woo-Suk has been consistently ranked as the most influential player in Korea's film industry through surveys conducted by newspapers and magazines. While at the helm of Cinema Service, Mr. Kang has remained prolific as a director, having to his credit blockbusters such as To Kill My Wife (1994) and Public Enemy , 2002. When he predicted a box office turnout of 10 million for Silmido, Mr. Kang was in fact betting on his own time-tested keen commercial flair and instinct and the powerful distribution apparatus of Cinema Service. He is a director with a knack for making grippingly entertaining films, and at the same time as an able businessman at the top of his game. If Kang Woo-Suk is a cinematic giant representing the renaissance of Korean cinema, Kang Je-Gyu, the maker of Taegukgi, is one of the key figures that took it to the next level, harbingering a period of renewed growth. Kang Je-Gyu in fact once collaborated as a screenwriter with Kang Woo-Suk when he directed Who Saw the Dragon's To enail? (1991). His directorial debut was with The Ginko Bed (1996), a fantasy film that recounts a romance by freely transgressing temporal and spatial confines. With an original plot and elaborate special effects, The Ginko Bed was to say the least an impressive first work. What really put Kang Je-Gyu on the Korean cinematic map, though, was his 1999 film Shiri. About an extremist faction of the North Korean political leadership sending special agents to South Korea to spoil the budding conciliatory mood between the two countries, Shiri drew 5.6 million spectators, a turnout unthinkable at the time. Spectacular, high-budget urban combat and large explosion scenes made Shiri Korea's first-ever blockbuster production. Replete also with romance, deceit and betrayal, the film was captivating, maintaining suspense in high gear and keeping the audience at the edge of their seats throughout its running time. After its run in Korea, Shiri opened in theaters in Japan, where it was also met with an astounding reception. Shiri has thus proven that mega productions are not just the province of Hollywood heavyweights, that they can be a profitable ventures in Korea also, and that Korean films are "exportable." Five years later, Kang Je-Gyu returned with a heart-wrenching story of two brothers fighting on opposing sides of a grisly war. The triumph of Taegukgi reconfirmed the caliber of the legendary maker of Shiri i. The all-time box office sales record held by Kang Je-Gyu is yet to be challenged. Mr. Kang is currently making a Hollywood directorial bid, and his fans, eager to see his career unfold in the world capital of cinema, are extremely supportive of this move. BARRIERS OF QUASI-MONOPOLY The boom in the Korean film industry does not imply that everything is rosy. After the box office blockbusters of Silmido and Taegukgi in early 2004, the industry experienced a decline in profitability by as much as 32 percent per film during the same year. While both production costs and marketing expenditure rose by 13 percent and 17 percent, respectively, revenue per film fell by nearly 590 million won. The success of Friends, a film about a trio of youngsters, who grow up to become gangsters and meet a tragic fate, triggered a wave of films dealing with the subject matter of gang violence. This trend sparked another, that of organized crime comedies. Korean theaters were also inundated with romantic comedies targeting female audiences in their late teens to mid-twenties. Except for a handful of major blockbusters leading box office sales, smaller productions had a hard time even finding screens to be shown on. This phenomenon of quasi- monopoly by a few big openers and by successive dominant genres still continues to be the trend in Korea's movie market. Trade frictions between Korea and the United States concerning the Korean screen quota system are rooted in the same weaknesses in the domestic film industry. As these structural flaws undermining the health of the market persist, the industry feels all the more threatened by the prospect of lifting the screen quota system out of fear of a sudden collapse. This anxiety is quite vividly reflected in the compromised made by some of the market's leading participants. In a market where it is not rare to see films opened in 200 to 300 theaters nationwide, Hong Sang- Soo, a director who competed at the Cannes Film Festival for the past two consecutive years, was forced to give up on the idea of a wide release for his Tale of Cinema and settle instead for showings in only 30 theaters. The Bow by Kim Ki- Duk, the winner of the Best Director Award at the Berlin Film Festival and Venice Film Festival, was screened in one theater. DEDICATION OF AUTEURIST DIRECTORS Auteur-driven films or art housestyle films are increasingly denied screens in favor of big-budget, Hollywood-style productions. This is all the more troubling since these directors that are shunned by theaters, Kim Ki-Duk and Hong Sang-Soo, are the two Korean filmmakers most often in the spotlight of media attention and also the best-known internationally. The pattern appears to be that a filmmaker, if he or she meets acclaim abroad, is given the cold shoulder in Korea. Yet ironically, it is generally accepted that the real driving forces behind Korean cinema are precisely people such as these. This is not borne out of the belief in the tirelessly rehashed idea of indie films and art house films being the creative ivory tower of the cinema industry, but rather because it has been thanks to the dedication of these auteurist directors, untempted by the lure of commercial success, that the Korean industry came to stand on its own feet. In fact, it was Kim Ki- Duk's own choice that The Bow opened in one theater. Mr. Kim personally participated in the effort to distribute this film, a heartwarming story of the bond between an old man and young girl afloat at sea. Prior to the single-theater opening, Kim Ki-Duk issued a press release explaining his decision. "With each of the motion pictures I have made thus far, I have not forgone marketing, spending several hundreds of million won, and have made typically as many as 70 prints," he said. "The idea was basically ???This time could be that big commercial break.' But, each time, we incurred a huge loss. If there is an audience for my films would it matter then if they are shown only in one theater? I would rather have them screened in one theater for as long as people want to see it; say, even one year." This highly unusual move was regarded by the industry as a gesture of defiance and spitefulness on the part of Kim Ki-Duk. But, then, what filmmaker wouldn't feel resentful, if his or her works met with acclaim overseas, while at home, they turn out to be big box office flops every time around, only triggering fierce controversies? Well, at least the gesture was understood as a show of defiance and not one of surrender. This is because he has consistently demonstrated since The Crocodile, his directorial debut released in 1995, a unique intestinal fortitude and singlemindedness in the pursuit of his art. PROVOCATIVE CONTENT The works comprising his filmography, The Wild Animals (1997), Birdcage Inn (1998), The Isle (2000), Real Fiction (2000), and Address Unknown (2001) all share common traits: they are all super-low budget, non-mainstream films, and were all made in record time (Kim Ki-Duk, besides, rejects the idea of a mainstream/ non-mainstream dichotomy). Scenes of cruelty, anti-feminism, misogyny and otherwise provocative content plus shocking or disturbing messages abound in his films. In Birdcage Inn, a female college student switches roles with a hooker. In The Isle, a man is shown swallowing a fistful of fishing hooks. Bad Guy, released in 2001, was Kim Ki-Duk's biggest hit ever by, drawing 700,000 spectators. Not an iota less disturbing than his previous works, the film recounts the story of a young man who forces his girlfriend to be a prostitute in a disconcertingly disengaged manner. Due to the often-offensive messages of his films, Kim Ki-Duk's relationship with the critics has always been tense and edgy. Days before the theater opening of The Bow, the film for which he forwent press conferences and marketing activities, Mr. Kim said, "They [journalists and critics] can buy a ticket, and see it in the theater," adding "I am through with interviews; no more interviews ever from now on before any film opening." In spite of this official "breakup" between Kim Ki-Duk and the press, Korean journalists are always game for an interview with him, should he agree to one. Samaria, his 2004 film about a parttime teenage hooker, won the best director award at the Berlin Film Festival. During the same year, 3-I ron snatched the Best Director award for Mr. Kim, this time, at the Venice Film Festival. The Bow, which he entered in last year's Cannes Film Festival as a entry in the official non-competitive Un Certain Regard category found a dedicated fan in an American spectator, who, when asked about the misogynistic undercurrent in the film, defended Kim Ki-Duk by saying that it was "just one of those flaws found in all great works." However, his stunt of having The Bow open in one single theater proved to be a fiasco. INVITATIONS TO CANNES Certainly not one to dwell too long on a setback, Kim Ki-Duk is already working on new ideas that his talent seems to churn out more or less ceaselessly. If he puts his mind to it, Mr. Kim could probably shoot a film in 10 to 20 days, just as he used to. This intensely creative filmmaker seems to generate a perpetual supply of novel movie themes and is always cooking up something more extraordinary and mind-blowing than before to spawn new controversies. Hong Sang-Soo's new film Tale of Cinema was not initially invited as a competitive entry to the Cannes Film Festival. Recounting a series of chance accidents happening to a man coming out of a cinema over a period of 24 hours, the film was made with the Venice Film Festival in mind, rather than the Cannes Festival. Hong Sang- Soo accepted an invitation to screen Tale of Cinema at Cannes just one week prior to the opening of the festival at the earnest solicitation of Thiery Fremaux, chair of the festival's organizing committee. Hong Sang-Soo, who had already competed in Cannes in 2004 with his Woman is the Future of Man, thus visited the French coastal city for the second time in two years, so becoming something of a Cannes Festival habitue. After graduating from art school in California, Hong Sang-Soo first became noticed as a director in 1996 with The Day a Pig Fell into a Well. This debut film, about the suffocating reality of a modern man compared to a pig who fell into a well, was warmly welcomed by critics and moviegoers alike, and earned him several young Korean director's awards and the Dragon and Tiger's Award at the Vancouver Film Festival. His films The Power of Kangwon Province and Oh ! Soojung (a.k.a. Virgin Stripped Bare by Her Bachelors) were invited to the Cannes Film Festival in the Un Certain Regard category in 1998 and 2002, respectively. Turning Gate (2002), Woman is the Future of Man (2004) and Tale of Cinema (2005) also received rave reviews from the domestic and overseas critical communities, bestowing upon Hong Sang-Soo the status of a leading auteurist director. RISE OF THE "WELL-MADE" GENRE His films lay bare the universally recognizable inner workings of the human mind. In Hong Sang-Soo's universe, a man courting a woman cannot hide the tumult of smoldering desires he harbors, with memories, emulation and remembrance making up his favorite themes. Recurring as they may be, these themes are never given the same form but rather appear in infinite variations, sufficiently so to captivate both spectators and film critics. The universal resonance of his portrayal of interpersonal psychology that crosses national and cultural boundaries is perhaps the biggest strength of this director. "Films are just one of the many types of art forms surrounding us in society. If fate so wishes, you will happen upon them. That's all that is about, no more, no less," he once said. Indeed, Hong Sang-Soo does not demand more of audiences, as long as he can go on creating variations of his own familiar tales. Few careers can be as thankless as being a film critic in Korea. While it is not uncommon to see popular taste squarely opposite to that of film critics in any country, in Korea, this divorce of the public and critical community seems to have gone a few steps too far. Films with artistic merit, hailed by critics as masterpieces, will turn out to be commercial flops more often than not, while those bashed and torn apart by them, blockbusters. These people earn a living critiquing films. When they are so blatantly unheeded by the public to this extent, they cannot help calling into question the very usefulness of their work. In April 2003, a group of critics exiting a premiere declared together that they would quit film critiquing, if even the film they just saw turned out to be a bomb. This film was entitled Memories of Murder, the second feature film directed by Bong Joon-Ho. Not only all the critics who attended the premiere agreed on the artistic merit of this film, but they also felt that it ought to appeal to a broad audience. Memories of Murder became the first of those films later to be labeled a "well-made" film, the new joy of Korea's weary critical community. Memories of Murder, as it turned out, not only did not bomb, but also was a huge hit. Park Chan-Wook's Oldboy, which opened in November of that year, was one of the most exciting Christmas gifts for Korea's moviegoing community in years. TEARS & LAUGHTER Memories of Murder is based on the true story of a series of murders that took place in the mid-1980s. It is not the usual bloodcurdling serial killer thriller or a brain-teasing mystery. Nor is it an action film where you can see, fear, and join with the good guys in hunting down a bloodthirsty monster. What the spectators are presented with instead is a matter-of-fact account of chilling crimes, as told by the mute narratives of the victims, and the rage of the detectives, clueless, baffled and overwhelmed by a crushing sense of impotence. The film is also turns a critical eye on the absurdity of the Korean legal and institutional framework of the 1980s that make it impossible for the police to detain suspects based on a reasonable suspicion. True to the signature style of Bong Joon-Ho, those who see Memories of Murder will not discover anything new. They are more than likely already aware of the full details of these murders, which made headlines in all major national newspapers at the time they occurred, and any gaps of information were filled through the pre-opening advertising of the film. Just as in real life, the serial killer is on the loose, dodging all attempts to hunt him down; meanwhile, a wrongful suspect is shown taking his own life. Pressure mounts, and desperate police investigators show no qualms about using abusive means of interrogating suspects. Absent any progress and their efforts yielding no clues, the film nevertheless keeps the audience riveted, successfully sustaining the tension throughout while maintaining a compassionate tone. In theaters, tears often followed the occasional bursts of laughter the film provoked. This very capable director even succeeded in creating a social portrait of an era out of a serial killer drama. This is what makes Memories of Murder the harbinger of the well-made generation of Korean films. TRIGGERING A SENSATION The film topped the box office sales for four straight weeks, drawing 5.1 million spectators. Bong Joon-Ho previously released Dog of Flanders (2000), a comedy mystery surrounding a lost puppy. His directorial filmography counts only one short film, shot as part of an omnibus, prior to this one. Film critics being invariably effusive in their praise of him, Bong Joon-Ho has also won popular acclaim. He is currently shooting a new film called T h e Family that Vanquished a River Monster from the Hangang. His directorial career, being marked by leaps and bounds as well as abrupt aboutfaces, Korean moviegoers are eagerly looking forward to being once again surprised by Bong Joon-Ho. While Korean cinema counts several filmmakers currently enjoying directorial stardom, the man upon whom the most media attention has been lavished is undoubtedly Park Chan-Wook. Prior to his debut as a director, he was an industry insider, known for his vast knowledge of art house films, a predilection for B movies, and a keen commercial flair. Yet, his debut film The Moon is what the Sun Dreams of released in 1992 and Threesome, released in 1997, both fared poorly. The critical reception was not exceedingly favorable, either. Most critics, while they gave him credit for the originality of his directorial style, were non-plussed. His break came three years later in 2000, with Joint Security Area. This film, spinning a tale of murder and intrigue in the Demilitarized Zone, turned out to be a big hit, drawing over 5.8 million spectators. Yet, Park Chan-Wook's true strengths were not revealed publicly until 2003. Oldboy, a sequel to Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance and belonging to a series he named "Trilogy of Vengeance," triggered a sensation. In the movie, the camera follows a man who spent 15 years in prison for a crime he did not commit for five days following his release, during which he attempts to hunt down the real culprit. It received critical kudos for direction, cinematography, screen writing, art direction and music, and earned a tremendous popular response. Although recording a box office turnout of only 3 million, about half the size of Joint Security Area, Oldboy is nevertheless regarded as his most representative work, considered one that truly showcased his personal directorial style. After having swept various domestic film awards, Oldboy won the Jury's Grand Prize at the 2004 Cannes Film Festival. It provided Park Chan-Wook with that a filmmaker can ever hope for: honor, popularity and commercial success. Mr. Park has just completed the shooting of the final installment of his Trilogy of Vengeance. Entitled Sympathy for Lady Vengeance, the film is a lyrical portrayal of a heroine consumed by the desire for vengeance. With this film scheduled to open in theaters in July of this year, Park Chan-Wook now seems poised for even greater acclaim. KOREA AS DEVELOPMENTAL MODEL The film industry of no other Asian country has grown at so spectacular a pace as Korean cinema has done over recent decades. Three distinct forces drive the industry's current boom. First, the Korean film industry skillfully exploits the commercial potential of its products through thorough planning. Second, it has a strong tradition of auteurism, alive and vigorous in spite of the challenging industry environment. Third, a new "well-made" genre, mid-way between commercial and art house films, is in the making, full of promise for a new direction for the industry. Directors like Kang Woo-Suk, Kang Je-Gyu, Kim Ki-Duk, Hong Sang-Soo, Bong Joon-Ho and Bong Chan-Wook are prominent figures of Korean cinema, whose contribution to it is through one or more of the three means described above. This list does not claim to be exhaustive, and might even exclude some deserving filmmakers, whether in terms of merit or popularity. Meanwhile, the directors discussed thus far are undeniably the giants of today's Korean cinema. Also undoubtedly, there are and will be countries in which the film industry is growing at a pace even faster than Korea's and dealing with an even a wider spectrum of themes than the latter. Yet, credit should be given to Korea for having served as the development model for these countries, and to its filmmakers for having been an inspiration to them. As a final note on Korean cinema, the writer wishes to refer readers to those aspiring filmmakers who have not yet made the big time, but who represent the very stuff of cinema through their earnest desire to raise the level of consciousness among audiences at home and abroad to new heights. by Kang Byung-Seok ( kang105@film2.co.kr) Staff Reporter / FILM2.0