We excitedly countdown to the 72nd Festival de Cannes with a different prize winning film each day.
Oldeuboi / Oldboy, 2004
Grand Prix – Park Chan-wook
“Laugh, and the world laughs with you; weep, and you weep alone.” These words from the poem Solitude by Ella Wheeler Wilcox are the ones that Dae-su, our protagonist, will forever remember after the events this film will tell us. The meaning to this phrase is indifferent to many of us atfirst, but as the journey goes on, so does the importance of it.
Oldboy (2003) is a revenge-thriller tale, based on the manga of the same name and helmed by South Korean director Chan-wook Park. It premiered internationally at the 2004 Cannes Film Festival, where it ran in competition and won the Grand Prix, one of the most important awards of the festival, beginning its path towards recognition as one of the best films to ever came out of South Korea.
The film starts with a brief introduction of Dae-su, this drunkard who’s messing around in a police station. We observe how he acts carelessly, without thinking on the consequences of his ridiculous actions. We might find this trivial at this point, but as the film goes on, we learn how impactful this flaw will be in his life.
After his best friend Joo-hwan rescues him from the station, Dae-su gets kidnapped. Fifteen years go by, as we see Dae-su struggle with solitude, only to learn that the real story begins after he’s released. Everything that has happened so far has been only a prologue.
“We are lead to a shocking revelation, one of the best in cinema history.”
Park even sets it up this way. The very first shot of the movie is one that occurs literally 15 minutes into it. Here Dae-su tells the same story we already know to the very first man he encounters after being released. At this point, questions begin to surround our minds, probably the same questions Dae-su asked himself for 15 years: Why he was imprisoned? Who put him there? What can he do now that he’s free?
Nevertheless, the most important question neither Dae-su nor most of us didn’t asked ourselves at that moment was: Why he’s being set free? Has he atoned for whatever he did? Or is this just the beginning of his punishment? So little did we know. For now, vengeance is the only thing in his mind since he lost 15 entire years of his life, his wife, his daughter, and his freedom.
As the story goes on, we discover, and so does Dae-su, that all that was happening to him was only part of a bigger plan. We couldn’t have imagined what was coming. Even if we’ve read the manga it was based on, we couldn’t have known this. We are lead to a shocking revelation, one of the best in cinema history, one that works so well not only because it’s shocking.
But because Park built this story in a series of events that only went in crescendo, rising the momentum until that precise moment where everything explodes in our faces. Dae-su’s face in the moment the truth was revealed is all of us. Woo-jin Lee, the mastermind behind all of this, could see his life fulfilled.
“Park then decides to change the ending, but also wanted to maintain the essence of the original source in his film.”
Chan-wook Park upped his game with this film. He knew the material he was working with was good, but not good enough. The big reveal in the manga was as anticlimactic letdown, to the point that some of the hardcore fans of the manga have found it silly and laughable. Park then decides to change the ending, but also wanted to maintain the essence of the original source in his film. Basic elements like the main characters (but with different names), places where the characters go, and some sequences are all kept in the film.
One example of this is the search for the Blue Dragon restaurant, the place that prepared the food Dae-su ate while he was prisoner. The way he discovers the name and searches for it (using yellow pages and only eating the dumplings) is almost the same way in the manga and in the film.
Another way he honored the manga is the way he visually presents the movie, as if it were a manga coming to live or a live-action anime. The way he uses jump cuts to accelerate the story, the framing of some of the scenes, and the voice-overs reminded me a lot of how I read manga and watch anime.
One sequence (probably the most talked-about sequence of the film) that puts this into practice is the hammer fighting sequence at the midpoint of the film. Park decides to make it a long take, which works well because it gives the fight a feeling of realism. We get as tired as Dae-su while he fights while also watching that the action is real and not a trickery of quick straight cutting.
“The choreography is outstanding, making sure nothing feels unnecessary.”
The way it’s framed it’s done so we don’t miss any bit of what’s happening, including the action outside of Dae-su’s focus. Also, the choreography is outstanding, making sure nothing feels unnecessary. Lastly, the music makes the scene feel more alive than it already is, like seeing a manga strip come to life.
Another example is near the end of the film, when Dea-su is fighting Mr. Han, Woo-jin Lee’s bodyguard and assistant. In the fight, Mr. Han throws Dae-su towards a crystal window and the window instead of breaking instantly (as most windows do), it takes its time. First it moves because of the impact, then it we see a crack form, and then it finally breaks, as if it just exploded, something I have seen frequently in anime.
One visual element that has always resonated with me when I watch the movie is the use of three colors: red, green, and purple. The first two are easily seen throughout the whole movie, as for purple it’s only present in certain moments. Thanks to this video I found, I understood why Park might have used them as much, especially green and red, which basically work as lure and trap respectively.
Besides the meaning they have, those colors also bring an atmosphere of fantasy, making it feel like a neo-noir live-action anime. It’s no coincidence that some of the neo-noir films released in recent years use as color palette a form of red or green, typically in neon hues.
“It is a tragedy because there’s no happy ending, no matter how you look at it.”
Park excelled as a director in those technical aspects, but he also excelled in the aspect of storytelling, which I think is where Oldboy truly shines. Oldboy’s structure has been compared to that of a Greek tragedy, which makes sense considering how similar it is to the Oedipus Rex story. Besides having this structure, it also has the dilemma that the hero must confront at the end of the story, a dilemma very problematic in Dae-su’s case.
It is a tragedy because there’s no happy ending, no matter how you look at it. There’s even a point where most of us ask ourselves who do we cheer for? Most of us would say Dae-su because he’s the protagonist and was the one imprisoned for 15 years, but when we discovered the truth of why he was punished, how could we not cheer for Woo-jin?
Then again, was the revenge worth it? And here is where Park has us grabbed by his hands. He’s not only telling a story; he’s also telling us the power that the consequences of our actions have in our story and on those who surround us. What seems trivial to some might be a big deal to others, like rumors can kill people.
Park is giving us a lesson through this dark and gruesome story of men seeking revenge, and he does it flawlessly. He reminds us that revenge, although feel-good, is only a temporary solution to a bigger problem: accepting the truth. No matter what Woo-jin did to Dae-su, he’ll never have back what he loved. Dae-su paid for what he did as he’ll eternally regret his life decisions, revenge being one of them. And although the world around him laughs now, Dae-su will forever weep alone.
