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Hirokazu Kore-eda Film Reviews: AFTER LIFE (1998) and BROKER (2022)

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BROKER (2022)

Directed and written by Hirokazu Kore-eda

Produced by Eugene Lee

Cast: Song Kang-ho, Gang Dong-won, Bae Doona, Lee Ji-eun
and Lee Joo-young.

Cinematography: Hong Kyung-pyo

Arguably Japanese director’s Hirokazu Kore-eda’s most accessible film to date is the slice-of-life comedy-drama, BROKER (2022). Elements of Little Miss Sunshine (2006) meets Parasite (2019) meets Juno (2007) as kind-of-likeable and empathetic criminals create a dysfunctional family unit around stealing orphans and finding them families to makes ends meet. Lighter than many of his other brilliant human dramas, there is much to savour here from one of the best filmmakers working today.

There’s a lot going on in Broker (2022) as the duo of Sang-hyeon (Song Kang-ho) and Dong-soo (Gang Dong-won) work a grift of taking the unwanted babies, a police thriller involving murder, an impromptu road movie in a camper van, a cute kid looking for a surrogate father and a mother, Moon So-young (Lee Ji-eun) battling the dilemma of whether to sell or keep her child. A lesser filmmaker could have struggled balancing the many story, character and tonal shifts but Kore-eda manages it with aplomb.

Broker (2022) arguably has too many intertwining subplots though, as it strives to redeem all of the complex characters, but the wonderfully believable performances and brilliant screenplay really grabs you and rarely lets you go. Kore-eda’s direction is, as usual, masterly and assured as he balances the various tones confidently. Overall, this film makes you laugh, cry and is really moving as it highlights that family units can be lovingly born of collective experience, as well as blood.

Mark: 9 out of 11

AFTER LIFE (1998)

Directed and written by Hirokazu Kore-eda

Produced by Masayuki Akieda, Shiho Sato

Cast: Arata Iura, Erika Oda, Susumu Terajima, Sayaka Yoshino, Takashi Naito, Kei Tani, etc.

Cinematography Yutaka Yamazaki

What a delightful, surreal and beautiful film. AFTER LIFE (1998), is easily one of the most imaginative and human films I have watched in a long time. It is set in an administrative centre somewhere between the realms of life and death. Here the staff of the office, kind of social workers, welcome recently deceased people and ask them to recall their life and choose a single memory. After which the filmmaking staff will recreate the memory, shoot this scene and the souls will be able to re-experience this moment forever in heaven.

To me this is a mind-blowing concept for a feature film and I am surprised that it has not been remade (and probably ruined) by Hollywood for either cinema or TV. What makes it so great is, that despite the high concept idea, the design and delivery is so down-to-earth. The offices where events confirmed are not presented with any of the usual angelic or heavenly cliches. Instead, Hirokazu Kore-eda, of which this is only his second feature film, and his production team, decide that the after-life is an unglamorous place run by kindly bureaucrats.

One of the many strengths of After Life (1998) lies with the human representations, both the people who have passed and the office angels who counsel them. The love, humour and emotion derived from the various interviews given by many of the characters are full of joy, sadness and longing. Along with the soulful characters coming to terms with their recent passing, the narrative also focuses on two “young” counsellors, Takashi (Arata Iura) and Shiori (Erika Oda), who must overcome their personal conflicts while helping others. Overall, After Life (1998) builds slowly and beautifully weaves so many fantastic human stories. When the filmed memories are revealed my heart melted, as Kore-eda delivers cinematic moments that will stay with one eternally.

Mark: 10 out of 11

Cinema, MUBI, Reviews

CINEMA REVIEW: DECISION TO LEAVE (2022)

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CINEMA REVIEW: DECISION TO LEAVE (2022)

Directed by: Park Chan-wook

Written by: Jeong Seo-kyeong, Park Chan-wook

Produced by: Park Chan-wook

Main cast: Tang Wei, Park Hae-il, Lee Jung-hyun, Go Kyung-pyo, etc.

Cinematography Kim Ji-yong

Edited by Kim Sang-bum

*** MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS ***

Park Chan-wook is a proper filmmaker. Like Quentin Tarantino and Martin Scorsese, he embraces the artifice of the visual and aural medium crafting intelligent, thematically surprising and stylistically dazzling works of cinema. While watching his work one can see the clockwork precision of his filmic mind devising every frame, sound, camera move, cut, character action, acting nuance, being thought out expertly. In short: Park Chan-wook’s films are always an event for me and demand attention.

Chan-wook’s only Hollywood directed film was an under-rated gem of a noir thriller called Stoker (2013), after which he returned home to direct erotically charged period thriller, The Handmaiden (2016). This was a bigger-budgeted and thematically richer affair, taking a complex con-artist-twisting-plot and interweaving an explicit feminist love story. Of course, lest we forget Chan-wook’s classic early work, notably the gonzo revenger, Old Boy (2003). I re-watched it recently at the Raindance Film Festival and the furiously inventive exploitation film retains its beautifully transgressive power.

Like The Handmaiden (2016), Decision to Leave (2022) is a romance story set within a complex genre plot. While the former was a period crime film, Decision to Leave (2022) is a contemporary set police procedural with a central premise highly reminiscent of Basic Instinct (1992). Tang Wei as Song Seo-rae is suspected of killing her husband and as investigating cop, Park Hae-il as Det. Jang Hae-jun, delves deeper he finds himself more and more attracted to her. Where The Handmaiden (2016) and Basic Instinct (1992) used nudity and sexual imagery liberally, Decision to Leave (2022) is far more subtle and cerebral. The compelling romance is built on two fine lead performances, the cunning twists in the crime plot and Chan-wook’s masterful visuals with mountain, coastal and city landscapes being employed to powerful impact.

Now I must admit after watching Decision to Leave (2022) I was left slightly underwhelmed at the end from an emotional perspective. The visuals and storytelling were phenomenal, with Chan-wook and his writing partner crafting a devious series of inventive cat-and-mouse set-pieces. The suspense and doubt instilled as to whether Song Seo-rae is a murderer, despite her cast-iron alibi, is palpable. Simultaneously, the arc of the married mid-life crisis-detective, drawn to the suspect, flirting with disaster through flawed choices, creates much tension also. However, I didn’t immediately warm to the detective’s persona and wasn’t sure if I really cared. But I suspect, due to the complexity of the passion on show, a further watch will cement Chan-wook’s specific and symbolic vision.

Beneath the melding of romance, crime, mystery and action genres, I also considered the potential subtext in the screenplay. I wondered if Decision to Leave (2022) sought to explore the socio-political relationship between the nations of South Korea and China via the characters? Song Seo-rae is a Chinese migrant who came to Korea and via marriage was able to remain. An enigmatic soul she uses her wiles to survive, serenely attracting a series of men. But death follows her as closely as the male. Detective Hae-jun is drawn to her both professionally and romantically, no doubt thrilled by the danger. Yet, Chan-wook denies displaying physical consummation, and this makes the film more erotic than endless sex scenes do.

Lastly, Decision to Leave’s (2022) examination of language, both bodily and verbal, is deftly presented as a theme within the romance. The central crime of murder creates suspicion between the Korean and Chinese characters, but there’s a mutual and irresistible pull that cannot be denied. Song Seo-rae’s use of her phone translation application during her exchanges with the Detective create both a barrier and paradoxical intimacy. It’s just one of the fascinating bits of business, as well as the chainmail gauntlet used by the Detective, which elevate an already impressive script. But did Decision to Leave (2022) need to be so evasively complex and full of radiant ambiguity? The ending especially is both poetically exquisite and frustratingly cryptic. With a Park Chan-wook film, would I have it any other way?

Mark: 8.5 out of 11