A judge looks down from her bench at three juveniles who have been caught breaking into someone’s home. As viewers, we already know that two of the three deserve punishment, but that the youngest, Jigu, is mostly just the victim of bad luck. Not only that, he’s from a disadvantaged background, with no parents. He lives with his severely diabetic grandfather, who is almost helpless without Jigu’s care. (As the judge says, “Who’s looking after who in this family?”)
Jigu’s life really does hang in the balance at this moment, and the judge makes what she believes to be the humane decision. After admonishing the parents of the other two boys, and giving them comparatively lighter sentences, she tells Jigu that he would be better off in a more disciplined and stable environment. She sentences him to a juvenile reformatory. At this moment, Jigu is mostly scared on behalf of his ailing grandfather, but perhaps he also senses that his uncertain path towards graduating from high school and leading a normal life is about to be derailed. “Can you forgive me just this once?,” he asks the judge. Not for the last time in Jigu’s life, the answer will be no.
Juvenile Offender explores the impact of three unforeseen ruptures in Jigu’s life, the first being his sentencing to the reformatory. Without ever feeling didactic, the film takes us briefly inside the system of juvenile punishment and shows us both how it works, and how it might not be working as it should. (The film was partly financed by the National Human Rights Commission of Korea.) Jigu, at any rate, does not seem to be healing or progressing in this environment. However, in an ironic twist, the reformatory will deliver something completely unexpected to Jigu. It will bring him into contact with his mother.
This is the second film by director Kang Yi-kwan, after his award-winning relationship drama Sa-Kwa (2005) which impressed critics and audiences with its thoughtful, introspective approach to storytelling. Like that film, Juvenile Offender is humane, moving and driven forward by some remarkable acting performances. Seo Young-joo, who plays Jigu, has the look of a teen star, although his career hasn’t really started yet. A jury at the 2012 Tokyo International Film Festival awarded him a best actor prize, and it was no surprise to anyone who had seen the film. His acting is assured and completely natural, despite his young age.
Jigu’s mother, named Hyo-seung, is played by Lee Jung-hyun, who is best known as a pop star, but who has also acted in a handful of remarkable films including Park Chan-wook and Park Chan-kyong’s Night Fishing (2011), and Jang Sun-woo’s A Petal (1996). In this film, she is given a nuanced, complex role, and she does amazing things with it. Hyo-seung’s hold onto her life is precarious at best, and she has never had any experience of being a parent. Jigu’s release from the reformatory throws her life into turmoil, but also fills a need in her. Lee’s performance expresses fragility and strength, desperation and formidable will.
This developing mother-son relationship illuminates all the other issues raised in the film, from questions of upbringing and deprivation to those of retribution and responsibility. Jigu naturally craves information about his past; such information might usually help one feel more grounded in the world. Ironically, in Jigu’s case, hearing about the identity of his father, or the origin of his unusual name (his grandfather mistakenly entered “Jigu” instead of “Jingu” into his birth records) might make his life seem even more like the product of arbitrary, random forces. But there is potential in his reunion with his mother. That they need each other is clear. What is less clear as we watch the film, is whether they will be able to stay together.
Darcy Paquet