With only a year left till the turn of the century,
Korean cinema looks like it has reached one of the
most colourful periods in its 70-odd-year career. The
'90s has seen interest in local movies mushroom
across the country, with films and film-related programmes
and discussions filling the media - from TV,
cable and radio to newspapers, magazines, public
forums and the Internet. The increase in the number
of cinema screens, especially through modern multiplexes,
has accommodated this public need, while
film festivals, private screenings, film courses and
film schools have catered for the more serious
crowd. Most of all, the infusion of large sums of
money and the involvement of major corporations
(chaebol) have invigorated the industry, from production
through to distribution.
The most significant phenomenon has been the
rising popularity
of Korean cinema
with local
audiences. With
improved production
values,
and stronger
scripts which
tackle social and
more personal
issues, Korean
cinema seems to
have found a
way of connecting
with the local
a u d i e n c e .
Melodrama is still
the leading genre, but even fully-fledged tearjerkers
like The Letter (Lee Jung-gook, 1997) and The
Promise (Kim Yoo-jin, 1998) have challenged
Hollywood by topping the local box-office.
Korean cinema has also successfully branched out
into genres other than melodrama and romantic
comedy. Recent titles of note include Whispering
Corridors (Park Ki-hyung, 1998), a horror flick examining
South Korea's oppressive educational
system, the black comedy The Quiet Family (Kim
Jee-woon, 1998), and special-effects action-horror
movie The Soul Guardians (K.C. Park, 1998).
Finally, one should also note the national and international
acclaim that has followed the commercial
success of more arty films such as Christmas in
August (Hur Jin-ho, 1998) and Spring in My
Hometown (Lee Kwangmo, 1998).
The emergence of a new generation of producers
and directors has been a driving force in the rejuvenation
of South Korean cinema. However, other factors
have contributed to the new sophistication of the
local industry.
First is the greater tolerance towards anti-authoritarian
liberalism. The arrival in 1993 of the first nonmilitary
democratic government, after almost 30
years of military dictatorship, loosened the chronic
sense of oppression that permeated society and the
country's political and economic life. Most of all, it lifted
the paralysis of the arts, enabling filmmakers to
tackle broader issues within a wider scope of creativity.
More established filmmakers, who had spent their
youth organising film movements under the dictatorship,
exploited the new permissiveness to make
socially and historically challenging works. Of particular
note were Park Kwang-su's revisionist view of
the struggles during the Japanese occupation, in To
the Starry Island (1994); Chang Sun-woo's social
allegory on the castrating effects of modernity, in To
You, from Me (1995); and Chung Ji-young's questioning
of Korean identity, in The Life and Death of the
Hollywood Kid (1994). Other filmmakers dealt with
personal issues that touched various sectors of life:
the problems of nuclear families and subsequent
role-conflicts in The Wedding Story (Kim Eui-suk,
1992), and the heartaches of First Love (Lee Myungseh,
1993).
These directors
and their movies,
along with the
new social tolerance,
paved the
way for a new
generation who
experimented
with filmmaking
styles. There's
been the distorted
depiction of
rebellious youth
in Beat (Kim
Sung-soo, 1997);
audience-dazzling
computer graphics in The Gingko Bed (Jacky
Kang, 1996); and new subjects ranging from adolescent
anxiety and coming-of-age in The Three
Friends (Im Soon-reh, 1996), disintegration of the
family in Green Fish (Lee Chang-dong, 1997), infidelity
in the '90s in An Affair (E, J-yong, 1997), intellectual
vanity and the banality of daily life in The
Power of Kangwon Province (Hong Sangsoo, 1998)
to labour problems expressed as sexual allegory in
Bedroom & Courtroom (Kang Woo-suk, 1998) and a
self-reflexive look at Korea's film industry in Killer
Story (Yeo Kyun-dong, 1998). In the '90s Korean
cinema has finally demonstrated the wide potential it
has for long carried within itself.
The second major spur to the sophistication of the
industry has been the expansion and specialization
of the business. Despite criticism of the role of the
chaebol - such as Samsung, Daewoo, SK, Hyundai
and Cheil Jedang - in the industry, these large corporations
brought a systematic approach to the business,
from production to distribution. When it was
noted that Steven Spielberg's Jurassic Park earned
more than the total annual sales of Hyundai cars,
these companies began to see movies as potentially
lucrative merchandise.
The chaebol weighed in with their business expertise,
with efficient division of labour and a hefty number
of people trained in the skills of the business.
Massive amounts of money, manpower and muscle were used on the "software" side - i.e., the import,
distribution and production of films - and the chaebol
also invested in "hardware", such as cinemas and
cable channels. This trend has continued, especially
with the introduction of consumer-friendly multiplexes
(with shopping malls, parking space, and
comfortable facilities) that started to appear in 1997.
Companies such as Ilshin Investment, which saw
local films as viable commercial product, reinforced
their planning and marketing divisions, and scored
goals with movies like The Gingko Bed, The Contact
(Chang Yoon-hyun, 1997), Christmas in August, The
Quiet Family, and The Soul Guardians. During this
period the various roles of producers - executive,
associate and line - became more clearly separated,
along with the effectiveness they had on the outcome
of films.
The third factor in the sophistication of South
Korea's film industry has been the blossoming of the
"support" side - critics, scholars, publications and
(especially) festivals. The growing credibility of all
these has helped to bridge the gap between audience
and industry. Events like the Pusan Intl. Film
Festival and Puchon Intl. Fantastic Film Festival
have broadened local audiences' appetites and served
as a magnet for attracting foreign critics and programmers.
In the past few years, Korean cinema has
started to get serious attention from major festivals
such as Cannes, Berlin and Toronto.
However it is still too early for the local film industry
to let down its guard. The economic crisis which
finally hit South Korea along with other East Asian
countries early last year has taken its toll, with
annual production slowly decreasing. Major corporations
are either folding or reducing their film divisions.
And the Hollywood majors, which already
have an 80% share of the Korean market, continue
to lobby (via US government trade negotiations) for
a total abolition of the local screen quota, which
requires cinemas to show Korean films for at least 106 days a year per screen. The US' latest assault,
at the end of 1998, provoked passionate protests
from the film community, with the result that the issue
of screen quotas has temporarily been removed from
the trade agenda.
Be it continuously rising popularity, economic instability
or threatening competition posed by the US
majors, it is hard to foresee what the future holds for
South Korean cinema. But two things that are
unlikely to change are its resilience, and its ability to
come together at times of crisis and demonstrate
creativity in the darkest moments.
Hanna Lee