“Hi-Five” Theatrical Poster

Director: Kang Hyeong-Cheol
Cast: Lee Jae-in, Ra Mi-ran, Oh Jung-se, Park Jin-young, Ahn Jae-hong, Kim Hee-won, Shin Gu, Yoo Ah-in, Choi Eun-kyeong, Na Jin-su, Jin Hee-kyung
Running Time: 119 min. 

By Paul Bramhall

Where audiences suffering more from superhero fatigue in 2025 than they were in 2022? It’s a question worth pondering, since the 3 years in-between is how long the Korean superhero comedy Hi-Five has sat on the shelf. Delayed from its original release after actor Yoo Ah-in was charged will illegal drug use in 2023, since his release from serving a five-month prison sentence in February 2025, it would appear the completion of his punishment has also served as the cue to release the past productions he was involved in. The Match hit screens in May 2025, a drama which cast Ah-in alongside Lee Byung-hun and had originally been set for release in 2023, and a month later Hi-Five also hit the screens, which had originally been planned for release even earlier in 2022.

Whatever your views are on Korea’s approach to celebrities who commit misdemeanours, its always a relief when a completed movie that was potentially going to have its release cancelled finally sees the light of day, particularly when the director at the helm is Kang Hyeong-cheol (Swing Kids, Sunny). Much like Choi Dong-hoon, Hyeong-cheol is one of Korea’s most consistent filmmakers when it comes to mainstream entertainment (and they also both share a Tazza connection, with Dong-hoon directing the 2006 original Tazza: The High Rollers, and Hyeong-cheol directing the 2014 sequel Tazza: The Hidden Card). Debuting in 2008 with the comedy drama Scandal Makers, Hyeong-cheol’s style of filmmaking has proven to be consistently popular with local audiences, and his latest bears all of his typical trademarks.

Involving the recipients of a recently departed superhumans organs, the mysterious donor’s abilities soon start manifesting themselves in their unsuspecting new hosts. Lee Jae-in (Hard Hit, Our Body) plays the taekwondo loving outsider whose new heart imbues her with immense strength and speed. Ahn Jae-hong’s (Time to Hunt, Missing You) struggling screenwriter finds his new lungs enable him to blow gale force gusts of wind. Yoo Ah-in’s (Burning, Seoul Vibe) pompous layabout has a pair of new corneas that allow him to control electro-magnetic waves, able to send texts and control electricity with the click of his fingers (or toes for that matter). Kim Hee-won’s (Unlocked, The Merciless) factory foreman has a new liver which gives him the power to transfer others wounds to himself, and finally Ra Mi-ran (Intimate Strangers, The Mayor) received the donors kidney, but insists all she’s noticed is her improved skin.

There’s something admirable in Hyeong-cheol’s approach to the superhero genre, blatantly refusing to bother with any kind of time-consuming backstory, and instead having 4 of the 5 organ recipients conspire to meet each other within the first 20 minutes. Intrigued by the appearance of a tattoo on their wrists (except for Mi-ran, who’s stuck with an unflattering tramp stamp on her lower back to comical effect), the 5 eventually come together, go to a chicken restaurant, and try to figure out what use their respective powers are. The lack of grandiosity is one of Hi-Five’s greatest strengths, subverting the usual epic feel that the superhero genre has become increasingly lumbered with, and instead opting to filter it through Hyeong-cheol’s lens of feel-good comedy.

The quintet’s research leads them to realise a sixth organ is possible to be donated, which its revealed has gone to a revered cult leader who’s been laying comatose on his deathbed. Kept alive by his greedy family, upon unwittingly receiving the donor’s pancreas, he suddenly wakes up and sets about resuming his role as a self-declared God, only realising when he gets into an argument with a former associate he has the ability to drain any living things life force by touch. Played by veteran actor Shin Koo (YMCA Baseball Team, Bluebeard), the more life force he absorbs the younger he becomes, eventually transforming into former K-pop idol Park Jinyoung (Christmas Carol, Yaksha: Ruthless Operations). Naturally, once he realises the other donors have inherited superpowers of their own, the temptation to absorb their powers for himself becomes his top priority, giving Hi-Five its all-important villain.

The delayed release means there are likely to be inevitable comparisons with the 2023 superhero themed 20-episode series Moving, despite it being originally planned to be released earlier, however thankfully Hi-Five still stands on its own. There’s a likeable chemistry between the 5 leads, and the pace rarely lets up, making it a brisk 2 hours (especially for those who are drama series allergic like myself and struggle to find 20 hours!). The lightness of tone suits the narrative perfectly, with a highlight being a vehicular chase sequence involving a car full of the cult leader’s lackeys in pursuit of Mi-ran’s humble yoghurt cart, being pushed to ridiculous speeds by Jae-in while the other 4 cling on for dear life. The action feels like a Looney Tuns inspired mix of Arahan meets Kung Fu Hustle, and what other movie in 2025 is going to revive the Rickrolling phenomenon, with the whole sequence set to Rick Astley’s Never Gonna Give You Up!?

An unexpected highlight comes in the form of Oh Jung-se (Cobweb, Killing Romance) as Jae-in’s overly protective taekwondo teacher father (an observation the productions marketing department must agree with, since it’s his image that replaces Ah-in’s on the poster). Clueless to his daughter’s new abilities, and unknowingly putting himself in harm’s way more than once, a scene where he uses his taekwondo skills to take on a small army of cult followers feels like classic Hyeong-cheol. Executed with unseen assistance from Jae-in, who uses her powers to lend a helping hand, the wholes scene feels like a throwback to the more slapstick style of comedy Korean cinema leaned into during the 2000’s.

Another element of Hi-Five which feels like a throwback is the occasionally awkward mix of comedy and abrupt departures into rather dark territory. It’s a very Korean cinema-specific trait to blend light and breezy narratives with dark tragedy (see Officer Black Belt – light hearted buddy comedy vs. violent paedophiles) or histrionic filled melodrama (see I Can Speak – cranky old woman learning English comedy vs. forced prostitution during the Japanese occupation), and while Hyeong-cheol’s latest doesn’t go as heavy as either of these examples, it still rears its head enough to be noticed. In particular the circumstances around what led to Mi-ran’s organ transplant are a particular downer, and it’s the same circumstances which are used for a post-credits scene which will either raise a smile, an eyebrow, or possibly both.

Events eventually lead up to a finale that pits the 5 against Jinyoung, who comes with an advantage of having partly absorbed the powers of Yoo-in and Hee-won. Like any modern superhero movie, the fact that CGI is at a point where literally anything imagined can be portrayed is both a blessing and a curse, and somewhat regrettably the final showdown eschews the smaller scale comedic feel for an attempt at an epic battle between the 2 sides. It’s competently executed, and who doesn’t want to see some superpowered taekwondo? However at the same time the sight of bodies flying across the screen at hyper speed and buildings taking on structural damage feels like something we’ve seen plenty of times before, and the whole battle goes on for a tad too long. On the plus side though, we do finally get to understand what Mi-ran’s superpower is!

Overall these are minor issues in what’s a highly entertaining slice of popcorn cinema. We do get occasional glimpses into the origin of the powers, with a couple of brief scenes showing a cave from ancient times that houses a mysterious being, however these are never elaborated on to mean anything significant, leading me to speculate if Hyeong-cheol intended Hi-Five to be a franchise starter (in which case, the Ah-in issue may unfortunately have derailed any chance of a sequel). Whatever the case may be, as a standalone piece of superhero cinema, I’ll take Nine Girl, Tank Boy, Fresh Girl, Bluetooth Man, and Battery Man any day of the week over yet another cookie cutter Marvel or DC outing. In an era where superhero productions often drown out the voice of the director at the helm, perhaps the biggest compliment I can give Hi-Five is that it feels like a Kang Hyeong-cheol movie through and through.

Paul Bramhall’s Rating: 7/10

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“The Match” Theatrical Poster

Director: Kim Hyung-Joo
Cast: Lee Byung-Hun, Yoo Ah-In, Ko Chang-Seok, Hyun Bong-Sik, Moon Jeong-Hee, Jo Woo-Jin, Kim Kang-Hoon
Running Time: 115 min.

By Paul Bramhall

More than 10 years ago I reviewed a Korean movie called The Divine Move, which at one point I described as consisting of “an abundance of scenes with characters playing Go, and then beating the living daylights out of each other”, the implication being that the latter made the former scenes more palatable. While I’m now slightly older, it’s debatable if I’m any wiser, so when I heard there was going to be a movie about 2 of Koreas most famous Go players – Cho Hun-hyun, and his student turned rival Lee Chang-ho – it didn’t necessarily spark that much interest.

The movie in question was The Match, and my lack of interest quickly changed when it was revealed that Lee Byung-hun (The Man Standing Next, Ashfall) had been cast as Hun-hyun, an actor who’s remained someone I’ve religiously watched anything they appear in since the early 2000’s. The casting announcement was followed by Yoo Ah-in (Burning, Veteran) being attached to play Chang-ho, and suddenly my curiosity was piqued. As it was, it would stay piqued for a while, since its original release date of 2023 was ultimately pushed out to 2025, the result of Ah-in being charged with illegal drug usage in October 2023.

While similar activity in Hollywood would be frowned upon, in Korea it’s a whole other level, with such offences usually resulting in permanent banishment from the entertainment industry. Ah-in was recast for the 2^nd season of Hellbound, his scenes in the drama Goodbye Earth were practically all removed, and both of the completed movies he starred in – Hi-Five and The Match – were placed indefinitely on the shelf. Thankfully, after being released from prison following completion of a five month sentence in February 2025, it seems like the studios are feeling a little more at ease to put the movies out there that have Ah-in’s name attached to them, with both Hi.5 and The Match finally given a release in May (albeit with a noticeable lack of any publicity). Of course if you’re reading this in 2035 rather than 2025 all of this will be completely superfluous, but reviews aren’t anything if not products of the time they’re written.

Indeed there’s a certain feeling of being displaced in time watching Ah-in on the screen in 2025. His last role was in 2022’s Seoul Vibe, one of the worst Korean movies of the 21^st century, so to go back to a role that really left an impression you have to look to 2020’s Voice of Silence, a whole 5 years ago. Thankfully The Match is a production that knows how to utilize his talents, and if it does turn out to be his last role, it’s at least a worthy one. The plot is, by its nature, more compelling due to the fact it’s based on a true story. Cho Hun-hyun spent the 1970’s dominating the sport of Go, and in 1984 he took the 9-year-old Lee Chang-ho under his wing as a live-in student. The opportunity to learn from the best saw him become professional only a couple of years later, and in 1989 the then 14-year-old Chang-ho met his teacher in the final of the 29^th Chaegowi, coming out the victor and launching a year’s long teacher-student rivalry.

The plot focuses on Byung-hun’s meeting with his to-be student when he’s still a boisterous and boastful kid growing up in Jeonju, played by Kim Kang-hoon (Metamorphosis, Exit), who the locals believe to be a Go prodigy. When Byun-hun sits down with Kang-hoon for a game he ultimately walks away unimpressed, but when the latter solves a question Byung-hun had posed before leaving, it leads him to rethink his decision. It’s a nuance in the world of Go that would be lost on those unfamiliar with the culture surrounding the game, but what made the decision for Hun-hyun to start teaching Chang-ho such an unusual one was that Hun-hyun was still at the top of his game, whereas normally a teacher would take on a student when they’ve already retired. Of course it’s also that same decision that led to one of the most unique rivalries in any sport, with teacher and student going head-to-head for close to 15 years.

The Match is the sophomore directorial feature of Kim Hyeong-joo, who debuted as a director with 2017’s The Sherrif in Town, and he already shows an assured hand through his ability to make the games of Go (and there’s a lot of them!) compelling enough for audiences to be invested. CGI is occasionally used to effectively present the stones being placed on the board one by one in quick succession, accelerating the outcome of the game, but without compromising the performance of the actors. Other times the camera finds unique ways to frame the players, such as filming from underneath a transparent board, so that it’s possible to see the players face between the stones. At the heart of it though, we’re still watching 2 people play a game of Go, and there are no acid spraying tables that douse the loser like in The Divine Move 2: The Wrathful to liven things up, so to that end audience mileage may well vary.

More than the game itself though, The Match feels like it belongs to Lee Byung-hun, his character being one who goes from having his world shattered, to one who’s able to pick himself back up and get back in the game. Like all of the best sporting dramas, it’s the story of human resilience, and even if a game of Go may not get the adrenaline pumping like a game of soccer (Dream), table tennis (As One), or even baseball (YMCA Baseball Team), the principle remains the same. Where Hyeong-joo gets it right is the mix of drama between the 2 leads, and the way it’s framed in such a way that allows for the games of Go to become extensions of that drama. There’s a tangible sense of awkwardness when Ah-in first beats Byung-hun, then they have to return to living under the same roof together, the live-in student having now beaten the very person who’s provided for them since they were a kid. The change in dynamic is tangible.

The plot structure isn’t flawless though, admittedly suffering from a common trait in Korean cinema, in which if it’s known a character is going to face adversity later on, the time spent portraying life prior comes across as overly saccharine. In the early scenes it feels like everyone is a little too cheerful and amicable, creating a somewhat detached feeling from reality, almost as if the future hardships are being foreshadowed with a sledgehammer because, really, can life feel this breezy and pleasant!? I’m not sure I have the answer of how to do it better (and I guess if I did, I’d be directing movies rather than reviewing them), but when the emotions don’t feel authentic, it makes it difficult to relate to the characters beyond two dimensional caricatures. I distinctly remember Lee Chung-hyun’s 2020 horror The Call suffering from the same issue when it had to portray scenes where essentially ‘life is good’.

Overall though this is a minor gripe in what feels like one of the most distinctively Korean movies to grace the screen for a while. From the smoke-filled Go rooms to the plastic tent pocha snack stalls, it’s perhaps by virtue of it being about the game of Go that The Match refuses to rush itself, instead adamantly sticking to its own good-natured lane. The supporting cast are also stellar, with Moon Jeong-hee (Hide and Seek, Deranged) as Byung-hun’s wife who finds herself in a tricky situation under her own roof, and Jo Woo-jin (Harbin, Kingmaker) as a fellow Go competitor who befriends both Byung-hun and Ah-in at different moments in their journeys.

The closing scenes reveal that both Cho Hun-hyun and Lee Chang-ho remain active in Go competitions to this day (as well as showing photos that reflect just how much the casting of Byung-hun and Ah-in nailed their appearances), a reassuring coda to know they’re still doing what they love. Quietly unassuming, The Match is one of those movies that gradually pulls you in without you even realising, but by the time the end credits roll, you’re glad it did.

Paul Bramhall’s Rating: 7.5/10

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“Seoul Vibe” Poster

Director: Moon Hyun-Sung
Cast: Yoo Ah-In, Ko Gyung-Pyo, Lee Kyu-Hyung, Park Ju-Hyun, Ong Seong-Wu, Moon So-Ri, Kim Sung-Kyun, Kim Chae-Eun, Baek Hyun-Jin, Eom Ji-Man
Running Time: 138 min.

By Paul Bramhall

There must be something in the Korean air at the moment with setting movies in the lead up to the Olympics. While the 2020 gangster movie Paid in Blood set itself directly in the lead up to the 2018 Pyeongchang Olympics, 2022’s Seoul Vibe dials things considerably further back, setting itself in the lead up to the 1988 Seoul Olympics. The 20-year Olympic gap also means that Seoul Vibe leans in far more on the nostalgia factor, complimented by the fact that there was arguably far more riding on Seoul’s hosting of the 1988 Olympics in terms of historical significance.

Coming at a point in time when South Korea had been a democracy for less than a year after decades as a dictatorship, as a country it had a point to prove, and the Olympics further accelerated what was already Seoul’s rapid urban development. The period has already been explored in the popular 2015 drama series Reply 1988, as well as productions from the year itself, such as the iconic Chilsu and Mansu. Seoul Vibe isn’t so much interested in capturing the political upheaval of the period in any way which could be considered serious though, instead opting for a shamelessly commercial caper flick that sees a group of ex-con driving specialists hired to help catch some unsavoury layovers from the old regime.

Opening in Saudi Arabia, we meet ace driver Yoo Ah-in (Voice of Silence, Burning) and his sidekick Ong Seong-wu (Cattle Run, Life is Beautiful) kicking up a storm as they ride a jeep through the sand dunes. Returning to Seoul after laying low for an undefined period of time, upon landing back on Korean soil they’re met with a country that’s opened itself up to western influences, which basically amounts to a gratuitous amount of product placement for McDonalds and Coca-Cola for the next 2+ hours. Inbetween the burgers and fizziness, the pair meet up with their old gang – Ah-in’s motorbike riding younger sister played by Park Ju-hyun (Silence, Drive), technician Lee Kyu-hung (Innocent Witness, The Wicked), and DJ Go Kyung-pyo (Coin Locker Girl, Man on High Heels).

While the gang aspire to move to the U.S., a righteous prosecutor soon rains on their parade with the threat of jail time for their misdemeanours. Offering up a Dirty Dozen style ultimatum, they’re given the choice to accept time behind bars or, if they agree to use their driving skills to collect evidence of an illegal slush fund containing millions, in return they’ll not only have their criminal records wiped, they’ll get a passport and U.S. visa to boot. Naturally, the latter is a no-brainer, so when intel reveals the unsavouries are looking for skilled drivers, the scene is set for the gang to go undercover and do what they do best.

Helmed by Moon Hyeon-song, Seoul Vibe marks his third time in the director’s chair after 2012’s As One (which tackled a sporting event more directly through the story of the joint South and North Korean women’s table tennis team that won the 1991 Chiba International Table Tennis Championships) and the 2017 period comedy The King’s Case Note. Clearly a fan of tales that play out in key historical time periods from Korea’s past, there’s a distinct feeling that Hyeon-song would have benefitted from paying a little less attention to the constant moments of “look at this period detail!” in Seoul Vibe, and a little more to the characterisation and story.

Indeed to call Ah-in and his gang characters at all feels like a stretch. All of them play like broad caricatures of barely thought-out ideas that should never have made it past the first production meeting. Ah-in’s defining characteristics amount to gelled back hair and a ridiculous gold chain, and he’s the lead. As his sister Ju-hyun is given so little to work with she’s practically insufferable, reduced to reacting in that distinctly Korean style of flustered to whatever situation is afoot and little else. The rest blur into one, to a point where you could be forgiven for rooting for the bad guys – played by an always welcome Moon So-ri (Ode to the Goose, Oasis) and her military obsessed underling, played by Kim Sung-kyun (Phantom Detective, Nameless Gangster).

The vibe the title alludes to feels overwhelmingly self-conscious, almost as if Hyeon-song is as desperate to convince himself that the movie he’s created is a fun time as much as he is the audience. In one of the more bizarre examples of a period setting gone wrong, the fact that we’re in 1988 Seoul sees the audience constantly hit over the head with reminders of the same, usually through ways that poorly masquerade as nostalgia. Details which feel like they should be in the background to subtly build the world the movie is a part of, such as a giant billboard for A Better Tomorrow, instead are forced to awkwardly draw attention to themselves by having establishing shots lingeringly open on them, despite serving no purpose to the scene. 

However when it comes to recreating a broader aesthetic like a whole street, the CGI used is glaringly sub-par. The roads and buildings lack depth and detail, frequently looking more like a 2D image that characters have been poorly superimposed on, a feeling which is only exasperated when they’re expected to interact with the supposed surroundings. The biggest crime that Seoul Vibe commits though is in its lacklustre execution of the exact thing it sells itself on – the vehicular action. Best described as a horrible mix of undercranked chase sequences and cringe inducing CGI, whenever Ah-in and his crew get behind the wheel the expected adrenaline rush quickly turns into torrid boredom. 

The undercranking is betrayed by the fact that when a car drives into a wall, it barely constitutes a mild bump, whereas whenever a more spectacular crash is required, the vehicles switch to that distinctly weightless and jerky CGI that really should have become extinct over a decade ago. Needless to say if there was an award for the dullest vehicular action committed to film, Seoul Vibe would be up there, with director Hyeong-song seemingly under the belief that endless slow motion drifting shots constitute excitement (possibly because they’re one of the few manoeuvres done for real).

Despite the slightness of everything at hand, Hyeon-song’s most disastrous achievement is that he’s made a movie that doesn’t need to be longer than 85 – 90 minutes into an almost 140-minute ordeal. A needlessly long runtime that still manages to feel even longer, frankly it defies explanation, and is only made worse by the languid jazzy score that plays over many of the scenes. In fairness if there’s one positive thing to say about Seoul Vibe, it’s that the soundtrack does finally come alive in the last reel when the elevator-esque jazz score is ditched for a handful of 80’s K-pop classics, which will hopefully turn at least some viewers on to an overlooked period of K-pop history. I guess that’s really more of a niche side benefit though than a direct compliment to the movie itself.

In the end Seoul Vibe attempts to take elements from both The Fast and The Furious franchise and Baby Driver, throw them into a blender, finishing off with a dose of kimchi and a quote from Knight Rider. The problem is Hyeon-song forgot to put the lid on, and as a result the ingredients got splattered everywhere, ending up an unfathomably unwieldy mess that’s easier to look away from than consider making sense of. While the constant 80’s throwbacks may hold some nostalgic value for local audiences, for everyone else, the best advice would be to steer well clear. Pun intended.

Paul Bramhall’s Rating: 3/10

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“Voice of Silence” Theatrical Poster

Director: Hong Eui-jung
Cast: Yoo Ah-in, Yoo Jae-myung, Moon Seung-A, Yu Seong-Ju, Shin Tae-Yang, Hanna Kim
Running Time: 99 min. 

By Paul Bramhall 

Back in the early to mid-noughties, a period popularly known as the Korean Wave, the countries film industry had a knack for cranking out productions that seamlessly blended genres to create a number of unique cinematic experiences. From the sci-fi zaniness of Save the Green Planet, to the left of field horror antics in To Catch a Virgin Ghost, when it came to Korean cinema you could never be sure exactly what you were in for. In more recent times the country’s output has leaned increasingly towards sticking to one genre, which they often do exceptionally well, but long-time fans can be forgiven for missing an era of filmmaking when it felt like creativity reigned supreme. I mention this period, because 2020’s Voice of Silence very much feels like a hark back to those earlier days when movies frequently defied being pigeonholed.

Focusing on a pair of rural egg sellers played by Yoo Ah-in (#Alive, Burning) and Yoo Jae-myung (Bring Me Home, The Drug King), when not supplying the local community they have a side hustle (an arguably better paying one at that) of assisting gangsters to prepare for any gruesome beatdowns or murders they plan to partake in. While the pair never get involved in the nasty business themselves, decked out in plastic Macs and shower caps they carefully cover the floor in plastic, lay out the ‘tools’ which intend to be put to use, and take care of the clean-up afterwards. Their safely distanced involvement though is challenged one day when the gangster they work for asks them to watch over a potential victim for a couple of days, and while initially reluctant, it soon becomes clear that the consequences of refusing would likely be far more bothersome.

What they weren’t expecting was for the person in question to be an 11-year-old girl, and one who seems to be much more aware of what’s going on than either of them. With Ah-in left to house the unexpected third member of their tightly knit operation, a couple of days becomes more of a challenge when the gangster who tasked them with the job is himself killed off, leaving no clear direction of what’s supposed to happen with the girl. It’s at this point that Voice of Silence becomes a classic tale of Murphy’s law, in which everything that can go wrong does go wrong, with Ah-in and Jae-myung’s attempts to rid themselves of their unwanted companion becoming the driving force of the narrative.

The debut of director and writer Hong Eui-jung, Voice of Silence takes a rarely seen perspective and puts a quirkily humorous take on proceedings. There’s a level of detail paid to the kinds of procedures we know have to take place in a gangster movie, but never question. When gangsters walk into a room and there’s already someone strung up with a table full of hammers and other blunt force associated tools laid out next to them, we put it down to movie magic, but in Voice of Silence we learn such preparation is actually a form of gainful employment. In one amusing scene the gangster yells at Ah-in and Jae-myung because they hung the victim too low, which led to him getting back ache from the beating he dished out, and it’s this attention to the minutiae found throughout Eui-jung’s script that signal the arrival of an exciting new talent.

While I would have happily spent the entire movie watching Ah-in and Jae-myung working around the peripheries of the scenes we’re so familiar with in the Korean gangster genre, the narratives focus eventually centers on the relationship with the girl, played by newcomer Moon Seung-ah. Specifically it focuses on the unlikely bond that appears to form between her and Ah-in. Ever since his villainous turn in Ryoo Seung-won’s Veteran Ah-in’s star has been on the rise, and after working with a minimal script in #Alive from the same year, here he has no lines at all. It’s never implicitly stated if his character is mute or has made the decision not to speak, instead leaving it to audience interpretation, but either way it allows him to deliver a stellar performance, speaking volumes purely through facial expressions and body language.

Similarly for Jae-myung (who notably had a small role in Veteran), an actor who while rarely the lead, has been one of Korea’s top supporting actors over the past 20 years, clocking in close to 100 roles across both the big and small screens. Voice of Silence gives him his most high-profile role to date opposite Ah-in, and as the God loving older brother type to his silent partner, his character acts as a kind of (admittedly skewered) moral compass in their morally ambiguous world.

For a first-time director Eui-jung handles the shift in narrative focus with aplomb, avoiding any whiplash inducing tonal shifts into melodrama, and instead choosing to maintain the off-kilter feel of the initial scenes. We learn Ah-in lives in a rundown abode on the outskirts of town with his younger sister, who in one scene Seung-ah humorously mistakes to be another child being held captive like herself, and the relationship develops in a way which sees her become the unintended head of the house. However the threat of reality is never far away, and the topics that Voice of Silence navigates through will likely divide audiences not accustomed to Korea’s own distinctly adult style of genre mashing. 

When Ah-in and Jae-myung go to pick up their target, they’re surprised to find it’s a brightly decorated children’s playroom. Upon meeting their contacts, played by Jo Ha-suk and Seung Hyung-bae, they explain that child kidnapping is their speciality, and the décor caters to their victims age group. Similar to Park Chan-wook’s Vengeance Trilogy, the humor is as dark as it gets, but it still lands. Also similar to Park Chan-wook is the way Eui-jung finds beauty in the unlikeliest of scenarios, such as when Seung-ah draws flower petals in the dirt around the drops of blood trailing out of the body bag Ah-in and Jae-myung carry. In fact the whole movie is brightly lit, eschewing the dark and claustrophobic lensing that many a small-town Korean thriller tends to indulge in, instead opting to portray the countryside as a place of bright blue skies set to a soundtrack of cicadas.

As events progress it becomes clear that Eui-jung has something to say about those who lack a voice in society, a fact alluded to by the title, but it’s also a theme that rests just below the surface throughout. Ah-in may literally be silent, however even though Seung-ah has a voice, it’s only once she’s with Ah-in that she finds its willing to be listened to. It’s a subtle commentary on the nature of Korean society, and an aspect of the narrative that becomes increasingly prevalent in the closing scenes. The finale itself feels entirely fitting, but also opts to leave an element of ambiguity that may frustrate audiences hoping for a more cut and dry resolution. However anyone who found enjoyment in the likes of Me and Me and Burning will likely find a lot to mull over in the way Eui-jung chooses to wrap things up.

It’s hard to believe Voice of Silence is the work of a first time director, with Eui-jung showing a remarkably assured hand not only in the director’s chair, but also as the scriptwriter (yes Yoo Ah-in doesn’t have any lines, but that doesn’t make the script any less important!). Part crime thriller, part human drama, part offbeat comedy, Voice of Silence weaves in and out of a variety of genres, and in the hands of a lesser filmmaker such disparate elements could well have grated against each other. That’s far from being the case here though, and if anything, Hong Eui-jung has proven herself to be a voice which is very much worth listening to, and I hope we both see and hear more of it very soon.

 Paul Bramhall’s Rating: 7/10

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KPqKG06QHTE

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“#Alive” Theatrical Poster

Director: Cho Il-hyeong
Cast: Yoo Ah-In, Park Shin-Hye, Jeon Bae-Su, Lee Hyun-Wook, Jin So-Yeon, Oh Hye-Won, Lee Chae-Kyung, Jeon Woon-Jong, Lee Kyu-Ho, Son Kyoung-Won
Running Time: 98 min.

By Paul Bramhall

Since 2016’s Train to Busan the zombie genre has continued to attract filmmakers in South Korea, eager to catch up on a genre that for many countries has been a mainstay of horror filmmaking since the 70’s. Whether it be zombies on a train, in a post-apocalyptic future (Peninsula), or in the ancient past (Rampant), there still seems to be plenty of gas left in the tank, so in 2020 we get the ‘zombies in an apartment’ take on the genre with #Alive.

The debut of director Cho Il-hyeong, #Alive gives us the 2nd ‘zombies in an apartment’ movie in as many years, with the 2019 Indonesian production Zeta: When the Dead Awaken following the same setup. Unlike its predecessor though, #Alive comes with the star power of leading man Yoo Ah-in, hot off headlining Lee Chang-dong’s Burning. We never learn that much about the character Ah-in in playing, beyond the fact that he enjoys online gaming, which is exactly what he’s doing when we’re first introduced. Home alone with his family at work, the gaming is disturbed when the online friends he’s interacting with start discussing the crazy news that’s breaking on TV. It turns out members of the public in parts of Seoul are showing signs of aggressive behaviour and cannibalism, and unfortunately for Ah-in, a look out the window of the apartment he resides in confirms he’s in one of the affected areas.

So goes the premise of #Alive, which initially seems to be more focused on how to survive in isolation rather than the threat of flesh eating undead. It’s a focus which is relevant considering it was made in the middle of the COVID-19 pandemic, which saw (and continues in some cases) many parts of the world in lockdown. The different perspective is one which can be appreciated, as no matter how much of a fan you are of the zombie genre, there can be no denying there’s certain limitations as to exactly how much can be done with it. With the zombies essentially acting as a plot device that means Ah-in can’t leave the confines of where he lives, it becomes more about the horror of losing the every-day conveniences that most of us take for granted.

The decision to skip going to the grocery store and get straight into gaming means there’s not that much food in stock, and some of the most palpable moments of horror come from the smaller scenes, like when Ah-in goes to turn the tap on and no water comes out, the supply having being cut off. With only his father’s extensive liquor cabinet to provide liquid refreshment, it’s not long before he starts finding solace in the bottom of a whiskey glass. Water isn’t the only thing to dry up though, with electricity going shortly after, turning an environment where you should feel most safe, into one which suddenly feels like a prison you can’t escape from.

#Alive is at its best when the focus is on this element of self-isolation, and the ingenuity required to stay both mentally and physically strong. It’s a shame then that, despite the punchy runtime, the more #Alive progresses, the more it becomes a decidedly generic and average zombie romp. Proceedings initially get fleshed out (pardon the pun) with the introduction of another survivor in an apartment from the opposite building, played by Park Shin-hye (Heart Blackened, The Royal Tailor). The pair begin communicating through their tablets and phones, often with the assistance of a pair of binoculars, with Ah-in’s tech savviness played off against Shin-hye’s obvious love of camping and the outdoors.

With Ah-in given someone to interact with, #Alive begins to feel more like a disaster movie (which it could easily be argued it is), as the pair utilise drones, mountaineering ropes, and old-school walkie talkies to connect with each other and share supplies. Using a variety of ingenious methods to stay alive, it feels somewhat disappointing then that when it comes to finally leaving their apartments, they do so by simply abseiling down into the waiting horde below, and opting for the usual run and gun technique. It almost feels like director Il-hyeong (who also wrote the script) couldn’t for the life of him figure out a smart way to justify the pair needing to launch themselves into a mass of zombies, so in the end gave up and took the decision to betray the characters up to this point smart choices.

With the aim of reaching another building believed to be less populated with the undead, #Alive takes on a similar structure to 2019’s Exit, only instead of ascending the various floors to escape a toxic gas, it’s to escape the zombie hordes. However the initial promise of the opening third can’t seem to be rekindled, with the latter half becoming increasingly pedestrian. This is no more apparent than the inclusion a whole sub-plot where the pair are taken in by a seemingly good Samaritan, only for more sinister intentions to be revealed once they’re already too involved. It’s a sequence which has been recycled in plenty of other zombie flicks over the years, with the reasons behind why someone would be so eager to take in a couple of strangers being as predictable as you’re probably thinking, and it amounts to nothing more than filler.

There’s also a niggling feeling that #Alive would have been much more relatable if the apartments the characters find themselves trapped in aren’t so, well, spacious and appealing. While we never get to know what occupations the characters have, we’re a world away here from the semi-basement that the likes of Parasite takes place in. Il-hyeong’s set design means the script has to work extra hard to wring tension out of the scenarios contained in it, simply because its easy to feel like there are far worse places to be stuck in than the apartments Ah-in and Shin-hye find themselves in.

Needless to say, Il-hyeong’s debut is most engaging when it focuses on the interactions between Ah-in and Shin-hye, away from the zombies and situational filler. With the hordes being sensitive to noise, many of their scenes are surprisingly quiet, communicating only through gestures and hushed tones. Both keep #Alive watchable thanks to their performances, and do well with injecting personality into their characters despite the (intentionally) minimalist script.

To Il-hyeong’s credit, he does imbue proceedings with some suitably tension filled scenes, which act as welcome exclamation marks throughout (look out for the scene involving a zombie fireman). Despite this, like all of Korea’s most popular zombie offerings, the zombies themselves aren’t particularly scary, and there seems to be some unspoken rule that gore should be kept to a minimum if none at all. Call me shallow, but part of the horror in a zombie movie is witnessing these undead flesh eaters, well, eat flesh. Like all Korean zombie outings since Train to Busan, don’t expect too much blood or gore on show here (outside of one admittedly entertaining decapitation).

It sounds like I’ve been particularly harsh on #Alive, however at the end of the day it’s a perfectly acceptable zombie flick. It does nothing new with the genre, but then doesn’t commit any crimes against it either. The main frustration really comes from the strong opening, which seemed to indicate a new take on the genre, with the horror coming from the world going to pieces rather than the threat of the zombies themselves. I wish Il-hyeong had followed through on those initial ideas, but ultimately #Alive becomes just another entry in an already over-populated genre, one that will be a passable way to kill 95 minutes for anyone who enjoys zombie flicks, and likely a forgettable distraction for everyone else. To sum it up, Il-hyeong’s debut is #Alivebutonlyjust.

Paul Bramhall’s Rating: 6/10

The post #Alive (2020) Review first appeared on cityonfire.com.

“Burning” Theatrical Poster

Director: Lee Chang-Dong
Cast: Yoo Ah-In, Steven Yeun, Jun Jong-Seo, Kim Soo-Kyung, Choi Seung-Ho, Moon Sung-Geun, Min Bok-Gi, Ban Hye-Ra, Lee Bong-Ryun, Lee Young-Suk
Running Time: 148 min.

By Paul Bramhall

It’s been 8 years since Lee Chang-dong last sat in the director’s chair, having helmed 2009’s critically acclaimed Poetry, leaving it just long enough for the rest of us to worry if we’d ever see a Lee Chang-dong movie again. With the benefit of hindsight, we now know he was one of the many names on impeached former president Park Geun-hye’s entertainment and media blacklist, which refused state funding to anyone who was seen as a critic of her policies (notably Park Chan-wook was also named). Thankfully in 2018 Chang-dong came out of his hiatus, and returned to the big screen with Burning, an adaptation of a Haruki Murakami short story titled Barn Burning.

The story appeared in Murakami’s shorty story omnibus The Elephant Vanishes, and marks the third time for one of its tales to be transferred to the screen. In 1982 Naoto Yamakawa directed Attack on the Bakery, from the short story of the same name, and a year later he’d also adapt On Seeing the 100% Perfect Girl. Both where (perhaps fittingly) short films, so Burning is both unique from the perspective of it being a Korean director taking on the Japanese authors source material, and that it’s been expanded to encompass a 2 & ½ hour epic.

The story casts Yoo Ah-in (Veteran) as an aspiring writer, who takes on various menial jobs as a source of income. In the opening scene we’re introduced to him delivering stock to an outlet store, and by chance he meets a childhood friend who’s working as a promotional model outside the store. Played by newcomer Jeon Jong-seo, the pair agree to catch up over drinks and reminisce about their time growing up in the countryside. Jong-seo reveals she plans to travel to Africa, and how she wants to visit the tribes that live in the Kalahari Desert. She enthusiastically explains how the tribes have two expressions related to hunger – Little Hunger refers to those who are hungry to eat, and Great Hunger refers to those who have a hunger to understand the meaning of life. Before Ah-in knows what’s hit him, he and Jeong-seo are in bed together in her small unit, and he agrees to keep her mysteriously unseen cat fed while she’s travelling.

After Ah-in receives a call from Jeong-seo in Kenya to say she’s coming back to Korea, he agrees to pick her up from the airport, however is visibly taken aback to find she’s joined by a male acquaintance, played by Steven Yuen (Okja). Yuen explains they became close during a long delay in the airport, as they were “the only two Koreans”, but something seems off about him. He’s hesitant to divulge what he does for a living, but is clearly rich enough that he drives a Porsche, lives in the affluent Seoul suburb of Gangnam, and his spacious apartment is adorned with expensive looking artwork. Ah-in makes a comment comparing him to the Great Gatsby, but Yuen’s silky smooth performance feels more pointed towards Patrick Bateman.

The relationship between the trio is essentially the crux of Burning, and each one of their perceptions of the other. More so than any of his previous movies, Chang-dong’s latest could well be described as baffling for the unacquainted viewer. Scenes which feel meandering and uneventful at the time, become rife with questions in retrospect, and seemingly inconsequential pieces of dialogue seek to be re-evaluated once mulled upon. Burning is the kind of movie which practically demands a 2nd viewing, and then a 3rd, because so much is unseen that it feels impossible to comprehend all of the nuances on the initial experience. While Chang-dong eschews a traditional narrative for his latest, the frequently uncomfortable levels of tension come from trying to figure out how much of what’s being implied is real, and how much is being imagined, as much from ourselves as from the perspective of the character’s we’re watching.

Yuen’s performance is a revelation. This marks the first time for him to take a lead role in a Korean production, after supporting parts in 2017’s Okja and 2015’s Like A French Film, and while he remains most well-known for his role in the U.S. series The Walking Dead, roles like this one show a previously unseen range. Despite his fluent Korean, there’s something distinctly alien about his presence, from small details such as his character not using a Korean name (he calls himself Ben), to strange asides about how he considers his meal preparation as a form of making offerings to himself. All signs point to him being a sociopath, but Chang-dong’s direction insists on keeping the audience at arms-length. It’s a tactic which results in proceedings feeling frustratingly opaque, but also impossible to turn away from, often both at the same time. 

Newcomer Jeon Jong-seo likewise delivers a top tier performance in her debut, and at the time of writing has already been tapped as the lead for The Bad Batch director Ana Lily Amirpour’s next feature, titled Mona Lisa and the Blood Moon. She takes center stage during Burning’s pivotal scene, which sees the trio converging in the yard of Ah-in’s countryside home, close to the border of North Korea. They share a joint, and in a surreal but beautifully filmed sequence she dances topless around the garden, imitating the Great Hunger dance she spoke of earlier. The fire the Kalahari Bushmen danced around as the sun set on the horizon is now replaced with the mountains of North Korea, the propaganda from the loud speakers a constant presence in the background, and for a moment Ah-in and Yuen sit there transfixed.

The concept of fire carries significance for each of the three main characters, with the joint lowering Ah-in’s defences enough that he reveals a traumatic memory from his past, while Yuen discloses his “hobby” of burning down derelict greenhouses. After the scene finishes Burning plunges down the rabbit hole, however does so with such subtlety that it’s easy not to notice. Yuen and Jong-seo drive off together back to Seoul, but Jong-seo simply disappears and becomes uncontactable. Yuen confesses to Ah-in that he only visited to scout for empty greenhouses, and assures him to keep an eye out for one close-by being burnt down in the next few days, but it never happens. Then of course there’s the cat that was never actually seen, despite the food Ah-in left out for it being eaten, and its droppings being left in the litter tray.

Just like the difference between the Little Hunger and the Great Hunger, there’s an impression that Chang-dong is applying the same principle to the audience. Are we caught up in trying to solve all of the little mysteries that are weaved into the narrative, or are we looking at the bigger picture as to what exactly they all mean? Much like Bong Joon-ho’s Parasite, Chang-dong’s latest has its lens pointed at the class divides that exist in Korea, and the injustices, both perceived and imagined, that stem from them. The anger and rage that are born out of these divides is evident in both, however in Burning that seething energy always feels like its hovering just beyond the borders of the screen. Ah-in feels that something is amiss with Yuen’s interest in both him and Jong-seo, but he can’t articulate it, and perhaps none of us can.

By the time the end credits roll, the sense of danger that’s remained so elusive to pinpoint has neither dissipated nor been resolved, but rather manifested itself as a feeling that prompts bigger questions, which is perhaps the whole point all along. At one point Ah-in states that the world is a mystery to him, and uses this to offload the blame for the fact he hasn’t been able to write anything. The mysteries of the world mean it’s often not that simple to have a beginning, a middle, and an end, and that lack of narrative structure is also applied by Chang-dong with the way the narrative unfolds.

Burning has already earned the accolade of being the highest rated movie in the history of Screen International’s Cannes jury grid, and is also the first Korean production to make the final shortlist for the Academy Awards Best Foreign Language Film category, recognition which is well deserved. When Ah-in and Jong-seo first meet she perfectly pantomime’s peeling and eating a tangerine, telling him that if he ever wants something, he can create it by doing the same. Just like the tangerine, Burning feels like its equal parts character drama, mystery thriller, and misguided romance, but it could just as easily be none of those. A perplexing epic that poses a lot of questions, and expects the audience to find its own answers, Burning is a triumph.

Paul Bramhall’s Rating: 8.5/10

The post Burning (2018) Review first appeared on cityonfire.com.

“Veteran” Korean Theatrical Poster

Director: Ryoo Seung-wan
Producer: Kang Hye-Jung
Cast: Hwang Jeong-Min, Yu A-In, Yu Hae-Jin, Oh Dal-Su, Jang Yun-Joo, Oh Dae-Hwan, Kim Si-Hu, Jeong Woong-In, Jeong Man-Sik, Song Young-Chang
Running Time: 123 min.

By Paul Bramhall

Director Ryoo Seung-wan is a familiar name to fans of Korean action cinema, ever since his debut Die Bad in 2000, he’s consistently delivered a series of movies which combine action with a strong narrative. Since his riotous parody of old school Korean action movies with 2008’s Dachimawa Lee, the director has taken a decidedly darker approach, with both The Unjust and The Berlin File exploring the not so pleasant side of life. While both contained plenty of his trademarks, Seung-wan himself expressed a desire to move away from these darker tales, and get back to the type of action movies that he watched in his youth, those that existed in a brighter world where the good guy wins.

Veteran is that return, and is arguably his most successful production to date. At the time of writing, Seung-wan’s latest has surpassed US$1M at the US box office, which is no small feat for a Korean movie, and become the third most watched production of all time domestically. Pushing out Avatar, Korea’s top 3 most watched movies are now all domestic productions released between summer 2014 – summer 2015 (the first is The Admiral: Roaring Currents, and second Ode to My Father), perhaps indicating a new golden era for the Korean film industry.

On watching Veteran, it’s easy to see why. Seung-wan is once again paired with Korea’s best action choreographer and frequent collaborator, Jung Doo-hong, and together the end result is the director’s tightest movie to date. Hwang Jeong-min takes the lead role (also the star of Ode to My Father), and he gets plenty of chances to flex the action muscle which he showed a knack for in Fists of Legend and The New World. Playing an experienced detective, when one of his friends suspiciously attempts to commit suicide, all leads point to an arrogant corporate heir played by Yoo Ah-in. There are a whole bunch of supporting characters, on both sides of the law, however the story basically boils down to Jeong-min trying to get to the truth about what happened to his friend.

Jeong-min and Seung-wan have collaborated together before, when the actor played the lead in the 2010 thriller The Unjust. While in that movie he was also playing a detective, here his role couldn’t be any further away from the previous incarnation. Essentially playing the heart and soul of the movie, Jeong-min confidently swaggers his way though proceedings, never afraid to deliver a punch to the face of someone who deserves it, and thankfully the plot delivers a fair few that do. As the movie opens to the thumping soundtrack of ‘Heart of Glass’ by Blondie, he sets himself up to infiltrate a car smuggling ring, by hiding in the trunk of a vehicle set to be reconditioned. When events transpire that see him alone in a small garage against a group of angry gangsters, a fantastically choreographed scene plays out that displays more than a few nods to Jackie Chan, as various props are utilized in increasingly imaginative ways.

The Jackie Chan influence is also very visible in the way humor is incorporated into the action scenes, with several laugh out loud sight gags thrown in amongst the fists and feet. One aspect of the action which I felt really stuck out in Seung-wan’s previous effort, The Berlin File, was the understanding of how to convey a sense of impact onscreen. In that movie one scene has Ha Jeong-woo being knocked off his feet, landing awkwardly on a ventilation pipe jutting out from a building roof, and it’s filmed in such a way that you genuinely feel it. The sound design and camera angle is just perfect. Seung-wan and Doo-hong have successfully carried over that technique to Veteran, with some truly wince worthy blows and falls thrown into the mix.

Veteran also delivers a stellar cast, with plenty of familiar faces from Seung-wan’s previous movies turning up in various roles. Yoo Hae-jin, who starred alongside Jeong-min in The Unjust, here delivers a repulsive turn as Ah-in’s faithful assistant. Oh Dal-soo, a performer who could well be Korea’s busiest actor working today, turns up as Jeong-min’s closest team member, here hot off the heels from significant roles in both Assassination and opposite Jeong-min in Ode to my Father. Dal-soo also notably had a role in Seung-wan’s 2004 boxing drama Crying Fist.

Ah-in himself could be considered the newcomer of the bunch, and Veteran is by far the biggest production he’s worked on to date. At times his performance threatens to push his villainous upstart into territory which could be considered over the top, however he successfully manages to reel it in just as it’s teetering on the brink each time. His portrayal creates a character that’s easy to hate, which exactly fits the job description of his role, so no complaints.

Notably missing in action is the director’s brother, Ryoo Seung-beom, who usually turns up in some form or another in Seung-wan’s movies, marking the first time he hasn’t appeared since 2006’s City of Violence. Thankfully the movie doesn’t suffer from his absence, and despite a slight lag after a blistering opening third, things are brought back with a bang for the finale, that sees a car chase through the streets of Seoul which is refreshingly CGI free. Seung-wan has stated that a stuntman suffered an almost fatal injury on the set of Veteran, and while he didn’t go into the specifics of which stunt it happened on, watching a couple of impacts during said sequence, it’s probably a safe guess that it was during this scene.

After a container yard throwdown, a frenzied knife fight in a small apartment, a rooftop chase sequence, and a car park beatdown, Jeong-min breaks his fists out one more time to take on Ah-in, in a wonderfully messy knock down drag out street brawl that doesn’t disappoint. It even throws in a hilarious cameo from Ma Dong-seok just for good measure

Seung-wan has openly stated his love for the Lethal Weapon series, and approached Veteran with the series in mind. Stating in a recent interview how he particularly admired the way the cast, director, and production staff remained the same for each movie, the director has confirmed that there’ll be two sequels to Veteran. While we won’t be seeing the next installment for at least a couple of years, if it’s anything like the first one, you can count me in.

Paul Bramhall’s Rating: 8/10

The post Veteran (2015) Review first appeared on cityonfire.com.