Kim Yoon-sung: LUCID DREAM (2017)

김준성: 루시드 드림

You can find the original article in Hungarian here →

Lucid Dream:
Searching for Memories in the World of Dreams

Lucid Dream is Kim Yoon-sung's debut film, which he wrote and directed himself. As is typical with first-time directions, it is far from perfect, but it shows strong qualities.

Director Kim Yoon-sung

For the genre, he chose a crime thriller using science-fiction elements. we see the story of an investigation, but it is progressed by steps that are far from ordinary. Journalist Choi Daeho (Go Soo) specializes in uncovering corruption schemes, and through his writings, he has made quite a few enemies. When his young son is kidnapped, everyone—including himself—suspects revenge from one of the "big shots." However, even after three years, no traces are found, and the police are ready to move the case into the archive of unsolved mysteries. Nevertheless, Detective Song Bangseop (Sol Kyung-gu) stands by the desperate father, speaking to him empathetically about his own daughter, who is unwell.

Daeho finds articles on the internet about various criminal cases being solved with the help of lucid dreaming. In this, Daeho sees the final chance to move the investigation from its deadlock and find his son, whom he maniacally believes is still alive. He manages to convince a familiar specialist to allow the procedure—otherwise used only for therapy—to be deployed in his case.

"Lucid dream" is a technical term, translated into Hungarian as tudatos or éber álom. Its essence is that during the dream, the patient is aware that they are dreaming, and thus can influence the content of the dream to a certain extent. For those who wish to know more than this, the Wikipedia entries for Lucid dream and Tudatos álom provide an introductory overview.

However, in Daeho's case, intervention is out of the question; for him, the only important thing is to thoroughly examine the scene of the child's abduction by recalling it in the dream and to find traces that his memory did not record. This is important to mention because, based on the film's synopsis, many expected an Inception-style story, but Director Kim did not undertake anything of the sort. In this film, dreams serve only to obtain various mosaic pieces which, when fitted together, finally reveal the path leading to the child.

Even so, they run into an almost complete dead end. They are helped out by a hacker who compensates for his paralysis caused by an accident with the freedom of virtual travel within dreams, specifically by entering others' dreams as an uninvited guest. With this knowledge, he is able to get Daeho into the dream of a key figure in the investigation.

While the scenes set in reality are more about the father's agonies, the dreams increasingly become the locations for action. The final dream scene is almost apocalyptic. Since the antagonist also enters the dream, the struggle between the two men takes place in a world breaking apart and crumbling everywhere, the collapses of which are, on one hand, projections of the doctors' life-saving interventions, and on the other, symbolize the characters' collapsing plans and spiritual disintegration. The cinematic execution of this scene provides a grandiose, unforgettable sight, to the gloominess of which it contributes that the film almost switches to black-and-white here. Interestingly, the location is a virtual mapping of Seoul's Digital Media City.

The weaknesses of the film are not to be found in its visuals or its story. The latter, while moving forward too linearly, and although containing surprises, does not feature extraordinary twists. The sketchiness of the characters contributes to this, resulting in some of them being completely lost in the story (like the female psychologist) or not being able to sufficiently contribute to the thrills of the story—it is regrettable that this is primarily true for the police detective. We see Sol Kyung-gu in a completely neutral role for a long time; he is left with very little time to act as a true opponent. Thus, for a long time, the film is almost entirely carried by the acting of Go Soo, whose performance leaves no room for complaint. Even as a mature man, he preserves his youthful, "bear-like" kindness, while also holding his own in the action scenes.

The hacker is played by Park Yoo-chun, who, according to the casting, is an anonymous, slightly mystical figure. Although his playing field is not much either, he cannot truly make the character interesting. He flashes as an elegant man as well, but for me, it is completely incomprehensible why he was caricatured into a "withered lady."

There are two more interesting characters in the film. One of them is a "bad guy" where stereotypes are discarded. For it turns out he is wrongly suspected, and the fellow shows unexpected sympathy toward the protagonist in a scene similar to the showdowns in gangster movies. Chun Ho-jin can play this in a way that the human feelings do not tear apart the fundamental characteristics of the character.

And the surprise of the casting is Park In-hwan, who plays an elderly private investigator. He perceptibly threw himself into the portrayal of the character—imbued also with humor—with immense enthusiasm; moreover, he was even ready to undertake an action scene. (And yes, he is also the ballet-dancing old gentleman from Navillera.)

Although Lucid Dream could have been an outstandingly good film, even in its realized form, it is spectacular and interesting enough. Although it fell far short of expectations regarding its box office earnings, I hope that Director Kim will soon receive his next invitation to show what he is truly capable of.

WHEN A MAN LOVES A WOMAN (004)

남자가 사랑할 때
SBS, 2004, 16 episodes
Genres: melodrama, romance
Written by Kim Yoon-jung
Directed by Choi Jun-seok
More information: AsianWiki

You can find the original article in Hungarian here →

When A Man Loves A Woman:
The Agony of Fate

I have been struggling for a while now with how to even begin this review. Now that I’ve written this down, I might have found the most characteristic expression for this melodrama: struggling. This is true not only for the characters but for the viewers as well. Perhaps it is because When A Man Loves A Woman wants to be a grand-scale drama, but the final catharsis never follows. The reason for this is that it doesn’t seem at all like the inevitability of fate leads to the conclusion, but rather forced, artificial storytelling.

While melodramas are naturally drawn to extreme solutions, here we receive everything exponentially. In the drama, there are two Lottes, a femme fatale, a Cinderella motif, and a revenge motif, among countless others that direct the functioning of the characters.

However, the greatest exaggeration is the drama's management of space. It continuously leads the characters into the same living spaces in a way that provokes a protest from our sense of reality, even if we are used to unexpected encounters in similar stories. A kind of claustrophobic feeling arises from this, which has a suffocating effect on the viewers.

The first location of the drama is the small town where we meet our characters during their high school years. A former boxer takes in the orphaned high school student, Shin Jihoon. The boy falls in love almost at first sight with the man's daughter, Inhye, whom he is raising alone. They attend the same school, so we primarily experience the hopeless situation of the two young people due to poverty and the lack of a supportive family background through school conflicts, even though their academic results are excellent. After the father's death, they are left alone, depending on each other, and in this vulnerable situation, the girl slowly begins to return the feelings of the boy, who works beyond his strength for her as well. But Shin Jihoon cannot fulfill the girl's almost obsessive desire: the money they could use to pay the tuition for her higher musical studies is swindled away from them. However, in the story, there is a schoolmate, Sukhyun, who is Shin Jihoon's friend but also an avowed romantic rival; he provides an unexpected escape opportunity for the girl. "I would even sell my soul to study the cello," Inhye said earlier, and she leaves without a word to start a new life. Although Shin Jihoon was also accepted to the university, he gave up his own opportunity for the sake of the girl without a word; moreover, he ends up in prison for a time because he taught a lesson to the local scoundrel who did not pay back the money they were owed. Earlier, Jungwoo, a wild biker girl from Seoul, appears on the town's coast, to whom Shin Jihoon provides help. With this, the drama's love quadrangle is complete, the conflicts of which unfold in further events.

The small town is the backdrop for hopelessness, with poor, cramped living spaces. Inhye cries a lot, and it is as if the entire location is crying with her; the rain just falls and falls without end...

After he is released, Shin Jihoon follows the girl's trail; he also travels to Seoul, where he even runs into the biker girl alongside several former schoolmates. From this point on, our characters meet in countless ways. Everyone struggles in different ways for success and for reciprocated love, bonding to each other in surprising ways. On the drama's network map, more and more hidden connections between the characters are revealed. But each of them revolves in the same circles; living together and working together, they fight their romantic skirmishes and position struggles. In the end, everyone reaches their set goals, but we find great differences in whether that brings them the desired happiness.

The catalyst of the drama is Inhye, who is actually a true vamp. Park Jung-ah is able to convey the girl's coldness and stubbornness even at the beginning of the drama, which shines through her tears. The character undergoes many transformations according to changing life situations, but these qualities remains constant. She continuously manipulates the people connected to her, although she herself cannot truly be a companion to anyone, and therefore she brings ruin to everyone's life.

The central figure of the drama is Shin Jihoon, memorably played by Go Soo, who is a true positive hero. When he is young, there is a certain innocence in him—even an interesting slowness that we might feel because of his naive wonderings. At the same time, he is a smart, strong, reliable personality who loves deeply and steadfastly. Struggling in the web of romantic relationships, he finally makes a pure-hearted, good decision, even if it involves renunciation. The watchability of the drama is primarily thanks to Go Soo, who is a very masculine but not at all conventional character.

Perhaps the greatest acting task fell to Park Ye-jin, which she solved brilliantly. She brought Jungwoo's tomboy being to life with great energy and humor, then gradually transformed into a girl in love who is slightly uncertain in her femininity. Her deepening feelings called forth the woman in her, who dared to face even the greatest challenges as the companion of the man she loved.

Bae Soo-bin, in the character of the other male member of the romantic foursome, travels an inverse path: from a sympathetic young man, he becomes an increasingly vile scoundrel, whose greed, selfishness, and inner nervousness he also conveys excellently.

It is true for the entire drama that in very many cases (from the choice of locations to the repeated repetition of elements shoved in the viewers' faces to be emphasized), it overplays the melodramatic effects, immersing itself at length in emotional scenes and preachy self-repetitions, which thus often turn into their opposite, strongly brushing against kitschiness. This is also true for the series' music, which is not too original (everything from Ave Maria to Beatles transcriptions is in it). I am also certain that the closing of the drama will not be very popular either.

However, even alongside this much artificiality, the main driving forces of the drama work, leading the viewers to thought-provoking questions and tear-jerking moments.

NAVILLERA (2021)

나빌레라
tvN, 2021, 12 episodes
Written by Lee Eun-mi (Based on the webtoon of the same name by Hun and Ji-min)
Directed by Han Dong-hwa
More information: Wikipedia / HanCinema

You can find the original article in Hungarian here →

Navillera:
A Final Journey Toward the Self

Park In-hwan has impressed me in several supporting roles already; alongside classic feature films (e.g., Thirst), his performance in Please Come Back, Mister was particularly dear and memorable to me. I started watching Navillera because of him, as I couldn’t imagine what he would do with a leading role that required him to perform ballet—especially since the 76-year-old actor seemed unsuitable for it due to both his age and physique. Yet, despite the absurd idea, I truly trusted that he would show us something extraordinary.

An aged protagonist and ballet in focus—I would dare to say that this is anything but a "winning setup" for domestic public opinion, if I were to generalize the expected views of a frustrated minority (or majority?) burdened by prejudice and looking upon the elderly with contempt. Yet, or perhaps precisely because of this, this is one of those series that everyone should see.

The series is based on a webtoon of the same name. The word Navillera (나빌레라) is described as a word from archaic Korean that can be translated as "like a butterfly," though I have also seen it interpreted as "star-butterfly."

The drama encompasses everything we usually label "melancho-brutal" in Korean cinema, though not entirely in the sense established by Oldboy. There is no physical violence here; only a confrontation with a cruelly, I might say brutally, honest and unavoidable life situation: an Alzheimer's diagnosis, which is made bearable, processable, and consumable for the audience through melancholy.

I would venture that, similar to Please Come Back, Mister or Welcome 2 Life, we are seeing a tale that unfolds its own reality on the ground of irreality. Thus, it is not the individual elements that are lifelike, but the story as a whole that carries some vital knowledge about life. At the same time, the characters we meet are all remarkably familiar and real. No one is perfect, whether old or young; they simply struggle with their roles in work, partnerships, and parenting. The film wonderfully presents harmonies built within, yet present throughout, a series of disharmonies.

At the beginning of the drama, the mere fact that Shim Deok-chul wants to do ballet upsets his entire family. Everyone finds the unusual idea terribly embarrassing, and they start the "steamroller" to deter him from his intention. Mr. Shim, however, begins a war of independence. This situation is extremely thought-provoking because it shows our selfishness from every side, our compulsion to conform, the difficulties of understanding another person, and the lack of tolerance, even toward our loved ones. The sulking and all the tactics used by the elderly wife (Na Moon-hee) are palpably real until acceptance is born within her.

Meanwhile, the extremely talented young ballet dancer, Lee Chaerok (Song Kang), struggles with numerous problems and considers quitting dance. Mr. Shim sees him during a rehearsal, and soon the youth—partly as a punishment—receives the elderly gentleman as his student. Neither of them knows yet that they actually need each other, so their "grinding together" is not easy. However, during the lessons, they understand more and more of one another, and an emotional bond forms between the two men.

Chaerok adopts the old man's dream and fights to make it come true. The task is not simple: Mr. Shim wants to dance an excerpt from Swan Lake on stage before an audience. Furthermore, they are racing against time, as the deterioration of the old man's condition makes it increasingly doubtful day by day whether he will even be capable of it. Chaerok himself undergoes spiritual strengthening, as he not only receives the emotions he was lacking but also learns persistence and determination.

It is difficult not to spoil the conclusion of the series, but I will not write whether the mission succeeds. I will not hide, however, that whatever it may be, it will be soul-lifting.

Park In-hwan is a powerful dramatic actor, despite working with extremely subtle gestures. Yet, a deep human wisdom is felt behind every flicker. He often seems so frail, while still possessing extraordinary mental strength. And does he dance ballet? Yes. Every movement is beautiful—the curve of his arm, the lift of his leg, his entire posture. He makes us believe we are seeing more than what he is actually doing.

Song Kang does not fall behind him. He doesn't want to lose, but many things conspire against him. He is childlike in his love-hate relationship with his father, and an adult compared to his friend whose life has gone off track. Defiant and hungry for love, sensitive and dismissive. But also curious and persistent. And very empathetic. We first see him as a promising talent and bid him farewell as a mature dancer. In terms of dance, Song Kang's acting task was perhaps an even greater challenge, as he had to give us the illusion that we were seeing him dance throughout. Naturally, this was only partially the case, but by his own admission, he worked immensely hard to make his dance movements seen in close-ups deceptively authentic. I think he succeeded very well.

The cast is magnificent; even forces like Jo Sung-ha (The Yellow Sea, R2B: Return to Base), who always has a significant presence, appear as "special guest stars."

The series has two unique supporting characters who form a very interesting pair. Chaerok's ballet teacher (Kim Tae-hoon) is the slightly faded, easily grumbling, but actually very attentive studio owner, and his ex-wife (Yoon Ji-hye), who sometimes teases and sometimes corners the man, but always provides him with help. Behind the surface cat-and-mouse game, neither can exist without the other, which is presented through numerous emotional seasonings.

As is usually the case, the music of the drama must be mentioned separately, featuring names like Taemin or Sohyung. Beside them, the heart-wrenching singing of Choi Baek-ho stood out for me. His song (End of the Sea) is the essence of the drama’s primary emotional range: love of life, wisdom, farewell, and peaceful departure. I don't believe I am the only one who hears these things in it.

While the drama is a unique gem, it is not entirely flawless; it is occasionally swept away by sentimentalism, but as usual, they always pull it back into reality well. Young and old alike can find points of connection to the story, just as the theme and characters might repel some. Nevertheless, I consider this drama very important. We need many more like it so that generations understand and respect each other better, and the elderly can preserve or regain their dignity.

ROCK ROCK ROCK (KBS Drama Special, 2010)

드라마 스페셜 - 락락락
KBS, 2010, 4 episodes
Genres: drama, biography
Written by Park Kyung-sun, Bang Hyo-geum
Directed by Lee Won-ik
More information: Wikipedia / HanCinema

You can find the original article in Hungarian here →

Rock Rock Rock:
The Legend of Kim Taewon

There are people who travel life paths so compelling that fiction itself could not write anything more interesting. Whether they reach great heights or fall to deep depths, we watch their efforts, joys, sufferings, and the unexpected turns of their fate with enchantment. Cinematic biographies are like augmented reality: while we do not detach from our own reality, we receive the life experiences of others as an addition, the virtual—that is, spiritual—experience of which enriches us in many ways.

Young people growing up after the Second World War found their voice of generational self-expression in rock music. Starting from America and gaining strength in Europe, the musical trend had become much more than a genre by the 1960s; it represented a lifestyle, with its own patterns of behavior, dress, entertainment, and conduct. By the 1970s, rock gods like Led Zeppelin ruled the sky of young people's aspirations, all having emerged somehow from the cloak of the comet-like Jimi Hendrix. Their influence reached every corner of the world, merging the world's youth on a global level.

With the drama Rock Rock Rock, we arrive in Korea at the very beginning of the 80s, where an immense competition, reminiscent of gang wars, takes place among high school youth for the position of the best guitarist. Two brilliantly talented boys measure their skills, not only copying musical patterns from their idols but also donning the specific image-blend of their beloved Western stars. Thus, one becomes the "Korean Jimi Hendrix," while the other becomes the "Korean Jimmy Page." In a few years, both will become defining figures of Korean rock history, but in this film, we focus on the latter boy, whose real name is Kim Tae-won.

Just as the starting "holy trinity" of metal music in socialist Hungary was represented by the bands Illés-Omega-Metró, in Korea, we find the bands Shinawe-Boohwal-Baekdoosan in a similar position. However, there is a temporal shift between the two phenomena, as the harsh dictatorship existing until the very end of the 70s in Korea buried previous rock music initiatives, and the freer air of the late 80s already brought heavy metal with it. Because of this, the sound of Korean bands was a kind of mixture, naturally colored by domestic musical roots.

The emerging formations, however, faced not only the task of finding their own musical identity but also the creation of the genre's entire infrastructure. They had to fight for their own audience, for the procurement of instruments, for the creation of rehearsal opportunities, for obtaining performance venues, and for the possibility of making records—making the legitimacy of the music they played accepted by labels and managers specialized in previous trends. All this without guiding precedents, relying on their own determination, ingenuity, and persuasiveness.

It is no wonder that at first, none of this even occurred to Kim Tae-won, who dropped out of school and wanted nothing more than to take the stage as a guitarist in any formation. As a start, however, he immediately received a cruel lesson regarding the vulnerability of musicians to the mafia that ruled entertainment venues, which almost deterred him from a musical career. But as in every innate talent, the flame within him could not be completely extinguished.

Almost at the same time, fate wrote another sad, melodramatic chapter into the boy's life with a deep love that could not unfold, the loss of which almost led the young man's life into tragedy.

After the initial nihilism, nothing remained but trying through his own strength, to which two forms of help arrived. As an external supporter, the owner of a music store saw the forces raging within Taewon, in whose soul a wonderful rock ballad, "Rain and Your Story," had already begun to play. From that point on, the mission became clear: Kim Tae-won was not only an excellent guitarist but also one of the greatest innate compositional talents, whose musical expression had to break through every obstacle.

And obstacles there were in abundance. Since everything was in a state of ferment and formation, the musicians themselves were searching for their places. The resulting band formations did not remain stable; they were blown apart by individual ambitions, as it had not yet become clear who the leading talents were.

The real Kim Tae-won

Kim Tae-won feels with increasing firmness the path he wishes to follow. However, the incomprehension, jealousy, and rivalry of those around him, the departure of bandmates, and occasional obvious betrayals consume his strength. Even among his fellow musicians, he remains a lone wolf, struggling with no small amount of internal doubt regarding his own talent. To overcome his demons and replace the strength needed to stay on his feet, he chooses the worst tool: he turns to drugs.

No Min-woo

In the drama, Kim Tae-won is brought to life by a young actor, No Min-woo, who has his own musical career. He is a singer who plays multiple instruments and has been part of various musical formations. This would be enough to authentically experience and evoke the life of the great musical predecessor. However, much more happens. No Min-woo simply undergoes a transformation: he becomes Kim Tae-won himself. Every flicker, pain, and struggle enters his own blood. While in the first episodes we see the story with a somewhat descriptive nature not lacking in humor, in the third episode, the atmosphere of the drama and No Min-woo’s acting also change. We descend into the hells, experiencing the deepest pits when the musician wants to climb out. Even stronger than the agonies of withdrawal are the tortures of reclaiming his personality, because he must find his way back to music, which means life. No Min-woo physically transforms as well. He does not simply lose his physical strength; he himself becomes almost nothing—a broken wreck, unable to walk, trembling, and driven by visions.

One cannot forget how he appeals for rescue to the girl who does not leave him. Hong Ah-reum portrays one of the most beautiful and strongest women in love we have ever seen in a Korean drama. The name of Kim Tae-won’s band became Boohwal, which means "Resurrection" or "Rebirth." At this point in his life, the album Remember was born, which is one of the darkest in tone, yet perhaps the most uplifting I have ever heard. One of the drama's highlights is the cathartic moment of recording "Reminiscence III" in the studio.

The drama leads viewers through the story of Boohwal's first years, roughly in chronological order, sketching over some real details or swapping events here and there, up until the first professional recognition with which Kim Tae-won's compositional skills were awarded. Having passed through the cataclysms, Kim Tae-won became calmer and wiser. He can even reconcile with Lee Seung-cheol (Lee Jong-hwan), with whom he had previously confronted most strongly (and whom we will later see again as the singer of Boohwal). With a detached, bittersweet humor, he can formulate his self-description: "Even now, I am only a third-rate guitarist." He is a humble man whose doubts did not leave him even when he had obviously written himself into the history of rock music for everyone to see.

The drama pays a painfully beautiful tribute to the tragic-fated singer Kim Jae-gi, who is presented as one who arrived in Kim Taewon's life as a professional savior alongside his love. The way Choi Min (Choi Min-seong) brings him to life is the second heart-warming and simultaneously heart-wrenching miracle of the drama.

The real Kim Jae-gi

The film is full of cameo appearances; we can recognize many musicians. Among the actors, Jang Hyun-sung also stands out, being able to palpably convey all the difficulties in the life of a manager standing by a band.

Rock Rock Rock does not only remain a memorable drama, but in my case, it was capable of something more: watching it and the songs heard within prompted me to track down all the albums of Boohwal, which was formed in 1985 and has thus already passed its 35th anniversary, and which I have listened to countless times because they represent a true musical treat. In the same way, the life story of Kim Tae-won spoke to my heart, the further events of which I had to learn as well. Life did not spare him in the future either; he emerged from numerous further trials, continuing to provide a humane example for everyone.

SOUL MECHANIC (2020)

영혼수선공
KBS, 2020, 16 episodes
Genres: medical drama
Written by Lee Hyang-hee (이향희)
Directed by Yoo Hyeon-gi (유현기)
More information: Wikipedia / HanCinema

You can find the original article in Hungarian here →

Soul Mechanic:
Healing the Mind in the Shadow of Stigma

If I were to assign a "like index" to my reviews, Soul Mechanic (Lélekjavító) would be the series to earn the maximum score based on its undertaking, rather than necessarily its performance. Yet, it is a unique creation that, despite dealing with grave issues, remains very easy to watch. It is a moving and beautiful story, filled with important information and thoughts to ponder.

After watching the drama, these were my first impressions:

• Perhaps the most important series I have seen.
• An extremely clever social public service announcement disguised as a drama.
• It denies nothing, yet it doesn’t paint a complete picture.
• While it doesn't lie about anything, it still lulls us into a rather false idyll.

I am certain that to understand this drama, it is particularly important now to recall a few facts, most of which are generally known. Everyone knows that in the 2017 OECD rankings, South Korea stood in first place regarding the rate of suicides and those receiving hospital treatment for mental illnesses. Although a state-funded institutional system exists for the care of mental health patients, the system itself struggles with numerous internal problems. On one hand, only 3% of total healthcare funding is allocated to this purpose, which mostly goes toward inpatient care, while the majority of patients receive outpatient services. Despite the fact that there is no shortage of highly trained professionals and medications, the number of people utilizing these services remains low.

The reason for this is stigmatization—the social branding of patients, which is one of the most bigoted legacies of Confucianism. Those suffering from mental illness are seen as proving weak; they fail in terms of self-discipline and their own will, and thus, as individuals, they represent a stain on the judgment of their entire family. Preserving the "face" of the family is a paramount consideration, which explains why only about 7% of those in need turn to the care system for help. Even they try to keep this a secret, doing everything possible to ensure no trace remains in health insurance records. There are several other discouraging factors as well, such as the state of patient rights or discrimination in the workplace, which are similarly settled by law, but their implementation leaves much to be desired.

Perhaps this is enough to support why the theme of this drama is so vital. There is no question that the creators of the series approached the task with responsibility, and they aimed to deploy "big guns" in terms of the cast as well. Primarily Shin Ha-kyun and Jung So-min, who guarantee audience attention. Both are magnificent, individually handling their characters' emotional nuances with brilliance—even with humor, which in Shin Hakyun’s case has a truly unique flavor—and the chemistry between them is very strong.

We see a hospital drama set in a clinic dealing with mental health patients. Among the members of the dedicated medical team, we meet Doctor Lee Shijoon, who is not afraid to employ innovative perspectives and put them into practice for the sake of his patients, even if he must go against hospital regulations. Thus, he is the "soul" of the healing work, but the hospital is facing expansion, which brings internal power struggles.

The main thread of the story unfolds between Doctor Lee and a musical actress who comes into his sphere of vision. Here, melodramatic elements already come into play, as both struggle with the burdens of their pasts. Doctor Lee must simultaneously face his father-complex—made more difficult by the worsening dementia of his former master-surgeon father—and his guilt over the loss of his first patient, a woman suffering from Borderline Personality Disorder. This condition rhymes with the later diagnosis of Han Woo-joo, who initially draws attention only with her outbursts of rage. The drama primarily uses the cliché of two wounded personalities healing each other for them, yet through this, it attempts to draw a fairly accurate picture of the various phases of the girl’s illness. After a few twists, we find them in a doctor-patient relationship, where feelings slowly awaken for one another. This is certainly one of the most vulnerable points of the story's credibility, as professionally, it is likely not permissible for a doctor to treat someone with whom he is in a romantic relationship. Although the story questions this, it remains permissive of the situation.

The micro-stories of individual episodes are integrated into the unfolding of their relationship, presenting the diversity of mental illnesses like a tableau. In these stories, the protagonists are of various ages and professions. To highlight just a few: we see a student who turns to drugs due to exam pressure; an ingenious alcoholic who requires constant vigilance; and those from particularly high-risk professions (firefighters, subway drivers). Nor is healthcare left out, through the presentation of the troubles of hospital nurses—and even a minister appears. It is truly exciting how the background of the onset of illnesses emerges, along with the therapies that can lead to recovery. Family dysfunctions, domestic violence, grief work—these are all put on the table. We see the terror in which these people live, and we also see the efforts the healers make. We even get a comprehensive picture of the most varied therapies. It can be clearly felt that every such small story in the drama is actually an exclamation point for many viewers, who may recognize themselves or their problems, and through the series, receive guidance, encouragement, and help regarding where and how to start on the road leading toward a solution.

Where, then, does the drama paint a false picture? Perhaps in the fact that it creates illusions to achieve its goal. Although two cases illustrate that mental illnesses do take victims, the therapies work smoothly, bringing recovery in every instance. To mention a few examples of the false elements: the more advanced Doctor Lee's father's dementia becomes, the more clear and insightful messages he sends to his son, redrawing their relationship. The doctor's forgiveness is more understandable, but—good heavens!—they even managed to squeeze a ferris wheel/carousel scene into this situation (which personally gives me the creeps). What a cloudless letter of connection the mother leaves behind for her daughter, with whom even the foster mother—whose judgment is questionable at best—reaches a tear-jerking understanding. The fellow who could be called a public danger due to his delusions indeed becomes a proud guardian of order, smoothly, without trouble, and accepted by everyone. The aggressive alcoholic woman eventually sings enthusiastically in the choir. And the minister—what a decent man, how much he takes the workers' troubles to heart! Even the vile little social-climbing piece of filth, the hospital’s vice director, is embraced by everyone during the closing drinks. The good ones all reach their goals, the less good ones improve, and everyone finds peace.

However, I feel the greatest "stretch" is in the presentation of the lead girl's healing process. Particularly at the beginning of the story, they still try to convey the unstable, ever-changing, extreme faces of Borderline Personality Disorder. Jung So-min does everything to make these believable. Her charming personality fits the states of hyper-cheerful joy very well, and her wavering, inner uncertainties are also authentic. It is even appropriate that she embarks on the road to recovery when she accepts her own illness and undertakes to fight against it. However, from this point on, the real phases of the fluctuation characteristic of the personality disorder are omitted—those hells that both the person involved and those living in their environment go through, especially since not all of them are psychiatrists. Here, it is as if we are only stepping forward on the peaks, making the healing process seem linear—an almost self-operating, unbroken process. And that is anything but characteristic of BPD.

Still, I can look upon these perhaps intentionally undertaken distortions with forgiveness. Much more important is the fact that this drama was born, and it gives hope for the changes that will follow in its wake. Time will eventually bring the possibility for deeper portrayals. Since it is currently 2021, Navillera is already here.

RUGAL (2020)

루갈
OCN, 2020, 16 episodes
Genres: action, science-fiction
Written by Do Hyun, based on the webtoon of the same name by Rel.mae
Directed by Kang Cheol-woo, Lee Jung-soo
More information: Wikipédia, HanCinema

You can find the original article in Hungarian here →

Rugal:
When Tears Dry Up, a Monster is Born

I don’t think there would be any viewer who wouldn't be immediately swept away by the momentum of Rugal. Roughly twenty minutes in, two guys face off. By then, we’ve already learned that one of them is an elite cop—hard to control, a troublemaker, but the "badass" kind. In his finest uniform, he marches into the lion's den to provoke a powerful man who is clearly preparing to become a representative. Then, an unexpectedly strong opponent appears and, without any hesitation, slams our cocky hero to the ground.

While not in strict chronological order, the starting playing field has already emerged: the wedding bliss of an idyllic couple in the opening frames is actually a video recording playing on a TV screen at a bloody crime scene, where the victims are the happy couple. Then, the news reports claim that a police officer killed his wife and, crushed under the weight of self-reproach, put out his own eyes. However, the recovering man, who has lost his sight, insists that an organization called Argos attacked them. Since they don’t believe him, the question erupts from him: "Am I a lunatic if dead, and a killer if alive?" A flashback reveals masked attackers kidnapping crown witnesses from an ongoing trial, whom the man who outclassed our cop executes in cold blood—even with relish. With no witnesses, the defendant—the head of the massive Korean conglomerate Argos—is acquitted. This is the man our cop charged at.

An interesting connection must be noted here, which could provide a symbolic explanation for why the young officer was blinded so bizarrely. Argos is the name of a hundred-eyed giant from Greek mythology, meaning "all-seeing"—he is the one from whom the phrase "watching with Argus eyes" originates, and after his death, peacock feathers preserve his eyes. The company suspected by the detective is also named Argos, and according to him, they took his sight as punishment for his investigative work against them.

An interesting twist ensures that, moving forward, we won't be seeing a hundred-eyed monster fighting a lone, blind warrior. Our hero, in a hopeless situation, is offered a way out: his identity is erased from the real world if he undergoes a risky surgery to replace his original eyes with bionic eyeballs. Beyond mere sight, these will possess numerous functions, as Artificial Intelligence serves their operation through an implanted chip. Consequently, our hero can become a warrior of extraordinary abilities, tasked with fighting Argos as part of a covert police unit. Naturally, he accepts the challenge, which allows him to seek revenge on his wife’s killers. He soon meets his comrades, all of whom possess superpowers through internal organs enhanced by various biotechnological developments.

The name of the covert police unit and experimental laboratory is Rugal, which is a compound word meaning "dried tears." Its deeper meaning can be read on the series poster: "If your tears dry up, you turn into a monster."

From here, we dive into the fierce battle between the two organizations. Mirroring the opening scenes, the leader of Argos also holds a wedding, which leads to a bloody outcome, igniting an internal struggle among the conglomerate's leaders. It’s everyone against everyone, yet it seems the most villainous figure is playing with the others at his whim.

While none of the company’s activities can be called legal (including organ trafficking), in the background, this satanic figure carries out dealings hidden even from the others: biotechnological experiments. In this field, he is not winning against Rugal, whose members—becoming increasingly cohesive—fight an committed battle against Argos. Each of them believes their mission was worth the sacrifice; this is an essential element of their self-esteem. Since they have partially become like cyborgs, they are vulnerable to Rugal's technical infrastructure and its controlling leader.

"Each of us has our own story," say the warriors of Rugal, who get to know and commit to one another more deeply during their common missions. While discord defines Argos, unity is the greatest strength at Rugal.

The series is based on a webtoon of the same name, and as is characteristic of superhero genres, certain elements are quite stylized. While the mountain of corpses grows as a result of Argos's operations and the main villain appears as a purely diabolic figure, we don't quite grasp the proportion of these terror-like actions relative to the overall reality. It seems Argos has taken control in every area; society lives in fear of them, and only remnant forces—who also provide protection for Rugal—fight against them. This lends the series an almost apocalyptic atmosphere, which is well-matched by the proliferation of zombie-like figures.

While Rugal carries out an increasingly desperate struggle against Argos, it also faces an unexpected internal problem: human nature. The warriors don't miss their targets, but the question arises more strongly within them: have they also fallen victim to some kind of deception? Behind the obvious evil, an even darker manipulation looms, revolving once again around whether the end justifies the means. What finally happens to our warriors shall remain the secret of the series.

But until we reach the conclusion, we witness numerous spectacular actions—sometimes woven with humor, sometimes with thrills—whether it's hand-to-hand combat or car and motorcycle chases. The visual effects are good, making the high-tech living weapons' operations sufficiently believable.

This drama also scratches the surface of moral questions raised by technical progress. It doesn't dive deep, but it poses them at the right points to prompt further thought in the audience. Particularly interesting is the question that most excites science fiction fans: can the Artificial Intelligence serving the bionic eye take over human thought? We see it undergo surprising development through use.

Interestingly, many experienced the end of the drama as a disappointment, while I found it to be a perfect, redemptive conclusion. It’s true that it’s not entirely adequate for a superhero genre, but it provides justice for our beloved characters, leading them back to everyday reality—and the courage of this choice is to be commended. At the same time, it teeters on a horror-style ending where evil lives on, as the establishment of a new organization is suggested.

The characters could be analyzed at length again; I would highlight three figures among them. One, of course, is the positive hero, Kang Gibeom, portrayed by Choi Jin-hyuk. He is a very interesting character because while he effortlessly carries all the attributes of the "pretty boys" common in Korean series, there is an unusual ruggedness to him that fits this masculine figure remarkably well. The actor's deep, unique tone makes the portrayal of a man who evolves into a super-warrior—without losing his sensitivity—perfect.

His opposite is Hwang Deukgu, the film’s dark villain, who is a one-dimensional figure compared to our protagonist. He doesn't really change; he is just as evil at the end of the series as he was at the beginning. However, his store of ideas for entertaining himself is inexhaustible. Park Sung-woong, who plays him, exploits every possibility of the character, and though he is an elegant bastard throughout, he never portrays it monotonously.

Finally, a supporting character, because I always enjoy the interesting performances good actors can provide even in the smallest roles. Although Bradley is present throughout almost the entire story, he remains a character meant to color the drama. Jang In-sub shapes the figure into a humorous one with restraint; whenever he appears, a fresh breeze blows through a story that often feels suffocating.

TUNNEL (2017)

터널
OCN, 2017, 16 episodes
Genres: crime, thriller, mystery
Written by Lee Eun-mi-III 이은미
Directed by Nam Gi-hoon 남기훈, Sin Yong-hwi 신용휘
More information: Wikipédia, HanCinema

You can find the original article in Hungarian here →

Tunnel:
A Bridge Between Eras and Justice

The title of the drama (Tunnel) refers to a real location possessing a mystical quality: it functions as a time tunnel. Our protagonist, a detective, is unexpectedly transported thirty years into the future. He soon realizes that the only reason for this displacement is to uncover the identity of a serial killer whom the police could not apprehend in his own time. The drama finds its real-life basis in the Hwaseong serial murders that occurred between 1986 and 1991.

The series easily handles the integration of the detective into a future—or, from the story's perspective, contemporary—homicide unit. Initially, Park Gwangho operates as quite an eccentric figure, having no clue about new technical developments or the changes in the world. His naive questions about these shifts serve as a source of very healthy humor. The series also skillfully plays with how the detective's "outdated" knowledge—built primarily on human capabilities like observation, intuition, manual labor, and resourcefulness—indispensably complements the expertise of his colleagues equipped with modern technical backgrounds.

It soon becomes clear that none of the people working on the case ended up in the team by accident, and discovering these connections provides one of the primary sources of the drama's tension. Meanwhile, the investigation moves forward steadily, with Gwangho's old knowledge and new discoveries merging in exciting ways. Although the identity of the perpetrators can be guessed from the character archetypes—and the show doesn't strive too hard to hide them from the audience—the plot twists remain sufficiently unexpected, and the method of cornering the culprits keeps one's attention from flagging. The story is logically constructed, with only one point where I found an inconsistency. [Spoiler: During Gwangho's second return, the culprit running before him in the tunnel should have also arrived in the future, unless the location functioned as a time tunnel solely for the detective.]

At the same time, Detective Gwangho is a romantic hero. His love story is moving, and based on the knowledge he gains in the future, he finds he has plenty of work to do regarding it. The director gifts us with one of the most charming sequences depicting the detective's first date, which—in its atmosphere, colors, and smallest elements—precisely transports the viewer back to the retro world of the '70s and '80s.

An excellent cast works to bring this story of numerous characters to life. As the time-traveling detective, Choi Jin-hyuk reliably carries the entire story on his shoulders; we haven't a shred of doubt regarding his character's professional skills. His human dilemmas, the loneliness felt in the future, and his longing for his true timeline are deeply touching. Special mention should go to his youthful courtship in the aforementioned sequence, where he portrays clumsy, virginal blushing with a charm that provokes laughter while still letting masculine desire shine through.

Since I cannot write the name of the actor playing the main villain without spoiling the plot, I will simply highlight how they depict the gradual revelation and complete dominance of the character's inner madness. Every member of the long cast list forms a vivid, lifelike character, from the leads to the smallest supporting roles. The cinematic execution leaves nothing to be desired: great locations, camera angles, and well-paced scenes follow one another. A compelling thriller element—thanks to both the directing and acting—is that the allegiance of several characters remains ambiguous for quite some time. It goes without saying that humor is not lacking either, often arising from the age differences caused by the disparate timelines of the characters.

As hoped from the beginning, every thread is eventually tied up in the reality of 2017, allowing our detective to return to his actual time. It remains unclear whether the knowledge he took back from the future allows him to influence the events occurring in the interval between the two timelines—ultimately affecting everything we saw as the "future" reality in the drama. However, imagining this can keep the drama alive in the imagination of every viewer, which is perhaps the most exciting feature of good time-travel stories.

Before the tunnel leads Gwangho back to his own time, something occurs in the future that forms an integral part of closing the case. Many might find the final episode overly emotional, as it includes a detailed presentation of the detectives' unusual series of visits. In our pragmatic world, gestures similar to those seen here are rare, yet they give a new meaning to the expression: final respects.

In light of all this, Tunnel provides excellent entertainment, and I encourage everyone to watch it.

Kwak Jae-yong: THE CLASSIC (2003)

곽재용: 클래식

You can find the original article in Hungarian here →

The Classic:
A Melodramatic Echo of the Past

The background of director Kwak Jae-yong, who studied physics at university, can be described as full of twists before he embarked on directing The Classic. Following the success of his debut film, his next two directorial efforts failed to achieve the desired results, leading to an eight-year hiatus from new commissions. However, in 2001, he emerged with My Sassy Girl, which became immensely popular not only in Korea but across all of Asia. This set the expectations for Kwak incredibly high; everyone eagerly awaited his next film, which he completed two years later: The Classic.

After watching the film, I pondered why this became its title. It doesn't truly link to the plot or the characters in a specific sense. Rather, it suggests that after the innovative spirit of My Sassy Girl, the director attempted to realize a quintessential, "classic" melodrama in every fiber of its cinematic execution. Indeed, the film evokes true-to-form melodramas so strongly that while watching it, I felt as though I were seeing a work made much earlier than 2003. This could have been a stylistic triumph, but in the end, it didn't quite reach that status.

The story is built on parallelism. The two main threads of the plot, as well as certain motifs, rhyme with one another. Fundamentally, we see two love-triangle stories, the protagonists of which are a mother and her daughter. In the film's contemporary timeline, the relationship between two girls and a boy unfolds, while in the earlier timeline, the bond between two boys and a girl is revealed. The flashbacks are embedded into the modern-day story, coming to life through the daughter's narrations. Since the mother's story spans decades, the turning points are tied to historical milestones; thus, images of the Vietnam War and the 1980 student protests flicker across the screen. However, we do not receive a grand historical tableau; these stages serve merely as settings for the characters' changing relationships.

Director Kwak Jae-yong

The starting point of the earlier triangle is the meeting between the girl and one of the boys, which turns into deep love during an idyllic day spent together in the countryside. Later, however, parental will intervenes, forcing another boy to court the girl simply because a marriage with her seems like an advantageous opportunity due to her father's high social status. Yet, the boys are good friends, so they relatively quickly clarify which of them receives sincere affection, despite both harboring strong feelings for the girl. In accordance with the rules of melodrama, however, the story cannot grant a green light to the characters' free will, and a tragic turn soon arrives. One boy's suicide attempt, the guilt felt toward a friend, and the girl's suffering for similar reasons drive the other boy to the front lines in Vietnam.

The lovers meet again after the war, but here, the strain of the screenwriting feels more real than the boy's decision to finally push the girl away, despite the intensity of their feelings remaining unchanged. As a result of a "noble lie," their paths diverge. We later learn that the girl married the old friend, having a daughter, while the other boy's marriage resulted in a son.

The parents' story receives a rich unfolding, which, alongside lyrical beauty and idyllic images, contains humor in numerous places. Both boys are made into extremely memorable characters by the actors. In the role of Joonha, Cho Seung-woo is innocently, almost naively honest, while simultaneously being firm and powerful. Lee Ki-woo manages to show the physical weakness and emotional humiliation of the lanky Taesoo while preserving the boy's attractive, independent personality. Based on this, their commitment to one another becomes believable, which largely justifies their decisions.

In the role of the girl, Son Ye-jin serves as the connecting link to the other story, as she plays the lead role there as well, portraying both mother and daughter. She is charming and authentic in both roles; while in the old story, she embraces her emotions with brave and natural openness, in the second, she reservedly tries to hide them.

The love story of the young people does not receive a very deep unfolding; once again, the twists and the realization that finally leads the boy and the girl to each other seem a bit forced. The dispassionate performance of Jo Insung, who plays the boy, does not help the story lead the audience to the desired catharsis.

Although the wandering motif of the necklace is very beautiful, the final moment feels somewhat rushed. I wouldn't be surprised if some viewers didn't even experience the realization of what they are actually seeing. Yet, the story coming full circle is a romantic solution to the core, in which the parents receive the fate's retroactive compensation through their children's story.

The film contains many valuable and memorable details, but it takes too much upon itself, which it cannot entirely fulfill. Less would have been enough, and a shorter duration could have resulted in a tighter film.

The film received several awards, among which the awards for Best Lighting (Park Hyun-won) and Best Music stand out. The latter was awarded to Jo Yeong-wook, who also composed the legendary music for Park Chanwook's films.