김유성: 자전차왕 엄복동
Race to Freedom: Um Bok Dong –
At the Mercy of the Audience
Countless historical and biographical works have been created by taking known, authentic, yet fragmentary elements and supplementing them with imagined details. This approach has never bothered anyone, provided the additions integrate seamlessly with the original facts without distorting them.
In South Korea, however, such works touch upon an incredibly sensitive area. While one trend involves manufacturing uplifting historical myths to counterbalance a bitter past and strengthen national identity, there is a counter-struggle against works deemed overly nationalistic or prone to historical distortion to feed a false national ego. Even before the release of Race to Freedom: Um Bok Dong, a debate reignited that ultimately buried the film before audiences could actually see it. It is a pity, as they could have celebrated the 100th anniversary of the national independence movement—the occasion for which the 2017 film's release was eventually postponed—in a much more dignified manner.
Who was Um Bok Dong?
Very little is known about the cyclist-turned-national-hero outside of his sporting achievements. It is certain that Um Bok Dong (also transliterated as Uhm or Eom) was born in the countryside in 1892. He began competing in 1910, the year of Korea’s annexation by Japan. He secured his first major victory in 1913 before a massive crowd of 100,000, riding a second-hand bicycle. From that point on, he won unstoppably, leaving Japanese competitors in his wake. His streak turned him into a symbol; Koreans suffering under colonial rule saw in him the savior of the nation’s self-esteem. The audience cheered wildly during his final laps when Um Bok Dong employed his sprinting specialty: rising from the saddle and pedaling standing up to the finish line. A few years later, in 1919, the national independence movement broke out. Following its suppression, Japan decided to crush Um Bok Dong as well. Their "secret weapon" was the Japanese cyclist Mori Takahiro, who nonetheless could not best the "Bicycle King of Joseon." When his victory was thwarted by cheating during a race, an outraged Um Bok Dong knocked down the victory flag. He was beaten on the spot, saved only by the crowd storming the track to protect him. Eventually, Japan pitted all its competitors against him. Um Bok Dong also achieved success abroad, primarily in China. Although some reports claim he retired in 1929, he actually competed at age 55 as the oldest in the field during the 1948 London Olympics qualification trials, where he received special recognition. His bicycle is now among Korea's national treasures, displayed in a museum.
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| Director and writer Kim Yoo-seong |
Kim Yoo-seong, both writer and director of the film, supplemented these dry facts and heroic legends with a fictionalized story. The film can be divided into two segments: the first explores Bok-dong's family background and how he discovered cycling, while the second takes place in the capital, where the boy joins a sports club, begins his professional career, and comes into contact with the resistance movement.
[WARNING: PLOT SPOILERS AHEAD]
The film opens with a prologue before the main titles. We are dropped into a bicycle race where the Japanese are winning dominantly. Japanese cyclists verbally humiliate Korean participants, while Korean spectators harbor no hope for a local victory. On the grandstand, the Japanese Resident-General mocks the Korean monarch. Eventually, the Koreans head to the tavern to drink away their sorrows, while their children chant about the greatness of the Japanese competitors. Following this, we find ourselves at a resistance meeting. The leader, Ahn Do-min (Ko Chang-seok), wants to spark an armed uprising, while his rival, Hwang Jae-ho (Lee Beom-soo, also the film’s producer), argues that this would be doomed due to the Koreans' moral state. He believes the primary goal is to make the people want independence. This can be triggered through peaceful means—one of which could be the bicycle race. If Koreans could defeat the Japanese, it would restore the people’s self-confidence.
It seems the filmmakers used the general affection surrounding the sportsman to approach Bok-dong’s character. "Look at Ahn Chang-nam’s plane in the sky; look at Um Bok-dong’s bicycle on the ground," went a popular folk song of the era about the two idols, which, of course, could only be sung in secret. Accordingly, Bok-dong’s core traits are simplicity, pure naivety, and kindness.
A family pattern very similar to the grand war epic Taegukgi: The Brotherhood of War was used here. In line with traditional Korean family roles, Bok-dong is the eldest son and the pillar of the household, while Gwi-dong (Shin Soo-hang), the younger brother, receives an education. There is a deep, intimate bond between the two brothers and their sister, despite their father not viewing them with equal pride. Bok-dong toils in the most natural way, his greatest desire merely being to ease the difficulty of his labor. He finds the possibility for this in a wonderful new tool: the bicycle.
The cinematic portrayal of this segment, while life-like and vital, exudes a sort of bucolic idyll woven with fairytale-like scenes. The scene showing Bok-dong daydreaming about the bicycle shining in the sky of his desires is of extraordinary beauty. We must remember that this takes place in the years before the Japanese occupation; thus, this idealized portrayal of a peaceful, joyful, albeit struggling life is a beautified memory of a lost reality.
Due to a series of unfortunate turns, however, Bok-dong and his family suffer a heavy blow, forcing both sons to leave their old lives behind. The younger son takes work in Manchuria, while Bok-dong, like a folk-hero setting out to try his luck, heads for the great city of Seoul. The gullible young man, lost in the alien environment, immediately runs into a scoundrel, Lee Hong-dae (Lee Si-eon), who will later become his fellow racer (this is an authentic element; Um Bok-dong did have a regular Korean teammate). If that weren't enough, he gets entangled in a terrorist action by the resistance, as by this time the Japanese have taken control of the country. It is quite unique how situational comedy is woven into this tense scene, showing that Bok-dong unintentionally almost thwarts the action because the boy simply has no idea what is happening. Chance nevertheless leads him to a cycling club where he finds a home, as well as Kyeong-ja (Min Hyo-rin), a very kind girl who is immediately attracted to him and serves as one of the film’s humorous characters.
From here, we see two parallel stories linked by the awakening love Bok-dong (Jung Ji-hoon) feels for the mysterious girl, Kim Hyun-shin (Kang So-ra), whom he met among the resistance members. Unexpectedly, they run into each other at the club as well, where Bok-dong does not yet know that the girl and their leader, Hwang Jae-ho, are relatives and both members of the resistance.
The cell members continue to organize armed actions, putting them in increasing danger; several lose their lives or are captured by the Japanese. The film also depicts the network of informants and the inhumane reprisals.
Bok-dong, however, is not part of the resistance. His problem is exclusively finding his own path, which is defined for him by his suddenly revealed talent. He must grow into the role of a competitor, and the following scenes show this maturation process.
Images of Bok-dong’s first race are intercut with a failed armed action. The wounded Hyun-shin flees to the club, where the relationship between her and Bok-dong finally begins to unfold. Meanwhile, the girl begins to see Hwang’s point: due to Bok-dong’s victories, the attitude of Koreans changes; children now sing of Korean heroes, and news of strikes arrives. However, as the last survivor among the armed resistance, the girl embarks on a solo mission. Despite Hwang and Bok-dong rushing to save her, the girl is killed, and Bok-dong is captured by the Japanese.
The detail about all Japanese cyclists being called upon to defeat Um Bok-dong is historically accurate. However, the figure of Katsura, who participates in the final showdown, is a cinematic addition. Before being recalled, this man, who has gone half-mad on the sidelines, amuses himself in Manchuria in an abnormal way, playing master over life and death. Bok-dong’s brother becomes one of his victims, though the film does not clarify if Bok-dong ever learns of this.
The Japanese dare not simply kill Bok-dong; instead, they brutally torture him and force him, in this state, to race against the peak-form Katsura. The outcome of the race seems clearly predictable.
[END OF SPOILERS]
The film follows Um Bok-dong’s journey up to the race on May 2, 1920, where in reality Mori Takahiro was his greatest rival. The next day, Dong-A Ilbo reported on the race held in Gyeongseong:
"When eight men bravely set out for the lap, unfortunately everyone from the middle of the pack fell behind; only Um Bok-dong and a Japanese held the race. Um Bok-dong was around thirty laps in, the Japanese five laps behind him, so the glorious first place undoubtedly awaited Um. But for some reason, the referee suddenly called a halt, and Um could not suppress his anger. 'What a cunning way to try to cheat me out of first place!' he cried out and rushed to the victory flag. 'I was winning! Damn it!' When he broke the flagpole, the Japanese around him immediately gathered and began to beat Um, wounding his neck until he bled. The crowd screamed, then rushed onto the track shouting that they had beaten Um Bok Dong to death. They cursed, threw stones, and their indignant behavior reached a dangerous level. Fortunately, the police dispersed the crowd. The race was cancelled for good. I will report in full detail later, but for now, this is all I can state. What happened was a forced robbery from Joseon, and when they tried to rob it back, a deterrent judgment was attempted." [Source]
The film's sequences roughly follow this description and fully evoke the incredible excitement of the race. The closing scenes provide an answer to the moral dilemma that forms the film's leitmotif, the alternatives of which are explored throughout most of the film’s events. Hwang places the final point beside the only possible answer.
The cinematic characters are well-written, with many lovable and memorable ones among them. The Japanese (all played by Korean actors) are perhaps slightly caricatured, which interestingly works in two ways. In the case of the governors, it infantilizes them, while for Katsura, it makes the figure spine-chilling—though it may just be that Jung Suk-won was given a more exciting role.
It is impossible to praise all the excellent actors individually. Jung Ji-hoon (Rain), however, must be highlighted, as he provided quite an interesting surprise in this role. Visually, they could not have found an actor whose physical build differed more from the real Um Bok-dong. One could guess that a fighting spirit would link them, and this indeed drove the race scenes forward. But who would have thought that a kind country fellow like this was hidden within Jung Ji-hoon? Although there is some truth to him being overage to play a 17-18-year-old boy, he simply shines while talking and joking with the villagers. His immense professional thoroughness is evident in how he thought through and executed even the most mundane movements of this character—I could not watch enough times the sheer naturalness with which the boy, arriving home, poured water over his tired feet while talking. Numerous other small moments could be mentioned, such as a brilliantly executed scene of his courtship. In his previous film, R2B: Return to Base, there was a segment where he unmistakably used the tools of burlesque. He repeats this here, as the boy, embarrassed by the girl, performs a similarly burlesque-like fumbling. As a competitor, he is an authentic sportsman; we know he spent months mastering the appropriate and period-accurate racing technique. While all his rivals have incredibly developed physiques, Bok-dong's underlit, almost hidden scene is nevertheless staggering, where we can admire him as a muscle-bound colossus strengthening himself by turning a millstone.
It is also important to emphasize the restraint with which neither the actor nor the filmmakers turned Um Bok-dong into a brave and conscious national hero. Bok-dong does not ponder the fate of the homeland; he has no rebellious tendencies or theoretical considerations regarding freedom. He simply lives and experiences, and he has an inner compass that shows it is not right what is happening to people. His motives spring from love, integrity, and a sense of human dignity, to which an emotional motive is added, as he wants to fulfill his sweetheart's request. Otherwise, he is an average guy who simply has had enough and loses his temper.
All this must be emphasized because the main argument of those protesting against the film was that the creators wanted to carve a hero of the independence movement out of Um Bok-dong, who was unworthy of it. They dug up contemporary newspaper articles reporting that later on, Um Bok-dong was convicted of trafficking in stolen bicycles and faced similar charges decades later. However, it was also written that in both cases, employees of the bicycle shop operated by Um Bok-dong were also involved. It is a strange fact that in the first case, Um Bok-dong denied his guilt throughout and received a fraction of the others' punishment, returning to the race track immediately after his year and a half. The second case happened toward the end of his life, where he wasn't even punished, so miserable was his existence. We know he died alone during a bombing in the Korean War.
However, these events fall outside the period covered in the film; thus, Um Bok-dong's achievements as seen in the movie can hardly—or only retroactively—be overshadowed by them.
I do not wish to be biased, nor do I feel it is my task to defend a Korean hero from Koreans, but I find it strange that those judging so confidently worked in the opposite way of what we expect from filmmakers who supplement facts with imagined events. Their fantasy filled the time gap between the two known events, assuming that Um Bok-dong's permanent activity was theft—this is also discussed at length in the Korean Wikipedia entry. Yet, they can know no more for certain than we can. Why, in their great effort to uncover the truth, it did not occur to them that the Japanese might also have tried to marginalize a competitor they wanted to eliminate in this way, I do not understand. Nor do I understand why they did not assume that even in pre-Internet Joseon, word would have spread that the hero-worshipped competitor was actually a petty thief. Some trace of this disappointment would have remained, wouldn't it?
What is a fact, however: even before the film's premiere, social media was full of disparaging posts. On the day of the premiere, hundreds of viewer ratings appeared on film sites, almost exclusively marking the lowest possible grade—judging by the timing, mostly by people who could not have seen the film yet, suggesting a pre-planned troll action. The film was proclaimed the worst Korean film ever made, which is, of course, as ridiculous as it is a lie. Those who did see the film rated it much higher, in accordance with its true value. However, the result of the trolls' action was that potential viewers simply did not dare approach the cinemas, so the film reached a ridiculously low viewership of only 173,000. This is why it can be stated that almost no one saw the film, or at least only a negligible fraction of those who nevertheless had an opinion about it. What is truly shameful is the way the film's creators and actors, primarily the lead Jung Ji-hoon, were targeted on social media. It took two years for the film to become available again to the domestic audience on Korean Netflix, so everyone could finally watch it peacefully without the danger of humiliation.
Interestingly, not a single professional forum raised its voice against the sinking of a creative work in this manner, which is regrettable as it may encourage netizens to engage in similar movements. The exception was the 39th Golden Cinema Film Festival, which, based on the votes of members of the Korean Society of Cinematographers, honored the film with awards for directing and cinematography, with special regard for the innovative solutions in the film’s camera work. Naturally, articles subsequently appeared in the media suggesting the need to re-evaluate the film.
There was another heavily attacked element: the CG. Suddenly, all netizens became experts and tore the visuals to shreds. However, they were not entirely right. If someone freezes the frames, errors can indeed be discovered—as in any other high-end production—but viewers perceive very little of them. At the same time, we owe grandiose spectacles to the computer work, such as the velodrome serving as the race venue. And it should never be forgotten that even the budget of high-end Korean films is only a fraction of a similar American production, and a significant part of those budgets is swallowed by computer post-production. This branch of filmmaking, which could presumably provide more affordable services, is still in its learning stages in South Korea’s domestic film production.
Race to Freedom: Um Bok Dong is also a sports film. One cannot leave unmentioned the thoroughness with which the physical circumstances of the period's races were recreated, including the track and the bicycles, which were authentic replicas. The actors portraying the competitors had to master racing techniques completely different from today's. According to the most foolish suggestions, the bicycle race itself can no longer be exciting for today’s people because it is too slow and not spectacular enough. The film profoundly refutes this. It does not lie about higher speeds or better tracks than the period’s technical capabilities allowed, but the dramatic effect does not stem from these, but from the human struggles. And from the interesting angles and camera movements: for instance, a camera moving toward the competitors at speed makes the already fast pace seem many times faster.
In summary: the film is not top-tier, nor is it a completely original masterpiece, but it has nothing to be ashamed of. It is a spectacular cinema offering multi-faceted excitement, not lacking in action or romance, and containing valid thoughts. Moreover, it is the kind of film that shows it was made with love and care.
From the above, it may be understood why I close this post by saying that Koreans now have a film that they may one day have to rehabilitate, as is due to those innocently condemned. And I would not mind at all if, in the future, they looked back with shame at how they treated this work.
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