A Korean Film Retrospective in Pusan

Paolo Bertonlin
Contributing Writer

PUSAN _ In just eleven years, the Pusan International Film Festival has established itself as the leading film event of Asia.

As many argue, the festival's unstoppable growth to prominence has been much aided by the surge experienced by Korean cinema during the last decade. PIFF has become the primary showcase for domestic cinema, inevitably sharing its fortunes with the international scene.

However, PIFF has also taken the serious and commendable charge of shedding light over the little-investigated past of Korean cinema. As is the case for many non-Western national cinemas, Korean cinema has long suffered a pernicious neglect that left it unmapped land in the cartography of world film histories.

On the other hand, the lack of cultural recognition towards cinematic heritage from local authorities has until recently led to the loss of great part of past national production _ again, a problem shared by many non-Western cinemas.

This disregard led to the loss of a treasure whose value is not to be tallied only on artistic parameters, but also on the relevance as social documentation and historical testimony.

Together with the Korean Film Archive (KOFA), PIFF has carried on through the years a project of re-discovery and promotion, meant not only to preserve the national film heritage, but also to reassess and question many certainties of usually Western-centred cinematic history. Last year PIFF launched "Re-mapping of Asian Auteur", meant to bring to the foreground the works of past and present maestros from the continent.

This year, the Korean Film Retrospective is devoted to recently found works from the 1930s and '40s. During Japanese colonial rule, 171 films were reportedly completed; however, only four were reputed to have survived.

The collection of seven motion pictures on display at PIFF is the fruit of three years of research work by KOFA in collaboration with the Chinese Film Archive.

The films featured in the program show a varied and often surprising spectrum of filmmaking in the peninsula at the time. Some films explicitly fall into the category of propaganda promoting the assimilation and loyalty of Koreans towards the Japanese Empire. "Military Train" (1938) by Suh Kwang-je, "Volunteer" (1941) by Ahn Suk-young and "Straits of Choson" (1943) by Park Ki-chae all feature protagonists replete with ardour to serve in the Japanese Army.

Quite interestingly, all these works also sport an emphasis on social inequalities that can seemingly be solved by the new system brought in by the colonizer. Long-standing traditional values are firmly questioned in some surprisingly progressive-minded works. Blind respect for elders is implicitly criticised in the visually stunning "Volunteer", while "Straits of Choson" highlights the unfairness of class discrimination.

Even more surprising is the treatment of gender inequality in "Anchor Light" (1939) by Ahn Chul-young, where a young woman from a fisherman's village is lured to Seoul by a sly heart-robber. Ahn's film advocates the independence of women from social constraints and pleas for a love that overcomes the prejudice.

The film also presents the trope of a dichotomy between the urban and the rural, projecting an image of a hub of moral corruption on the former and of idyllic shelter on the latter. Such opposition is also present in "Angels on the Streets" (1941) by Choi In-gyu, which tells the real story of minister Bang Seong-bin who brought street kids from Seoul to a farm in the countryside to reform them through farmers' work. The film is also remarkable for its views on the urban landscape in the early 1940s.

The oldest work on show, "Sweet Dream" (1936) by Yang Ju-nam is instead a formally refined and very concise (47 minutes) portrait of a corrupted woman, whose redemption can only be complete through a dramatic and misogynist ending. Finally, "Spring of Korean Peninsula" (1941) by Lee Byung-il focuses on the very troubled production of a film adaptation of Chunhyangjon.

Veering in tones from irony to saddening drama, Lee's film provides a sapid document on the precarious conditions of filmmaking in the land of the morning calm at the time. Also noteworthy is the constant mixing of Korean and Japanese in the dialogue.

All in all, the retrospective provides a panorama of brilliant cinematic quality and has the merit of adding complexity to the usually simplistic image associated with propaganda filmmaking.

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