Agnes' Song

How is it over there?
How lonely is it?
Is it still glowing red at sunset?
Are the birds still singing on the way to the forest?
Can you receive the letter I dared not send?
Can I convey…
the confession I dared not make?
Will time pass and roses fade?
Now it's time to say goodbye
Like the wind that lingers and then goes,
just like shadows
To promises that never came,
to the love sealed till the end.

To the grass kissing my weary ankles
And to the tiny footsteps following me
It's time to say goodbye
Now as darkness falls
Will a candle be lit again?
Here I pray…
nobody shall cry…
and for you…

He may not have the twisting genre conventions or the subtle satire of Bong Joon-Ho

He may not have the hyper-violent narratives or the earth-shattering twists of Park Chan-Wook.

He may not have the avant-garde filmmaking style or the deeply philosophical themes of Kim Ki-Duk.

But what makes Lee Chang-Dong my favourite Korean filmmaker is that his films are just...profoundly human. Poetry is yet another reminder that Lee Chang-Dong isn't the face of New Wave Korean Cinema but the very soul that understands humanity like no one else.

A poignant and heartbreaking drama, Poetry is a film that glimmers a compassion and realism I seldom see in cinema. Bolstered by marvelous performances and a compelling script, Chang-Dong's attempt to capture…

Korean legend Chang-dong Lee knows by heart how to create offbeat stories with the most emotionally and socially resonating entry points. We see a disabled couple rebelling against the world in Oasis, a young man rescuing his love interest from the hands of the filthy rich in Burning, and in Poetry, arguably Lee's most humane and, well, poetic, effort, we follow Mija, a senior Korean woman living off government programs, and raising her grandson alone in a shabby apartment building, as she juggles a new found interest in poem, a surprising medical result, and a local suicide case that may change her life forever. It projects multiple social issues onto the vessel of Mija, played by a breathtakingly poised and…

March Around the World, Film #1 - South Korea

Poetry.
It's the way you see.

An older woman comes into her own after learning to really see in a poetry class. A woman, always polite, always demure, always well dressed and well presented, a woman who spends her life cleaning after, caring for and feeding others, a woman neglected by her family members, a woman who is seen as feeble and childlike, just as she is 'supposed to be', is taken advantage of by all around her, 'as it should be'. And then she learns to see. This woman who was happiest when she was three years old, this woman who loves and cares and always displays tenderness but faces…

It seems that Miryang was on Lee Chang-dong's mind, even after Secret Sunshine. Poetry is a film without poetry, eschewing sentimentality at every turn. Lee tackles issues pertinent to modern Korea, like suicide, elderly poverty, and victim shaming. Characters fight to protect the reputations of rapists by paying off the family of the victim, and the discussions around this are callous. 

Poetry is a film of failing memory, with the lead suffering from Alzheimer's, and where lies end and memories fade become a blurred line. It's weird to see the lead character lost in the world but somehow in a place she very much understands. She talks but no one listens, and listens when everyone else talks. She wants to…

Back in 2006-2007, I took one year of literature class. The final topic of the course was "Poetry", just before hitting the final exam. Before stepping into the subject, we were asked about our opinions on poetry. There was a heated argument between a classmate that claimed that poetry was gibberish, sentimental and pretentious garbage with no coherent or logical structure to convey authentic messages, but only random words put together so that they sound "pretty", and me. The rest of the classroom grabbed popcorn to see the word fight between us.

I remember him talking more than me. However, I was concise and expressed that poetry has the capacity to unravel the deepest emotional mysteries of the human heart,…

No art form has been so alarmingly bastardized as poetry. See: that fool with the funny hat, the penchant for faux-Bohemia, and cunning ideas of sex; the so-called poet who churns out what can only be called parodies at a pace that rivals a program; the pseudo-lyrist who wants to be a writer to be a writer, not to write; this is no new phenomenon—we all have likely met more than a few of these kinds of people—magicians, and rather trumpery ones at that, masquerading as artists, swindlers who hope to be hot shit at the local coffee shop, for the shy Hope Sandovalish barista to give them even a smidge of attention and adoration, and who, tragically, insist their…

Action! - Lee Chang-dong: The Frictions In The Serenity

I know some people don’t like the whole comparison thing, but after only seeing two films, I can’t help seeing Chang-dong as the Korean Kore-eda. Even in the tensest moments, the way they direct this quiet, sometimes serene film evokes a great sense of realism, with a hint of tenderness permeating every shot and, to some extent, every performance. The handheld camerawork also helps lend the film that sense of being like we’re seeing someone catching the real moments on screen.

In terms of Yoon Jeong-hee's performances, particularly in the bathroom scene, there's no tense music or anything like that, but through her eyes alone, you can see that something within…

"These are times when poetry is dying away. Some lament such loss and others claim, “Poetry deserves to die.” Regardless, people continue to read and write poetry. What does it mean then to be writing poetry when prospects of an ongoing future seem dismal? This is a question I want to pose to the public. But in fact, it is a question I pose to myself as a filmmaker: What does it mean to be making films at times when films are dying away?"

Lee Chang-dong, the king of ambiguity, the fire maker, the poet, the smoker who portrays life in verses. What do we have left without memories, without poetry? Would life be better off without them and would…