Becoming Korean at the cinema

Korean earthenware pots / Courtesy of Jungjin Moon

I was late to watching “The King’s Warden.” But I finally cleared some time in my schedule and headed to the cinema with my wife to watch Korea’s latest “cheonman yeonghwa” — a domestic title that surpasses 10 million ticket sales, which basically means that one in five people here have seen the movie.

The list of the biggest selling movies here is quite surprising if you view it through an international lens. Most people, for example, will think of Bong Joon-ho’s 2019 hit “Parasite,” and yet that barely scraped past the 10 million mark and currently sits at 23rd on the overall list. Instead, the top five comprises “The Admiral: Roaring Currents” (2014), “Extreme Job” (2019), “The King’s Warden,” “Along With The Gods: The Two Worlds” (2017) and “Ode to My Father” (2014). Globally popular actors like Lee Byung-hyun are also surpassed by domestic heroes like Hwang Jung-min and Ryu Seung-ryong.

What’s interesting about the biggest selling movies here is that none of them try to appeal to an international audience. They aren’t designed with global sentiment or values in mind. Instead, they speak to something inherently Korean. Something that everyone here, whether they are on the left or right, old or young, rich or poor, will acknowledge as a part of them. It might be a love of fried chicken, unbending respect for Admiral Lee Sun-sin or a deep reverence and fascination with Korea’s past, particularly the Joseon Dynasty.

That’s what “The King’s Warden” does. It puts one of the nation’s most-loved and well-known actors, Yoo Hae-jin, in a traditional hanbok and asks the people of modern Korea to reflect on where they have come from, what their values are and, perhaps most importantly, what their responsibilities are vis-a-vis their rulers.

I went into this movie trying to cast off my academic lens. It’s very easy to sit and see things on screen as inaccurate once you have studied Korea’s history. But for this I decided I was going to watch the movie just like the other Korean citizens around me.

The movie has been out for over a month, and yet when we saw it, the cinema was packed, every seat taken. There were soldiers in uniform, groups of middle-aged women, young kids fidgeting restlessly and everyone else in between. It wasn’t just a microcosm of Korean society. It felt like all of Korean society was actually there.

And so was I — the only visible foreigner in the theater. Nevertheless, I laughed when people laughed. Gasped when they did. Snickered at the outrageous swearing. Gripped the armrest when the severed heads and roaring tiger appeared. And, ultimately, cried when they did. Because this is a movie that is designed to make people cry. Locally, some refer to such a technique as “shin-pa,” or melodrama, and four of the top five movies in Korea’s list of bestsellers feature it. Certainly “Ode to My Father” and “Along With the Gods” have some of the most heart-wrenching endings put on screen. I know this is true because I have shown them in my university classes and heard wails and tears from students of all nationalities.

It’s interesting, though, that the biggest movies aren’t always necessarily stirring stories of victory and success, but rather grief and release. There’s a certain beauty to that. A certain expression. Maybe it comes from the movies themselves. Or maybe it’s more a sign that Korean people require catharsis. That their high-context society, with all its “nunchi” and occasionally oppressive Confucian norms and hypermoralism, necessitates the sporadic release of emotions. And these movies are the catalyst. Can you understand these movies if your nation’s history is not littered with darkness? If you haven’t suffered loss or suffocation?

“The King’s Warden” speaks to something so Korean. There’s this beautiful and idyllic version of the Joseon Dynasty where the people of the village all have wonderfully different and colorful personalities. They might not be educated, and they might not have much to give, but they have something more important. They have virtue. They have happiness. They work together, they sing, they dance. They swear! And that’s part of their charm and beauty.

On the flip side, you have the “yangban,” the ruling class. Educated people who studied the Confucian classics. Who, despite their upbringing, wealth and privilege often fall from the path of goodness. Some of them become corrupt and abuse their positions. Others, like in this movie, seek refuge in depression or isolation. This then creates the dynamic between the ruler and the ruled, between master and slave.

Actors Park Ji-hoon, left, and Yoo Hae-jin in “The King’s Warden” / Courtesy of Showbox

In “The King’s Warden,” the young exiled King Danjong, lacking motivation and the will to live, finally finds hope and the meaning of life in the people of the land. The rural folk teach the king what it means to be human, how to appreciate food, how to observe nature and create peace with the people around you. That sometimes you must be brave, laugh, shout.

At the same time, the king also teaches the people. He teaches them archery. Writing. Classical literature and ideas. And because of this, there’s a degree of reverence for authority that arises. The loving of a fatherly figure. Someone who guides. Someone superior. Someone to worship.

Then comes the death. The passing of a loved one. And this death cements the relationship. Makes it stronger. More meaningful. And people in the cinema cry. And they cry. And cry. You can hear the tears, feel people gasping for breath as their chest gets tight. Yoo Hae-jin takes you there. He cries with you. You cry with him. The cinema cries as one.

And, for that moment, despite the wars, the politics, the tightening of capitalism, everyone is Korean. Everyone is the same. I don’t know if this is what “han” is. And I’m pretty sure it happens in other countries too. But there’s something that feels so Korean about sitting in a cinema, watching the latest blockbuster and knowing that you are there to cry with people around you. Do it often enough, and you find yourself forgetting all the history books and academic theories, and becoming, if only for a second, Korean in your heart.