June 29, 2009
The title actually translates to something more like "Empty Houses," by the way, rather than "3-Iron," which seems to reflect differing naming conventions by culture. Or maybe the title was not picked by an American distributor as I cynically think, and is not intended to re-fram...( read more)e the focus from the airy idea of transience to the visceral physicality of an item used repeatedly as an expression of anger in the film. It's anyone's guess until someone comes forward, and I'm unlikely to hear it when they do, so I'm going to grimly stick to my theory there, and suggest that the translated title would, in fact, be more appropriate.
Tae-Suk (Hyun-Kyoon Lee) is tasked with taping restaurant menus to the doors of residences from his motorcycle, but takes this job--if indeed it is an actual paying job--as a method of serving his true way of living. Waiting to see if the menus, all placed over the doors' locks, are removed hours later, he determines which houses are empty. Those which are empty he enters and enjoys, fixing broken mechanics and washing clothes by hand. He makes use of food, toiletries, beds and appliances, then disappears with no clear trace of his presence. At the first house we see him marking, he has a brief exchange of dark looks with the home's owner, Min-Gyu (Hyuk-Ho Kwon), before the two go their separate ways. When he comes back later to find no one has re-entered this house, he goes about his normal activities, not noticing that Min-Gyu's wife Sun-Hwa (Seung-Yeon Lee) is still there and shadowing his movements, smiling when he fixes their scale or peruses their art. Tae-Suk finally recognizes her presence when she finds him in bed, and Tae-Suk quickly leaves. After pondering his decision, Tae-Suk returns and finds Sun-Hwa sobbing in the shower, her eye still bruised from what can only be the less-than-affectionate attentions of Min-Gyu. Creating a more comforting environment, Tae-Suk tentatively shows a more respectful approach to Sun-Hwa, until Min-Gyu returns and finds them both. Tae-Suk disappears before Min-Gyu sees him, but does not leave, instead convincing Sun-Hwa to leave with him and try his own way of living.
I've been reluctant to watch this, knowing what I did about it. First I have to be in the mood to be stationary enough for a subtitled movie (some foods are complex to eat when you need your eyes on the screen consistently), and then I have to be in the mood for something arty, and, as memory told me, nearly silent. If I'd really thought about it, I might've put these two ideas together and realized there weren't going to be many subtitles when the protagonists are indeed silent through the majority of the film (and, in addition to that, often the only presences on-screen). Still, when I thought of watching it today, I thought, "Why not?" and pounced, determined to avoid losing a willingness on my part to see it. I was a little worried that, despite the minimal running time of 84 minutes, it would be slow (as it has been described as such). Apparently, I needn't have worried, because it's far from slow. If you can't tolerate the idea of a film with almost no dialogue, you likely will find it interminably slow and frustratingly incomprehensible. There are ridiculous reviews claiming that there is no characterization and no way to identify with the characters because they don't speak. This is the sign of a pretty limited view of people (and probably not the best sign for reading people around you). It's very clear what kind of characters these two are, insofar as the relevance of this definition to the film. It's not perfect and complete rounding, but that's very difficult to do in the space of a movie anyway--and it isn't always the point.
There's also raging debate as to the reality or believability of the film, which is somewhat frustrating as it's yet another limited way of seeing things. It's not that one can't prefer a naturalistic or realistic approach, nor even that one can demand that of the films they like or watch, but it's not the only approach to be taken, nor the only one that can be successful--just the only one that can be successful for those who demand it. It's not intended to be a perfectly realistic film, asking for a relatively large degree of suspension of disbelief, but not in the sense of suspending what is possible in reality so much as suspending the belief that you are watching reality. This is a dream-like world, but not in the stream-of-consciousness sense so much as a floating, ethereal one. Tae-Suk is unnaturally good at sneaking around people and their homes, but at the same time does do enough that one would think someone might at least notice that he had been there, even if he wasn't found while there. There's a further debate on the subject when the end is reached, and some feel that Tae-Suk has become a literal ghost, where others feel he has become, well, a ninja, if you'll pardon the tongue-in-cheek interpretation of the film. It's got a sense of humour though, so I suspect writer/director Ki-Duk Kim does as well, and thus won't mind. I'm in favour of the second interpretation, though also not opposed to the more open interpretation that these are not distinct or "real" people in the first place, and identifying along such lines is moot.
This is, as you might guess, a pretty visual movie. Many, even those who hated the movie, have noted that Korean film has a distinct tendency to be well-filmed. I'm inclined to agree--all the Korean films I've seen, as well, seem to be pretty beautifully shot. There's a careful attention to reflections and framing, making it always look intentional but never artificial, a difficult but very aesthetically pleasing balance. The pacing around this, as well as the camera movements that support this pacing and aesthetic, is well-balanced and keeps things moving even through relative silence (pierced only by environmental noise and the odd bit of music). It's cut perfectly to never make the protagonists' silence too questionable, and to keep any scenes with such kinds of silence from becoming uncomfortable or unsettling. Even when someone is speaking to them, it comes off as believable, at least in this film's world, that they will not respond, and so it maintains the right sensibility to propel a rather unusual film forward. It's quite pleasing as a film, touching and easily affecting, even with the detached eye of Eastern film that always seems to nudge at me when I watch a film made in eastern Asia. Definitely worth your time if you have any romantic proclivities, and a willingness to experience a movie that does not rely in the slightest on dialogue.
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