And there I went, to the Korean Film Festival. I tend to like Asian movies when I don't feel like screaming after the first 5 minutes (I fail to really grasp the humour and whatever is supposed to be a comedy irritates me to hell and back), so I considered it as starting with the right foot. The first movie was a pleasant experience - called "Secret Sunshine", it was a delicate story about a woman in pain, about accepting and forgiving, about faith and rebellion, about sanity and madness. I liked how the emotions were depicted - rather suggesting and giving a wide space for interpretation, the movie was not at all an attempt to shove something down your throat.
Not that I don't like Hollywood movies, but they scare me a bit - when the actor loves you can see it on his face, hear it in the background music and, in case you didn't get the idea yet, he would eventually mention a few words about it. I appreciate that at least they don't sing, like in the Indian movies, but still - I like to be allowed to understand myself what is going on there and to set the limits of what I define as pain, love or whatever else. One more reason to like the Korean movie mentioned above.
They say it's essential to know when to stop - I didn't, so I went to the second movie. This time, I ran into some sort of a teenager-ish comedy/fantasy, on a sci-fi background (some crap about time travelling and sending a cyborg back in time, if anybody wants to know about it), too loud to even allow me to peacefully take a nap during the screening. OK, I confess - I finally managed to fall aslepp when on the screen it was the Tokyo Earthquake moment, so right in the middle of falling buildings and rifts opening. I guess it was a nervous reaction, but I was happy because I managed to sleep without snoring and because I woke up in due time to see the crappy ending of a bad movie. Yuuuuhu, indeed.
Have I stopped after this one? Hell no. I decided to go watch the last movie of the festival, namely the most recent piece of work (and of course of art) by Kim Ki-Duk. The movie called "Dream" managed to bring me on the verge of laughing with tears and crying with laughters. Shortly put, the starting idea is nice - he dreams and she enacts, while sleepwalking. He dreams of his ex whom he still deeply loves, she performs on her ex, whom she deeply resents. I started to have an itch in like min. 10 of the movie, when the (how to call her... maybe shaman, maybe witch-doctor... whatever, imagine the wise woman in a position of spiritual authority, ok?) spiritual counselor started to babble some nonsense about black and white as being the same colour, with some Matrix II type of discourse.
I decided to ignore the signs and kept watching. I lasted to the point in which "he" is supposed to stay awake, so that "she" does not do anything stupid anymore. I didn't manage to understand why exactly he decided this when she went to prison for murder (I mean, for God's sake, how could anybody imagine she can run out of prison and do whatever he dreams? This would have been THE time to sleep and dream at will, but whatever... call me a Neanderthal), but I kept watching. The climax was the fight with the sleep. I can understand a metaphor but... for phuck's sake, don't they sell coffee or Red Bull over there? Why do you need to start the self-immolation process, when you can simply go for a walk or drink a Nescafe? Isn't it simpler to mix 4 spoons of that brown dust with some sugar and drink than to stick needles in your skull or scratch some symbols with a knife on your legs? Can't you take a walk, do you really have to smash your feet with a sculpture hammer?
I understand that you can make art for the sake of making art. Well, I actually understand better having sex for the sake of having sex, but again... let's not get into details. Shouldn't the image (and imagination) have some decency to keep in touch, at least once in a while, with common sense? Long ago, I thought common sense should be protected and defended against academia. Now, I start to believe the list of enemies is a bit longer. This is not a pipe... try adding some tobacco into it.
Not that I don't like Hollywood movies, but they scare me a bit - when the actor loves you can see it on his face, hear it in the background music and, in case you didn't get the idea yet, he would eventually mention a few words about it. I appreciate that at least they don't sing, like in the Indian movies, but still - I like to be allowed to understand myself what is going on there and to set the limits of what I define as pain, love or whatever else. One more reason to like the Korean movie mentioned above.
They say it's essential to know when to stop - I didn't, so I went to the second movie. This time, I ran into some sort of a teenager-ish comedy/fantasy, on a sci-fi background (some crap about time travelling and sending a cyborg back in time, if anybody wants to know about it), too loud to even allow me to peacefully take a nap during the screening. OK, I confess - I finally managed to fall aslepp when on the screen it was the Tokyo Earthquake moment, so right in the middle of falling buildings and rifts opening. I guess it was a nervous reaction, but I was happy because I managed to sleep without snoring and because I woke up in due time to see the crappy ending of a bad movie. Yuuuuhu, indeed.
Have I stopped after this one? Hell no. I decided to go watch the last movie of the festival, namely the most recent piece of work (and of course of art) by Kim Ki-Duk. The movie called "Dream" managed to bring me on the verge of laughing with tears and crying with laughters. Shortly put, the starting idea is nice - he dreams and she enacts, while sleepwalking. He dreams of his ex whom he still deeply loves, she performs on her ex, whom she deeply resents. I started to have an itch in like min. 10 of the movie, when the (how to call her... maybe shaman, maybe witch-doctor... whatever, imagine the wise woman in a position of spiritual authority, ok?) spiritual counselor started to babble some nonsense about black and white as being the same colour, with some Matrix II type of discourse.
I decided to ignore the signs and kept watching. I lasted to the point in which "he" is supposed to stay awake, so that "she" does not do anything stupid anymore. I didn't manage to understand why exactly he decided this when she went to prison for murder (I mean, for God's sake, how could anybody imagine she can run out of prison and do whatever he dreams? This would have been THE time to sleep and dream at will, but whatever... call me a Neanderthal), but I kept watching. The climax was the fight with the sleep. I can understand a metaphor but... for phuck's sake, don't they sell coffee or Red Bull over there? Why do you need to start the self-immolation process, when you can simply go for a walk or drink a Nescafe? Isn't it simpler to mix 4 spoons of that brown dust with some sugar and drink than to stick needles in your skull or scratch some symbols with a knife on your legs? Can't you take a walk, do you really have to smash your feet with a sculpture hammer?
I understand that you can make art for the sake of making art. Well, I actually understand better having sex for the sake of having sex, but again... let's not get into details. Shouldn't the image (and imagination) have some decency to keep in touch, at least once in a while, with common sense? Long ago, I thought common sense should be protected and defended against academia. Now, I start to believe the list of enemies is a bit longer. This is not a pipe... try adding some tobacco into it.
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