Song Kang-Ho and the Uncanny Face of the Korean Cinema
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ACTA KOR ANA VOL. 14, NO. 1, JUNE 2011: 33–71 SOMEWHERE BETWEEN ANTI-HEROISM AND PANTOMIME: SONG KANG-HO AND THE UNCANNY FACE OF THE KOREAN CINEMA By BRIAN YECIES This article explores the trajectory of Song Kang-ho’s on-screen performances from the release of his fourth film, Number 3 (1997), to one of his most recent films, Thirst (2009). As a case study, it reveals new insights about this popular and representative actor’s numerous screen personae and how they have enabled audiences to peer into a cine- matic surface that reflects back a mixture of anti-heroism and pantomime. Beneath the many costumes and performance styles he adopts, audiences have come to see a human being with everyday problems and concerns. In a way reminiscent of the French panto- mime clown Pierrot, Song’s characters reflect a depth of human feeling and compassion modulated by a comic undercurrent—the tension between these overlapping layers is precisely what holds his various personae together. Key words: Song Kang-ho, Korean Cinema, stardom, Park Chan-wook, Kim Jee-woon INTRODUCTION Every actor and actress constructs a persona over the course of his or her career, but few become stars. A star is an actor whose persona transcends the sum total of his or her performances (Belton 1994: 89). Song Kang-ho is a classic movie star whose acting ability is well known to the film industry and whose performances are appreciated by audiences in South Korea (hereafter Korea) and abroad. He has acted in some of the contemporary Korean cinema’s most profitable and critically acclaimed feature films, productions which have contributed to the national film industry’s current global notoriety. Song’s 34 Acta Koreana Vol. 14, No. 1, 2011 numerous product endorsements, ranging from the national Lotto and financial services to paekseju (a traditional Korean alcohol), have been vigorously promoted through broadcast, print and online media campaigns, and advertisements featuring him adorn buses, billboards, and the walls of bustling pedestrian pre- cincts across urban and rural Korea. Yet, although Song’s image has become ubiquitous through these commercial vehicles, few if any scholars have in- vestigated how Song has come to represent the artistic and commercial vitality of the Korean cinema while at the same time contributing to the expansion of its international profile. This article explores the trajectory of Song Kang-ho’s on-screen perform- ances from the release of his fourth film, Number 3 (Nŏmbŏ 3, 1997)—directed by Song Neung-han (Song Nŭng-han)—to one of his most recent films, Thirst (Pakchwi, 2009), directed by Park Chan-wook (Pak Ch’an-uk). The analysis concludes with Thirst because this film represents the pinnacle of Song’s international recognition and his dynamic expression on screen. As a case study, it reveals new insights about this popular and representative actor’s numerous screen personae and how they have enabled audiences to peer into a cinematic surface that reflects back a mixture of anti-heroism and pantomime. Beneath the many costumes and performance styles he adopts audiences have come to see a human being with everyday problems and concerns. In a way reminiscent of the French pantomime clown Pierrot, Song’s characters reflect a depth of human feeling and compassion modulated by a comic undercurrent—the tension between these overlapping layers is precisely what holds his various personae together. By projecting this unique mix of elements, Song has contributed to the expansion of Korean cinema beyond the country’s geographical borders. More than just another pretty face, Song’s media profile and public recognizability have enabled him, and the contemporary Korean cinema of which he is so intriguing a part, to achieve fame at home and abroad. Song became a valued commodity at the same as the Korean cinema was rising on its lion’s paws in terms of domestic audience numbers, box office returns, domestic market share—at the expense of Hollywood’s share of the local market—and the launch of fresh genres by a new breed of auteur filmmakers. Given these links, he owes much of his early develop- ment as a star to the directors he has worked with on a repeated basis, most notably Kim Jee-woon (Kim Chi-un) (three times), Park Chan-wook (four times), Lee Chang-dong (Yi Ch’ang-dong) (twice), and Bong Joon-ho (Pong Chun-ho) (twice)—in a similar way that Robert De Niro has worked with Martin Scorsese on a large number of projects. Symbiotically, these directors owe much of their success to Song; his ability to enliven his characters through physical training, manipulation of the body and dialogue ad-libbing has helped to elevate their Yecies: Somewhere Between Anti-Heroism and Pantomime 35 reputations as master filmmakers and secure them a place among the foremost directors of the contemporary Korean cinema. While Song’s popularity began to spread after his performance in Number 3, so far few scholars have methodically explored the transformation of his remarkable screen persona, which has driven audiences young and old to the cinemas, to popular film magazines, and to a wide range of film-related websites—a phe- nomenon comparable to the ways in which audiences flocked to consume images of Hollywood stars of the 1950s.1 In building on previous studies of the Korean cinema such as those by Choi (2010), Paquet (2009), Gateward (2007), Shin and Stringer (2005), Abelmann and McHugh (2005) and Kim (2004), this article draws on personal interviews, trade articles and an analysis of Song’s performances and personal reflections to offer new insights about his acting styles and rising stardom from outside of the story world—a realm created and perceived by film directors and critics, and generated (or limited) by promotional discourses.2 A vital element of Song’s performances, as well as his extratextual stardom, is the overlapping layers of personae that shift and change in a state of constant flux. Each layer influences the others in ways that produce subtle transformations. The discussion that follows focuses on these transformations in four of Song’s early films, Number 3, The Quiet Family (Choyonghan kajok, 1998), Shiri (Swiri, 1999), and The Foul King (Panch’ik wang, 2000), as well as a selection of later films, The Host (Koemul, 2006), The Show Must Go On (Uahan segye, 2007) and Thirst, which are representative of his most mature and celebrated work. MORE THAN JUST A PRETTY FACE Song, who plays Jo-pil (Cho-p’il) in Number 3, was a relatively unknown actor in 1997 at the time of the film’s release. Fourteen years ago, Song’s film career was in its infancy and his roles to date had been small compared to the well-known Han Suk-kyu (Han Sŏk-kyu), the central protagonist of Number 3. Most of the advertisements and movie posters for the production give pride of place to Han Suk-kyu’s character Tae-ju (T’ae-ju). Yet, Jo-pil and the other minor characters provide the main thrust behind the story in Number 3.3 1 For an insightful study of Hollywood film stars in the 1950s and the challenges that they faced during their crossover to television as it increased in popularity, see Becker (2008). 2 Elsewhere in Gledhill (1991: 214), stardom is conceptualized in terms of the layers formed by an actor’s “reel” and “real” personae. The “reel” refers to the diegetic character(s) and images con- structed for the screen and the world of the story, while the “real” is the individual personality self-expressed by the actor and the one known to close acquaintances. 3 With a total audience of 297,617, Number 3 became the sixth most popular film in Korea of the 59 films that were produced in 1997 (Korean Cinema ‘98: 70–71). 36 Acta Koreana Vol. 14, No. 1, 2011 Song’s portrayal of the stuttering Jo-pil has a significant impact on the chain of cause and effect that determines the relationships between the characters in the film. He is linked to nearly all the figures in the narrative in both direct and indirect ways. Jo-pil, who is nearly always dressed in black, is introduced through a montage sequence at the start of the film. He is depicted holding a menacing sashimi knife over two bloody corpses lying in a parking garage. Unexpectedly, and in silence—like a pantomime figure—Jo-pil uses his blood-soaked hands to catch and eat a cockroach (pictured in Figure 1). In this brief scene, the mixed dark and comic tone of the film is established—Song’s character is firmly situated somewhere near the emotional center. Through the character of Jo-pil, Song projects two personality trajectories— sinister and comic—that inevitably collide. One persona is a violent and cal- culating killer who approaches his victims with a cold, blank face and few words. The other, a cross between a jokester and a hooligan, provides comic relief through his stutter and high-pitched, whiny shriek of a voice that emanates ex- citedly through curled and puckered lips. When he is enraged, the noises projected from Jo-pil’s mouth sound like a mixture of the vocal exhalations of Bruce Lee in combat mode, a meowing kitten, and a hungry, barking hyena. (There may be a reference here to the big fight scene between Bruce Lee and Chuck Norris at the end of Return of the Dragon (1972), which is intercut with close-up shots of a kitten.) Even his Korean name marks him out for denigration.