Song 1

Karen Song

MS 190.3 Senior Capstone

7 December 2020

Professor Ruti Talmor

Representations of Maleness and Intellectual Disability in Contemporary Korean Cinema

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Korean representation of marginalized communities and subsequent advocacy has been steadily increasing since the advent of New Korean Cinema, with top directors such as BONG

Joon-ho putting those in oppressed socio-economic groups at the forefront of their most popular films. And yet there is a glaring shortcoming when it comes to the filmic representation of one particular minority group - those with intellectual disabilities. A critical examination of Korean media history and modern popular culture reveals a distinct national character trope, that of an intellectually disabled man, who is widely present in Korean films and has been reembodied and reconstructed through dozens of portrayals in almost every genre. That being said, the narrative that surrounds this character and collective silencing of the community it seeks to represent implies a greater social conditioning of a harmful mindset. The figure has become so normalized that most Korean moviegoers would not be able to recognize the patterns and correlating ideologies that they have been subjected to until someone pointed it out to them.

Acknowledging this pattern of representation and conducting further research into this figure is a first step toward intervening in the process of repetition and constructing an intersectional approach to disability media studies.

A majority of the films that employ this trope deal with adult male characters, and this can be attributed to how the representations of disability in modern Korean cinema often intersect with a greater exploration of masculine identity. As such, when this figure emerges in popular culture, whether as a protagonist or a supporting character, the question of masculinity gets reintroduced through a lens of ability - or perceived inability. The character description provided by films and filmmakers to describe this character almost always gendered:“a man with the intellect of a six-year old,” or “a man with stunted intellect.” Song 3

The lack of a clear diagnosis that overwhelms the filmic vernacular mirrors the rhetorically deficient state of Korean disability discourse - a subject that could be further

1 examined in a separate paper, and has been explored in ethnographic studies .​ Films representing ​ this community reflect greater structural and rhetorical gaps that exist in Korean society which propel the stigmatization of mental illness. The subject of disability is still taboo; so much so that disability is never labeled or diagnosed. The descriptions mirror a general lack of public awareness or acknowledgement of mental illness, and further exacerbate the infantilization and dehumanization of these men as well as the ways in which disability comes to define the whole person. As of 2006, the National Human Rights Commission of the Republic of Korea still

2 defines disability as “the complete lack of capability ,”​ which disregards the autonomy and ​ general capabilities of those with physical or mental disabilities. It is clear at this point how men with intellectual disabilities are portrayed in Korean cinema, often as an exaggerated caricature of a very real community, where this depiction is taken a step further and they become alienated and victimized by their communities.

This paper will ultimately serve as a documented chronology and extensive analysis of the intellectually disabled male figure in the era of post-1997 Korean cinema. These films construct a narrative that lobotomizes, infantilizes, and dehumanizes disabled individuals by cementing representations of disability as an absence of full personhood - which, in the case of

Korea, is unquestionably gendered and tied to male personhood. Portrayals of these men have furthered problematic cultural perceptions of disability while using disability as a metaphor through which to explore issues of Korean nationalism, gender, personhood and agency. The

1 See: Park, Jung Youn. “Disability Discrimination in South Korea: Routine and Everyday Aggressions toward Disabled People.” Disability & Society 32, no. 6 (May 2017): 918–22. ​ ​ 2 Petrovic, Paul. ‘Beyond Forgiveness’?: Lee Chang-dong’s Oasis (2002) and the Mobilisation of Disability Discourses in the Korean New Wave; In Cultures of Representation: Disability in World Cinema Contexts, edited by Fraser, Benjamin. 33-46. 34

Song 4 latter half of this project seeks to determine what happened in the early 2000s in Korea which allowed this male disabled figure to become so prominent, and how he became representative of the various forces posing threats to performed masculinity - whether that be national economy, education, law enforcement, or shifting family dynamics.

Development of Korean Cinema: A Brief History of the Nation

The ‘golden age’ of Korean Cinema in the 1960s was marked by patriotic narratives that wove together history and art, reflecting the longing for a sense of home and collective national identity, and occupied by directors such as IM Kwon-taek who went on to shape much of the

Korean New Wave in the late 80s. The New Wave harbored much of the dissenting public’s sentiment against a constant battle with oppressive regimes and censorship, and the young filmmakers that emerged in this time paved the way for much of the revolutionary cinema that defined the generations to come. The move out of the New Wave and into New Korean Cinema was a groundbreaking time for national art and its potential for global influence. South Korean

Cinema gained popularity in the international film sphere for its genre-bending, stylized violence and aestheticized thrillers. Much of this exponential growth can be attributed to record breaking films such as Shiri (1999), which placed spectacle in the foreground and demonstrated how big ​ ​ budgets showed big returns. The creation of this cultural buzz in cinema, one that could be ultra-commodified, lent itself to greater investment in the arts from major corporations. South

Korean film was heavily influenced by global cinema, which is evident in how American blockbuster model of promotion was used to gain financial momentum, and the emergence of popular genres - namely action and crime dramas - which employed the successful tropes of both

Hollywood and other East Asian nations. The qualities of international cinema were indigenized Song 5 by Korean directors who applied the styles of Hollywood to specifically Korean situations, thus creating the distinctly Korean hybrid genres we see today.

The development of New Korean Cinema, the era which precedes the films presented in this paper, is influenced by a century of condensed and continuous trauma. The nation collectively forged its way through the merciless colonization by Japan (1910-45), followed by years of Western military intervention (1950-53) that led to a civil divide between North and

South Korea to this day. Korean citizens, barely recovering from these external threats, were then faced with a sequence of authoritarian regimes as the internal military dictatorship

(1961-93) began to take hold. The recent history of Korea as a nation is one defined by a

3 collective silencing of the people and a violent attack on freedom. ​ There are limited films to ​ ​ examine from the colonial era due to the mass attempt by Japanese imperialists to destroy all remnants of Korean culture - including film, literature, and art. Motion picture laws during colonialism also required Japanese police to vet every single film before screening and limited creators’ access to film equipment. The subsequent years of recovery and mass impoverishment that resulted in foreign intervention and aid continued this artistic deficit - where those who truly represented the peoples’ concerns did not have the luxury or capacity to create. During the military dictatorship, many films were censored by the authorities and very few filmmakers were given the licenses to screen movies in public. Any movies depicting dissent were created in secret by younger filmmakers.

Following the end of Korea’s dictatorship (1961-93) and subsequent lifting of censorship, the dramatic increase in personal and artistic liberties paved the way for a new wave of Korean cinema, inspired stylistically by American cinema and distinguished by its localized critique of

Korean society. The commercial rebirth of Korean Cinema after 1993 is driven by many Korean

3 Paquet, Darcy. New Korean Cinema: Breaking the Waves. Wallflower Press, 2009. 1. ​ ​ ​ Song 6 filmmakers finally being able to explicitly comment on the major shifts they recognized in society, utilizing the flexible temporality of their films to represent the eras that shaped their youth. The increased freedom of expression led to a boom in cinematic production, especially after the major Motion Picture Law was discontinued, allowing for the partial relaxation of film

4 censorship in 1988 ,​ followed by several years of artists easing back into a domain of increased ​ creative freedom. The cinephilia of the 90s could largely be attributed to the leftover energy from the protests of the 80s; college aged citizens began to see film as a medium for social change and the greater public experienced a diversification of their worldviews.

Korean National Identity and Maleness

The turbulent state of masculine identity in Korean cinema is the result of a culmination of cultural influences and the ultimate descent of dominant ideologies. In KIM Kyung-hyun’s book The Remasculinization of Korean Cinema, it is determined that post-traumatic recoveries in ​ ​ film can only be complete with the reconciliation of male characters with their emasculation.

Kim states that “men are constantly threatened by the state, by the law, and by the erasure of their origin.” As a result, the stories that emerge - stories of disfiguration and self-destruction -

“consistently produce inefficacious conditions in which the central protagonists are robbed of

5 their manhood.” ​ The impulse to reclaim a sense of home and autonomy by male characters in ​ Korean film dates all the way back to post-traumatic sentiments brought on by the military occupation of Korea by Japan. And the need for financial security can be attributed to the turbulent economic state of post-war Korea. The male protagonist in Korean cinema is often lost in pursuit of a simultaneous mastery of his home and work life, both of which become an object of desire and destruction. Kim underscores this desire in his text by relating it to the Lacanian

4 Paquet, Darcy. 25. 5 K​ im, Kyung-Hyun. The Remasculinization of Korean Cinema. Durham: Duke University Press, 2005. 27. ​ ​ Song 7 representation of the “other.” He states that the majority of male characters in Korean film possess “a wound, an inerasable scar that atrophies the screen subjects and activates an objet petit a,” adding that this culminates in the character questioning “what is ‘it’ that the other wants

6 of me?” ​ The unending search for the object and the trauma of loss in this “castrated subject” ​ thus becomes mapped onto other figures - in this case, adult men with intellectual disabilities - as a manifestation of someone who does not perform society’s expectations of a full person.

Korea’s socio-political climate was mapped onto cinema, where there was a heightened demand for male centered narratives that encouraged male solidarity - an attempt to reclaim masculinity, brought on by the insecurity and trauma of Korea’s modern history and recent financial crisis. Films became a projection of a national lost fantasy, masculine power, often propelling narratives that highlighted virility, agency, and violence. As such, many of the films that characterize the Korean New Wave and subsequent New Korean Cinema deal with themes of revenge, class struggle, and political unrest.

“The man with the mind of a 6-year old”: The Central Trope

The figure is not a fully fleshed subject but an embodiment of how Korean society imagines its oppressed citizens. As both visual and auditory caricature, his most recognizable qualities are usually his tone of voice and childish haircut. His dialogue is unfiltered, painted as someone who frequently offends people on accident, and his mouth is often agape. The combined qualities of this portrayal make him an easily discernible character to most Korean audiences, who may refer to him as Dongnae Babo - roughly translated to “town fool.” ​ ​ In these representations, the social commentary overpowers the desire for any psychical or deeper personal exploration of the figure, and as such, most of the characters do not

6 Kim, Kyung-Hyun. 27. ​ Song 8 themselves have narrative or personal autonomy. They are rarely the focal point of the story, and when they are presented as central characters, it is clear from the start that the director aims to make a greater claim about social issues through the sensationalized depiction of marginality and oppression and not given many distinguishing traits as an individual. The question of what this figure represents for the nation state directly yields inquiry into what issues are preventing the performance of traditional masculinity in Korean society.

Modern depictions of Korean society, both from a retrospective and current lens, have employed this figure, one that has become prolific in Korean popular culture, so frequently that it gained a generative power of its own as a narrative device. The contemporary filmic works, especially the period dramas, utilize this character to retroactively diagnose a societal issue from any given era born out of Korea’s traumatic past. The figure is always used as a relative point or tool through which films project greater social commentary with regard to masculinity and the nation state.

The trope of the intellectually disabled adult man is a valuable point of inquiry in examining Korean cinema in that he comes to represent the various threats to male personhood and national identity - the issues from each era of Korean history to which citizens universally attributed their feelings of shame and loss.

A pre-history of the trope

The filmic trope of the intellectually disabled man was concretized in contemporary cinema, but there has always been a space in Korean society—reflected in Korean art—for a scapegoat figure to which all culturally recognized threats to male personhood can be attributed.

Those in marginalized or ostracized positions have a long history of being used by artists solely as a comparative point to the construction of male identity. Determining where this figure as Song 9 negation falls into a larger pool of figures as negation, or figures that are merely a gap or threat to male national personhood, requires a deeper dive into how other silenced groups are represented and subjectified.

Primarily, women in early Korean cinema only became active agents in film by reinscribing masculine norms. The female characters in the Golden Age of Korean Cinema

(1960s) were only given agency through “masculine” behavior as they “invaded” traditional male roles. The emergence of the femme fatale in 60s Korean noir was a direct response to the changing gender roles which posed a threat to the nation’s patriarchal structure. The Housemaid ​ (1960), a domestic horror film about a maid destroying a family through sexual predation of the husband, is a noteworthy example of how woman came to be represented as the reason for the downfall of man, family, and class structure—three hierarchies key to nationhood.

Korean neo-noir of the 90s continued this tradition, a genre that localized the remnants of

American noir - including psychiatric thrill, femme fatales, serial killers, crime, and gangs. The iconography of the traditional femme fatale is a danger to the male character, shown visually through sexual power and violent dominance, and this was reflected in portrayals of the promiscuous women who perceivably sought to manipulate men through desire. It wasn’t so much that these women in film were rising into positions of power and asserting economic dominance, but rather showcasing the move away from the loving, doting, subordinate housewife character. They became the enemy, a subject of resentment for betraying centuries-old ideas of male dominance and loyalty to the man. The male subjects felt as though the increased freedom of an oppressed group was an infringement on their freedoms, and this lingering misogyny manifested in mistreatment of other groups that could uphold their sense of security and superiority - namely, children and people with disabilities, who were often equated in status. Song 10

As social awareness progressed and the fight for safe and equal representation has grown, the only group that has remained uniquely consistent in its problematic role in Korean art has been the disabled community. The cultural perception of physically and intellectually disabled people is one that has been shaped by centuries of isolationist policies and the inaccessibility of educational resources for disabled folk which would provide them with a public voice and enable them to tell their own story.

One of the major factors in the formation of this modern Korean ideology is the development of Social Darwinism, a now largely discredited theory posited by Western scholars

- namely Herbert Spencer - as a racist, imperialist, elitist manifestation of Darwin’s ideas of

7 “survival of the fittest.” ​ This mode of thinking “demanded unquestioning loyalty to and ​ sacrifices for ‘state interests,’ strongly disapproved of the ‘illusions of absolute ethics, free will, freedom and democracy’ and hoped that an authoritarian militaristic state would carry out a drastic eugenic programme of total physical elimination of all the ‘unfit’ who were a ‘burden’ on society.”8 ​ The influence of this mode of thinking was much more prevalent in Korea than other bordering Asian countries, as the nation grappled with its threats to independence brought on by external imperial forces and international rivals. The theory was employed by the Korean elite class, equating survival of the individual to the survival of the nation state, in order to justify upholding dominant norms of conservatism. As a result, this was inevitably used to systemically oppress anyone who did not fit the educational and socio-political status which qualified one to be granted full personhood in the eyes of the nation. A societal awareness of disabled bodies as being “incomplete,” especially men who could not fulfil a traditional role, was translated into art

7 Tikhonov, V. (2010). Social Darwinism and Nationalism in Korea: the Beginnings (1880s-1910s). Leiden, The ​ Netherlands: Brill. 4. 8 Tikhonov, V. 6. Song 11

- with castration being a major character marker - and this foundational logic largely persisted throughout the rest of the 1900s.

The representation of disabled folk as symbolic indicators of national lack and shame can be seen throughout the art of 20th century Korea, notably starting in colonial era literature. CHOI

Kyeong-hee discusses this extensively in her text on the short stories of KANG Kyong-ae

(1906-1944), a revolutionary female writer and poet who was a rare outspoken feminist during the colonized era of Korea. CHOI asserts that colonial literature was “marked by a sense of lack, illness, disability, and incapacity,” yet very few have studied the depiction of disabled bodies in relation to colonialism. She continues, arguing that “the figure of disability that has circulated in modern Korean literature, though grounded in traditional cultural conceptions of social order and hierarchy, is a distinctively modern projection of Koreans who lacked mobility and control over lives disrupted and dislocated by simultaneous forces of colonization, capitalization,

9 modernization, and urbanization.” ​ CHOI’s central statement mirrors the state of disability ​ representation in modern Korean cinema that will be explored in this project.

The Film Texts

In the following sections I will analyze two films from each of the two primary genres in which this figure makes an impact on contemporary Korean Cinema - the crime drama and the family comedy. These four films have been selected from an extensive corpus of films10 ​ demonstrating the incredible prevalence and impression of this figure. The texts that were excluded from this particular study, including inspirational sports films and court dramas, also present valuable modes of inquiry into how this figure bleeds into genres and hybridizes

9 Choi, Kyeong-Hee. "Impaired Body as Colonial Trope: Kang Kyong'ae's "Underground Village"." Public Culture 13​ , no. 3 (2001): 431-458. 434. ​ 10 Inspirational sports films: Marathon (2005), Barefoot Kibong (2006); Historical dramas: Seopyeonje (1993), Sado ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ (2015); Court and crime dramas: The Witness (2018), Mother (2009); Television: Young-gu (1972) and many more. ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ Song 12 cinematic tropes as it becomes incorporated into popular culture. Building off of the substantial range of films that contribute to the proliferation of this figure, this analysis will focus on the following four films. The crime drama genre will be explored through two films released in the early 2000s. Memories of Murder (2003) Dir. BONG Joon Ho takes place in 1986 and fictionally ​ ​ narrativizes the case of a real serial killer during this time period. In line with most of BONG

Joon-ho’s oeuvre, the film confronts viewers with an unflattering view of Korea, following the corrupt and inept police force at the height of tension in a nation about to shift dramatically. As one of his earlier films, it was not given as much attention at the time of release, but garnered

11 exponential international recognition after the success of his later films .​ Following this, a ​ thorough examination of Oasis (2002) Dir. LEE Chang-dong will demonstrate how the same ​ ​ figure is portrayed in an intimate setting when he becomes the center of the plot. The film details the story of a complicated romantic relationship that develops between an intellectually disabled man, who was wrongfully convicted of a crime to protect his brother, and a woman with cerebral palsy. Again, despite LEE rising up the ranks of critically acclaimed Korean directors, this film did not receive as much popular attention at the time of its release - gaining much more recognition in niche communities. Contrasting this, the two films in the family comedy genre underscore how the figure reached the masses and became a collective staple of popular Korean culture. Miracle in Cell No.7 (2013) Dir. LEE Hwan-kyung hybridizes the generic tropes of legal ​ ​ drama and family comedy, all within the unique setting of a prison cell, through the story of a father who is wrongfully sentenced to death and abused by the system due to his intellectual disability. The film shattered records at the time of its release, quickly becoming the fifth highest grossing Korean film of all time and shooting its actors to stardom. Finally, Cheer Up Mr Lee ​ (2019) Dir. LEE Gae-byok takes advantage of this figure in its many iterations - the “town fool,”

11 Eg. The Host (2006) and Parasite (2019) ​ ​ ​ ​ Song 13

“the naive father,” and “the troublemaker who doesn’t know better” - and demonstrates how these traits have become so accessible in creating a safe, lovable character for any film. It follows the story of a man, played by a very popular Korean male lead actor, who is described as being “physically fit but mentally slow,” and how he navigates the unexpected role of fatherhood after being notified he has a young daughter with leukemia. Although its theatrical release was limited, much of its popularity can be attributed to its release on Netflix after the COVID-19 pandemic. The response mostly consisted of praise for the comedic acting of the film’s protagonist and it was promoted as a feel-good movie, which indicates how the element of disability discourse and representation has largely been exnominated from the popular media conversation.

Several of the major films to be analyzed further are directed by men who are part of the

“386 Generation” - a term coined in the 1990s by Koreans to describe people who were in their

30’s, had gone to university in the 1980s, and were born in the 1960s. Members of this generation are characterized by having been young adults in 80s Korea, thus making up a very politically active branch of society who sought to fight for democracy at every turn - qualities which actively appear in their art.

Bearing this context in mind, an introduction to the trope of the babo or the intellectually ​ ​ disabled male figure in cinema can be understood through the lens of heightened social awareness and desire to address overlooked issues during this time. This community of directors include BONG Joon-ho and LEE Chang-dong, who harnessed the revolutionary spirit of the 90s and mapped it onto the films to be examined. The two crime films bleed into categories of historical drama and critically delineate their respective periodic contexts. Here, the figure is used retroactively to identify the force that is preventing Korean masculinity from fully Song 14 instantiating itself. The figure is a reference point, showing how the state, class conflict in the

80s and 90s, military dictatorship, and the tension between rural versus urban spaces inhibit masculinity, and thus full personhood. In modern family comedies and dramas, the figure is available and recognizable to the audience due to pop culture proliferation and thus becomes generative in a different mode. This corpus of films, one that has grown exponentially since the turn of the millennium, demonstrate how this figure has become ingrained in the popular imagination, surviving in culture as a caricature and a tool to explore notions of fatherhood, brotherhood, and male character rather than an actualized person.

Crime Dramas: An Introduction to the Figure

Memories of Murder (2003) ​ The portrayal of disabled men in filmic representations of the 60s to 80s, an era of military dictatorship (1963-1988) often highlight a greater abuse of power by authority figures, used to elucidate the greater injustices of the government and manipulate spectators’ emotions in a sympathetic tone. This is clearly the case in BONG Joon-ho’s Memories of Murder which ​ ​ chronicles one rural police department’s ineptitude in catching an elusive serial killer. The figure of the dongnae babo (“town fool”) is brought in early on as a recognizable character for Korean ​ ​ audiences, embodied by Kwang-ho, and he becomes an easy target for the detectives as they go through numerous abusive attempts to conjure a false confession out of him. An extensive analysis of this film will provide an introduction into how this figure operates in broader Korean

Cinema - both as a manifestation of failed male personhood through the eyes of the nation and an expendable character within the narrative.

Hypermasculine performances of selfhood instigate much of the conflict that drive the plot, and any affective sense of lack is mapped onto Kwang-ho’s character. The potential for lost Song 15 masculinity is highlighted first through the infighting among the detectives, one of whom comes from the city hailing American technology as the answer to their problems, and the other whose insecurity about his ineptitude as a rural detective in a more primitive town manifests in violent outbursts. The film’s central narrative takes a backseat to the director’s greater social commentary. It famously ends with a shot of Detective Park staring into the camera after the case goes cold as if to implicate the viewers. BONG conveys a sense of guilt, shame, and impotence with this conclusion, using the unsolved nature of the crimes to reflect a greater sentiment of dysfunction in the country.

BAEK Kwang-ho, the primary suspect in the case and an intellectually disabled adult man, factors into this goal by becoming a throwaway character - a scapegoat for the crime who is repeatedly abused by the police. When the detectives realize he has valuable information as a witness about the actual perpetrator, their roles shift - and yet he ultimately becomes useless to them again, as he gets run over by a train when they try to track him down for answers. He is introduced and removed from the story without any ramifications, his character a literal and metaphorical punching-bag for the protagonists to release their frustrations. His anticlimactic death contributes to their loss of hope for a conclusion, as though the kings have been castrated by the eunuch.

BONG uses Kwang-ho as a narrative tool to showcase greater societal injustices - namely abuse of power by the police and apathy towards murder victims - rather characterizing him with much complexity or depth. Throughout the film, the figure becomes a greater breach to authority without being given any credit. BONG achieves this through a visualized power play, which highlights how Kwang-ho progressed in importance to the detectives, going from a prime suspect Song 16 to a key witness within a matter of weeks, and yet his role in the narrative and the world built by

BONG remained consistent in its invisibility.

Simultaneously, detective Doo-man and his partner Yong-goo come to represent gross incompetence by the police force, as they are unable to fulfill their duties and resort to corrupt tactics. This gradual shift in roles culminates when Kwang-ho encounters a fight taking place in his father’s restaurant and physically disables his police counterpart Yong-goo by piercing his leg with a rusty nail.

Fig. 1.1 Detectives Park and Cho talk down to Kwang-ho, Memories of Murder (14:36) ​ ​

Fig. 1.2 The three sit at an equal level (20:32) Song 17

Fig. 1.3. Bird’s eye view shot of Kwang-ho looking down at detectives (1:41:12)

BONG tracks this progression of power dynamics to build up to the moment before Kwang-ho’s death, wherein the police desperately need his testimony in order to find the real killer. His intention is clear in that there is a dramatic irony to the inefficient detectives asking Kwang-ho for help - a man whom they repeatedly abused and looked down upon, an intellectually disabled man who they viewed as expendable in society. He is scapegoated and interrogated continuously by the police with no real evidence, and his death is not given much attention.

While this is a notable choice in terms of filmmaking and BONG’s masterful ability to critique authority figures this representation is problematic in itself, in that it not only demonstrates a societal perspective towards disabled men at the time, but also how it is perpetuated by modern spectators. Using the detectives’ changing relationship with Kwang-ho to demonstrate their gross incompetence reveals a harmful societal consensus that automatically assumes the ineptitude, inadequacy and lack of inherent value of disabled individuals. As such, critiquing the detectives through this lens requires spectators to have an inherently discriminatory worldview of disabled men. Kwang-ho’s narrative is dismissed entirely, he is stripped of autonomy, and his victimization makes his character out to be a litmus test to gauge the morality of the police officers, rather than granting him a voice.

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Oasis (2002) Dir. Lee Chang-Dong ​ As we move out of the 90s and into the 2000s, Korean films reflect the national trauma of the financial crisis and as a whole focus on the idea of lost male subjectivity. In these situations, intellectually disabled men are alienated, feared, and mistreated, and this societal abuse is perceivably driven by the characters’ inability to fulfill a “traditional Korean male role.” The criminal aspect of this film is less apparent, scattered through a series of instances that include the violent behavior of its protagonist and abuse of the system by surrounding family members.

While Memories of Murder situates this figure in the background to demonstrate the greater ​ ​ cracks in the system, Oasis arrives this same conclusion by putting him in the spotlight. The deep ​ ​ rooted injustices of post-financial-crisis neoliberal Korean society are marked by shifting ideas of success, and with it, changing ideas of full personhood. The protagonist, Jong-du, is evaluated by his family and neighbors based on his ability to uphold a traditional patriarchal structure mediated by this ideology. His relationship to this world is inextricably linked to his ability to provide financially, develop intimate heteronormative relationships, and protect his family - all of which comprise the central conflicts he encounters as he navigates finding a job, falling in love, and grappling with his wrongful conviction. This film strengthens the broader claims made about national cultural expectations, specifically highlighting the aforementioned collective tendency to alienate and abandon those who are not perceived to be unfit for society.

Those who are familiar with LEE’s body of work recognize that he is not one to shy away from taboo topics, bringing to light the grim truth of life for those in marginalized communities. Heinz Insu FENKL states in his note on the cinema of LEE Chang-dong, “for

Koreans, Oasis was, in an ironic way, too familiar, too close to home. It was a brutally realistic ​ ​ depiction of a part of Korean society that many found embarrassing and dissonant. Lee certainly Song 19 understood precisely which buttons to push. But for those who could endure the discomfort,

Oasis also offered a kind of transcendent release by its conclusion, and this was not only due to

12 its power of characterizations and the underlying moral consciousness.” ​ Lee’s work is often ​ critically acclaimed but often faces scrutiny in the public. The lack of consideration by popular audiences can be attributed to this description and Lee, as a filmmaker from the 386 generation, paints a critical and painful picture of society whilst maintaining certain harmful hegemonic ideals. Expressions of masculinity and explorations of national identity in his film, whilst valuable to understanding the true nature of Korea, often come at a cost - falling short in his capacity to deconstruct patriarchal norms.

This is the heart of what makes Oasis stand out from the other films in this selection: the ​ ​ protagonist is neither completely victimized nor antagonized. Jong-du is not a fully redeemable character, and although he is continuously victimized by society for his intellectual disability, he is given the opportunity to project his own identity and make autonomous choices - some of which are surprisingly compassionate, and others which are notably harmful to others. This ambivalent representation seeks to reconstruct the dominant narratives of cinematic subjecthood, but ultimately propels the same national ideas of full personhood.

Additionally, the film is centered around his problematic and unfiltered relationship with

Gong-ju, a woman with cerebral palsy who is also mistreated by those around her. This is the only film where a female protagonist is brought to the foreground and the lesser seen struggles of a woman with a disability in Korea are represented on screen. Gong-ju is abused and infantilized by everyone in her circle, even Jong-du who attempts to rape her following their first meeting.

Her disability heightens a gendered critique of Korean society also brings forth a social

12 Fenkl, Heinz Insu. "On the Narratography of Lee Chang-dong: A Long Translator's Note." Azalea: Journal of Ko​ rean Literature & Culture 1 (2007): 338-356. 341. ​ ​ Song 20 commentary by LEE on the patriarchal capitalist society which perpetuates abuse whilst promoting the illusion of systemic progress. The gendered nature of subjectivity and societal value of personhood can be further understood through the dichotomy of these two characters.

Even as they approach the same goal of control and autonomy, Gong-ju remains a supporting force in Jong-du’s journey to cinematic subjecthood, her story ultimately being used as a reference point to dictate the conditions of his masculine identity.

In his text on the film, Paul PETROVIC details how both Jong-du and Gong-ju

“acquiesce to a worldview in which they are tossed and flung about, relegated to insignificance by their families because of their respective disabilities.” He adds that, “while Oasis charts the ways in which the South Korean nation does not step in to repel the stigma levelled at those with disabilities, the film’s biggest perpetrator remains the prejudiced and predatory capitalistic

13 family across South Korean society.” ​ This is evident in how Gong-ju is abandoned by her ​ brother in a dark apartment, who collects her welfare benefits and lives in a much nicer disability-accessible apartment with his family. In a simultaneous subplot, Jong-du is taken advantage of when he takes the blame for his older brother’s crime and serves prison time because his family does not see the same value in his life or potential. His story concludes with another wrongful conviction, as he is arrested for sexually assaulting a disabled woman despite engaging in consensual relations with Gong-ju. Lee uses these secondary narratives to shed light on the cracks in post-crisis neoliberal Korea, where struggles became personalized, responsibility individualized, and the safety of the state working against those it sought to protect.

For these two individuals, these experiences are only a fraction of the greater injustice that they come victim to - a continuous psychological dehumanization which has seeped through society and removed their identity. In their respective homes, they are seen as a structuring

13 Petrovic, Paul. 37. ​ Song 21 absence. The film’s primary contribution to the development of this figure lies in how it shows the invisibility of the disabled and works to deconstruct non-three dimensional characterizations in cinematic representation.

Fig. 2. Jong-du’s footprints, Oasis (14:12) ​ ​ When Jong-du returns home, the family erupts into emotional chaos, once again not knowing what to do with their brother. They freely discuss their discomfort with his presence and complain about his shortcomings while he is in the next room washing his feet. He is deeply present in their lives, and yet simultaneously invisibilized.

Fig. 3. Gong-ju’s butterflies (24:08) Song 22

Gong-ju projects her identity onto fantasies, some of which are only visible to her, but her erasure and subsequent loneliness is ironically further exacerbated when people are physically present. She is ignored for lack of ability to speak when other people are home, and society consciously avoids her gaze. As such, the claustrophobic nature of how LEE frames her and her fantasies of escape reflect both her physical feeling of limitation, and her mental frustration with being unable to express herself. Operating similarly to BONG’s character in

Memories of Murder who blends in with the world around rather than occupying any physical ​ space, LEE’s film and his characters further contribute to the portrayal of the disabled individual as a figure, not a fully fleshed subject.

What stands out in Oasis is the portrayal of visible vs. hidden disability. As a man with ​ ​ sociopathic tendencies and lack of social awareness, Jong-du’s conditions are not legitimized, and as a result there is a lingering sentiment of resentment by the community with his inability to perform in a traditional masculine role. He is outwardly a healthy adult man, but his presence is set aside, seen as a nuisance or avoided altogether. LEE frames him in various settings that place him at the background of action or inconspicuous locations, composed as if he is not meant to be in the frame. He even makes a meta-commentary of this through a scene with Jong-du interrupting a film shoot and being asked to drive out of the shot.

Song 23

Fig. 4. Jong-du driving a motorcycle in the background of a film shot (31:01)

Neither Jong-du nor Gong-ju are fully seen until they meet each other, a phenomenon which tracks with the ideas of hauntology posed by YOON Seong-ho in his separate discussion on the filmography of KIM Ki-duk. YOON suggests that filmic ghosts are “stand-ins for hidden and invisible others [who] constantly invade our presents and the disenfranchised struggle, like ghosts, in order to maneuver around us and, in doing so, to make their lives still resonating.”14 ​ The ghosts he is referring to are not actual spirits of the deceased, but invisibilized minorities who linger in the physical space of South Korean society but are consciously ignored or erased.

In line with this, LEE Chang-dong’s portrayal of Jong-du and Gong-ju showcase how society delegitimize disabled individuals’ lives, and how they eventually secure this lost identity through acknowledging each other. In recognizing the preexisting non-three-dimensionality in cinematic representations of disabled people at the forefront of his film, LEE paints his characters as structuring absences in the world they occupy.

14 Yoon, Seongho. “Empty Houses Haunted: Hauntology of Space in Kim Ki-Duk's 3-Iron.” Post Script ​ ​ 27, no. 3 (July 2008): 59–68. 66. Song 24

From crime drama to family comedy: a contemporary intervention

Miracle in Cell No.7 (2013) ​ The current state of disability education and advocacy in South Korea remains one of the country’s major issues which has been prioritized in governmental action, but not in the media.

This is where LEE Hwan-Kyung’s 2013 box office hit, Miracle in Cell No.7 presents a small ​ ​ possibility for a shift - both in national sentiment and positive improvements for representation.

Much of the film’s popularity can be attributed to the lighthearted tone that LEE employs, along with the film being marketed as a family comedy. It is aesthetically and formally much brighter than the other films, and despite the protagonist’s tragic demise, the narrative concludes on a note of hope. There are remnants of older portrayals and generic tropes of the Korean crime thriller which have been mapped onto this blockbuster hit, but the addition of a comedic lens conflates LEE’s social commentary with strict entertainment. At times, the characterization of

Yong-gu, a loveable father figure with a childlike innocence, presents its own issues, in that it comes dangerously close to becoming a caricature of the “simple man” trope which dominated

Korean media in the 70s due to the popularity of a pop-culture figure with the same name.

Examining the character’s familiarity and popularity with fans sheds light on the negative implications for this representation of disability. Yong-gu is a man of no faults. His case is unquestionably poorly handled, seeing as the victim was the police commissioner’s daughter and

Yong-gu was only at the crime scene to save her life. Through his wrongful conviction and eventual execution, LEE paints him as a helpless victim who is manipulated by authority figures, educated on social cues by his extremely intelligent young daughter, and pitied by his fellow inmates. That being said, the lack of complexity does not necessarily mean the film is entirely a regression in its representation of disability. LEE uses comedy to shed light on Yong-gu’s Song 25 positive life experiences as well as his hardships, as opposed to the other films where the protagonists are only ever seen through a tragic lens of consistent abuse. Yong-gu is a father first, and much of society’s discontent with his positionality is in how he cares for his daughter - reinscribing patriarchal norms onto his parental responsibilities, and critiquing his inability to conform to traditional expectations when interacting with others. The absence of behavior modeled after filial piety is a common thread in all three films, wherein the three protagonists are all berated for or abused for not respecting older male authority figures. This is particularly significant in this film because much of the narrative is shaped around his friendship with the other inmates in his cell who help him reunite with his daughter. Although they are initially discomforted and angered by his behavior, which can be seen as disrespectful, they slowly recognize his lack of malintent and grow to care for him.

Fig. 5.1. A disdainful gaze: Yong-gu’s first encounter with his cellmates, Miracle in Cell No.7 ​ (22:29) Song 26

Fig. 5.2. A sympathetic gaze: Yong-gu’s cellmates know he is innocent (1:38:58)

LEE’s depiction of Yong-gu’s experience as an intellectually disabled man is significantly shaped by the ways in which he is viewed by society. What we see in this film, much like

Memories of Murder, is an explicit critique of Korean societal structures that harm disabled ​ individuals - a corrupt justice system, abuse of police power, and the media’s perpetuation of certain images. However, we also see the current state of Korean national sentiment, wherein these structural injustices have been widely acknowledged, but traces of discrimination, fear, and resentment towards disabled men have remained in the general worldview and subtle behaviors of the Korean population. In his study on disability discrimination in South Korea within this decade, Jung Youn PARK states that, “the rapid expansion of physical space and of the sense of rights for disabled people, who have been isolated and excluded in South Korea, have led to various forms of conflict and discrimination in new human relationships, which people with

15 disabilities have never experienced before.” ​ As such, what is left in the absence of obvious ​ obstructions of justice by the government is a greater lingering sentiment that subtly manifests in the perspective of South Korean citizens.

15 Park, Jung Youn. “Disability Discrimination in South Korea: Routine and Everyday Aggressions ​ toward Disabled People.” Disability & Society 32, no. 6 (May 2017): 918–22. 919. ​ ​ Song 27

Fig. 6. The hidden gaze: spectators look down at Yong-gu’s media demonstration (15:20)

As a result, Miracle in Cell No.7 leaves us at a place in Korean cinema where we should begin ​ ​ critically assessing the representation of disability and spectatorship. Audiences have the choice to consume this film, fall in love with Yong-gu’s story, and feel like they are a part of the fight for justice - but this viewing experience exempts them from confronting their own internalized beliefs which can be inherently harmful to the disabled community. The next step here is to analyze why his story is so compelling - it is accessible, there is a clear hero, and the film subconsciously necessitates a lens of pity or infantilization in order to keep viewers invested.

Cheer Up Mr Lee (2019) ​ Following this, the most recent text worth examining arguably proves how this trope persists today. Despite efforts to move into more positive representations, the characterization stands out as an amalgamation of the one-dimensional narratives that precede it. iCheer Up Mr ​ Lee (2019) Dir. Lee Gae-Byok details the story of an unexpected father, Chul-soo, who is ​ described as being “physically strong, but mentally slow.” The marketing campaign around this film, featuring one of Korea’s most popular heartthrobs CHA Seung-won - star of numerous romantic comedies and dramas - is extremely telling of our current relationship to this figure.

This story of fatherhood solidifies the relationship between maleness and full personhood as seen Song 28 through the lens of intellectual disability, as it is heavily reliant on preexisting tropes. Much of the narrative can be understood through the rhetorical proliferation of the Ddal Babo (“daughter ​ ​ fool”) - a Korean term that merges the insult to disparage someone’s intelligence with notions of paternal love, to define a loving, doting father, who will go to absurd lengths to protect their daughter. This same term is used and recognized in Miracle in Cell No.7, which deals with very ​ ​ similar themes of personhood and fulfilment of societal expectations through a narrative centered around family.

Fig. 7. International Release Poster for Cheer Up Mr Lee ​ The film, which highlights the protagonist’s physical strength above all, shows how the figure of the “town fool,” merged with the naive father that we saw rise to popularity in Miracle in Cell ​ No.7, furthers notions of virility, masculinity, and patriarchal ideals being mapped onto the ​ intellectually disabled as a means of compensating for what is perceived to be a fundamental

“lack” in personhood. Song 29

Fig. 8. A misunderstanding leads to a chokehold (36:25)

His visual qualities and behavioral tendencies, all derived from previous characterizations of the same figure, cement the trope into modern cultural history. His exaggerated facial expressions and tendency to act out physically, as seen in the above figure, are used to provide comedic relief

- adding to the extensive body of work which has already made a caricature out of this community. Cha’s performance suggests that, rather than moving out of harmful representations, modern media texts have leaned into them - profiting off of the nostalgic appeal of a highly recognizable character trope.

Fig. 9.1 Roles reversed, Chul-soo is fed chips by his daughter (9:20) Song 30

Fig. 9.2 Sitting on the same bench, she offers him a drink (1:29:30)

Despite it being extremely recent in its release, and presuming it will not be given the same critical attention as the aforementioned texts, I include this film to show one crucial argument - the representation of this figure has remained consistent. The cinematic progression of this character has yielded productive inquiries into deep structural and socio-political crises, and yet the figure himself has not been granted sufficient individual autonomy. These portrayals map disability onto the subject as the entire constitution of their being, rather than as a mere aspect of their selfhood. As their disabilities overshadow their other qualities, films make it impossible to see the whole person - binding them to a preconceived notion of lack. Chul-soo’s character arc mirrors the evolution, or lack thereof, in Korean cinematic representation. The above figures depict Chul-soo with his daughter after their first meeting, and then again at the end of the film.

Although their bond has grown significantly and his character has endured a crash course in social responsibility, the nature of their relationship remains the same as she seems to be taking care of him. This imagery - one of a loving, naive, albeit irresponsible father and his wise, mature daughter - is also at the core of Miracle in Cell No.7. Both films rely on this trope to hone ​ ​ in on the heart of their stories, insert an element of comedic irony to having these traditional Song 31 roles reversed, and ultimately return to the lobotomized, infantilized representations that have plagued this community.

Moving Forward

The aforementioned films present, above all, that Korean cinema has a long way to go in terms of disability representation, especially with regards to intellectual disabilities. Although the nation has witnessed variations on the narrative of a disabled adult man, no director has been able to fully encapsulate the lived experience of individuals in this community. However, it goes without saying that realism is not the primary concern of these films, all of which use the characters to reflect a greater social critique about national discrimination and inequality. In addition, these films only include a fraction of the work in contemporary Korean cinema that address disability. A more extensive look into disability representation necessitates the inclusion of films such as Welcome to Dongmakgol (2005) Dir. PARK Kwang-hyun which has perpetuated ​ ​ a common trope of similar intellectual disabilities in women, and Mother (2009) Dir. BONG ​ ​ Joon-ho which centralizes the adverse perspective of fear rather than pity, as the protagonist is the perpetrator rather than the victim. Nevertheless, these films are crucial to understanding a nationally recognizable depiction of disabled individuals in Korean media which has been present for centuries - whether that be in post-colonial literature, comedy sketches on television, or within various genres of cinema. The richness of this figure in the broad cinematic context provide important points of access into contemporary Korean worldviews.

An extended version of this project would address the aforementioned questions of genre, personhood, contemporary politics of popular art, and further examine the history of disability accessibility through an anthropological lens. That being said, this paper is dedicated to serve as an introduction into understanding the often overlooked value of popular media in international Song 32 cinema studies. This raises greater questions of the vernacular in academia regarding global cinema and provides a path into interpreting the collective nation, rather than the outstanding narratives that attract Western audiences. The most well-received Korean films within

English-speaking scholarship and literary spheres are the work of a few distinguished auteurs and most often are recognized for their unique aesthetic qualities - notably, those who employ

16 neo-noir, stylized violence, and hypermasculine performances. ​ However, in order to fully grasp ​ the social commentary and nuanced work of these few directors, more attention must be given to the national ideologies that shape their narratives as well. The recurring themes of these internationally acclaimed outliers who have made their way into “high culture” cinema - vengeance, family values, distrust of authority, and social inequality - are best understood through the popular mediascape, including the aforementioned films which could be considered

“low culture.” This is the cinema that resonates with most Koreans, and the provincialism of

Western media studies impedes a greater effort to appreciate the cinema of this nation through its specific cultural context. As a bilingual international student, holding citizenship in both Korea and the U.S., I was able to approach this particular national phenomenon through an international lens, but it is clear that there is still much work to be done in breaking down these barriers, as the intricate complexities of any topic become lost in translation.

Korean scholars may find the choice to focus on disability representation in cinema premature, considering Korea remains an extremely conservative nation and knowing that the conversation of gender equality would traditionally precede this conversation. A fixation on how disability advocacy and representation have been set aside in favor of a more urgent discourse around gender inequality in cinema erroneously assumes that the two are not deeply linked. An intersectional approach to representation, accessibility, and advocacy is precisely what upholds

16Eg. Oldboy (2003), The Man from Nowhere (2010), or The Chaser (2008) ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ Song 33 the value of this figure - the antithesis of so many other communities who have not been granted autonomy over their narratives in the media. Acknowledging that the conversation of gender and age must preexist the ideas of disability and ability being equated to lacking or full personhood is what grants this figure infinite potential for social commentary.

Finally, and crucially, the decision to focus on Korean Cinema stems from my personal history and interpretation of a distinct national pattern. And yet, the central arguments of this thesis could be applied to any national cinema. Even in Hollywood, seen as the global capital of progressive ideologies in the mediascape, the current state of disability discourse and representation is significantly lacking. The stories of “successful” personhood for the intellectually disabled man being equated to images of fatherhood and physical strength, which we saw in Miracle in Cell No.7 and Cheer Up Mr Lee, are mirrored in Robert Zemeckis’ seminal ​ ​ ​ ​ film Forrest Gump (1994). The emergence of a disabled scapegoat figure who serves only as a ​ ​ supplementary force to the plot, as seen in BONG’s Memories of Murder, can also be recognized ​ ​ in Harper Lee’s To Kill a Mockingbird and its film adaptation through the character of Tom ​ ​ Robinson - a character who is not given narrative autonomy but used by filmmakers to make broader social commentaries due to his ability and race. Pairing this with other films that center

17 disabled men, ​ one can draw very similar conclusions regarding how popular culture maintains ​ unrealistic, tokenizing, and harmful representations as a whole, and will remain so until disabled voices are represented both on and off screen.

17Eg. Rain Man (1988), What’s Eating Gilbert Grape (1993), A Beautiful Mind (2001), etc. ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ ​ Song 34

Works Cited

Choi, Kyeong-Hee. "Impaired Body as Colonial Trope: Kang Kyong'ae's "Underground

Village"." Public Culture 13, no. 3 (2001): 431-458. ​ ​ Fenkl, Heinz Insu. "On the Narratography of Lee Chang-dong: A Long Translator's Note."

Azalea: Journal of Korean Literature & Culture 1 (2007): 338-356. ​ Kim, Kyung Hyun. "The Transnational Constitution of Im Kwon-Taek's Minjok Cinema in

Chokpo, Sǒp'yǒnje, and Ch'wihwasǒn." The Journal of Korean Studies 16, no. 2 (2011): ​ ​ 231-48.

Paquet, Darcy. New Korean Cinema: Breaking the Waves. Wallflower Press, 2009. ​ ​

Park, Jung Youn. “Disability Discrimination in South Korea: Routine and Everyday Aggressions

toward Disabled People.” Disability & Society 32, no. 6 (May 2017): 918–22. ​ ​

Petrovic, Paul. ‘Beyond Forgiveness’?: Lee Chang-dong’s Oasis (2002) and the Mobilisation of

Disability Discourses in the Korean New Wave; In Cultures of Representation: Disability

in World Cinema Contexts. edited by Fraser, Benjamin. 33-46.

Tikhonov, V. (2010). Social Darwinism and Nationalism in Korea: the Beginnings

(1880s-1910s). Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill.

Yoon, Seongho. “Empty Houses Haunted: Hauntology of Space in Kim Ki-Duk's 3-Iron.” Post ​ Script 27, no. 3 (July 2008): 59–68. ​

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Filmography

Bong, Joon-ho, director. Memories of Murder. CJ Entertainment, 2003. ​ ​ Lee, Chang-dong, director. Oasis. CJ Entertainment, 2002. ​ ​ Lee, Gae-Byok, director. Cheer Up Mr Lee. Next Entertainment World, 2019. ​ ​ Lee, Hwan-kyung, director. Miracle in Cell No.7. Next Entertainment World, 2013. ​ ​