Letter #29: Untact / Parasite / Eungyo

 
Good morning, Erin.
 
What’s that? You’re hankering for another three-movie set of micro-letters? Well, golly-gosh, you’re never going to believe this…but that’s exactly what I’ve got for you today!
 
I. Untact
Eun-tak and Start-Up Dead Dad in a short film about lost love and being confined to your home? Well, it’s not them driving around in a Hyundai going record shopping—but I’ll take it!
 
(Seriously, though, I was going to just do a letter about one specific movie (the last one in this letter) for a very specific reason, but then, in the course of a little research, I saw that not only was my beloved Kim Go-eun in this but also Start-Up Dead Dad—who I just said I wished I could see in more things ‘cus I like him so much—and I knew I had to do this one, too.)
 
1. The term “untact,” as I’ve learned, refers to the increased—and, apparently, even pre-lockdown, preferred—minimization of physical human interaction, when it comes to things like ordering food or…actually, I think it’s mostly about ordering stuff, but don’t quote me on that. The terms seems to have originated in South Korea, and, as such, this movie being set during the male lead’s time in returned-from-travel COVID-19 quarantine would make a lot more sense as a title in its home country, because it’s about not interacting with someone in person.
 
2. So, Eun-tak’s thing, here, is that she’s been vlogging, for the last year or so. We find this out because Start-Up Dead Dad is her ex-boyfriend whose friend knows he’s still in love with her and suggests he check out her channel. But the subtitles keep referring to her videos as “v-logs.” Because apparently the subber is from 2003. Hilarious.
 
3. Oh! Start-Up Dead Dad’s friend who tells him about Eun-tak’s vlog is the documentary boss guy from Our Beloved Summer.
 
4. It takes a week for Start-Up Dead Dad to cave and look up Eun-tak’s vlogs. Which is six days and 17 hours longer than I would have lasted, in the same situation. Or, really, even without the isolation excuse.
 
4A. That said, he burns through all her videos as quickly as he can watch them, then he sits there refreshing the page to see if a new one is out yet. And I certainly don’t know what that’s like. Obviously.
 
5. I’m not sure the movie wants us to think about the age gap between these two, but I couldn’t help but wonder about it. Not that I’m objecting to the difference in age, but there was this lingering question, in my mind, about how exactly the two of them met. Was it at work? Did they meet at a party? Because Eun-tak comes off as much younger than she is in real life, in this, so it’s almost like the movie leaves the impression they dated in college, but that can’t be the case. And, no, it doesn’t matter, and I like them both, and who cares ‘cus they’re both adults—but, look, if there’s some secret way to get a Eun-tak, I think it’s only fair that I know about it.
 
6. The first of Eun-tak’s vlogs that we see starts off with her waving to the camera! You know I love a Eun-tak wave! (Or…I mean, as much as I assume you’ve memorized all my letters from daily re-reads, you may not remember that I thought Eun-tak was most adorable in Goblin when she was waving.)
 
7. It’s probably not as impressive as I found it, really, but there’s a great detail in the vlog where Eun-tak and her roommate are doing yoga together: while they’re both in yoga pants, Eun-tak is in a big t-shirt, while her roommate is wearing a tank top. It’s a very quick way to signal their individual personalities.
 
So, yeah. Untact.
 
For what is essentially a really subtle Samsung commercial, it’s a nice time. I don’t think it’s going to move anyone into remembering it much, a couple of days after seeing it, but it’s worth an hour of your time, if you’ve got nothing else going on. Or, y’know, if you love the actors.
 
 
II. Parasite
Yeah, that’s right: he’s jumping on the 2018 Oscars hype-train. A dozen international film awards under its belt—BUT…where will it register on the all-important Darylometer?
 
1. Let’s start with me knowing a handful of the actors:
·         The lead from Our Beloved Summer is the…I hesitate to call him the protagonist, exactly, but I guess he sort of is, given that he is the character who sort of bookends the movie, if nothing else. Anyway, he’s the son, in the poor family. (And, in grand tradition, I didn’t recognize him for 20 minutes because his hair was so different.)
·         Nam Do-san’s aunt/mom from Weightlifting Fairy is back yet again, this time as the rich family’s housekeeper. No trouble noticing it was her.
·         The rich family’s dad was the main dude from My Mister. Good to see him, again.
·         The poor family’s mom is the mom from True Beauty. Which I had to look up.
 
2. It’s a fun and strange detail that, from his time in the Cub Scouts, the rich family’s son is obsessed with American Indians. Because yes, a lot of Scouting is steeped in shallow—though I wouldn’t go so far as to say superficial—homage thereto, but also strange in that I would never think that the Cub Scouts would be that universally similar, as it took root internationally.
 
3. …that said, I don’t know what I’m supposed to take away from that detail. Or, really, the whole rest of the film. I finished and then immediately ran to the internet to explain to me what people liked about this movie, because I thought it was bizarre, empty, and pointless.
 
3A. From what I can tell, there are two camps of fans of this movie: people who only care about the unexpected events that pop up, and people who like the “message” of the movie. I fit into neither of these camps. (I’m over in that camp way over there that’s just grateful to have spent some time with the poor family’s daughter. ‘Cus…gosh, more of her, please.)
 
3B. This movie has neither story nor plot, just a series of events that happen in succession.[1] The actors seem to be solid, but we don’t spend enough time with anyone for them to feel like full-fledged characters. So there wasn’t anything for me to latch on to. And, as such, the “shocking twists” didn’t do it for me, because they felt so detached from everything before them, even when the causal link between each thing was plain to see.
 
3C. Except, and I cannot stress this enough, I love the poor family’s daughter.
 
3D. Now, assuming my research is correct, the “message” camp is made primarily of those of a Marxist (or Marxist-adjacent) persuasion, and they seem to interpret the movie as an indictment of “the system” and how it harms both the poor and the rich. Which…I guess could be what the movie is saying, though it could just as easily be saying that humans are inherently ruinous creatures, and it’s us rather than “the system” that’s at the root of our sorrows, making any railing against external factors (institutions or groups or philosophies or whatever) a self-wounding pursuit in the absence of first addressing the issues within yourself. I mean, I didn’t personally get either of those things, from this. Well, I got that everyone in the movie was an ***hole (…except maybe the rich family’s daughter?) and a parasite of one shade or another, regardless of their stature, but to what end, I could not begin to say. I like story, plot, and character—and those aren’t particularly present in this movie.
 
3E. That said, the internet tells me I’m wrong, so…there you go.
 
4. Oh, I did think it was funny that there’s a cop who explicitly mentions having to read someone his Miranda rights. (Y’know, the spiel that cops have to give you because of the Miranda v. Arizona court case.) I mean, he literally says “Miranda.” They’re in a totally different country—I was stunned to hear him refer to it as such.
 
So, yeah, not a fan. Have you seen it? Did you love it? Were you too busy swooning over the Our Beloved Summer guy to care about the rest?
 
Oh—and the poor family’s daughter was great. I don’t think I mentioned that. Certainly not twice already.
 
 
III. Eungyo (or, A Muse)
And now for the big one: a re-watch of Eungyo, the Korean film I watched on the very first day I got Netflix, and which featured my beloved Kim Go-eun in her professional acting debut.
 
You will recall that I was shocked to see that she was in this movie, when I looked it up again. Aside from the line I mentioned moving, in my A Business Proposal letter, I remember liking this film (and thinking the third act was quite weird).
 
In fact…I just thought to see if I wrote about it in my diary—and whatta ya know:
 

 
Which is as clear as it is vague, no?
 
Anyway. Premise of the movie is that a 70-year-old super-respected writer comes home to find a 17-year-old girl inexplicably napping on his porch, one afternoon. She starts working for him, after school, and they grow pretty close. After that…well, I leave it to you to decide if this is a love story or not.
 
I know I thought it was, in 2017—but let’s see if a five-year gap has changed anything:
 
1. For the record, I don’t think I’d be quite as blasé about a young Eun-tak sitting outside my door as the writer is. Not that he’s totally unmoved by it, but it’s a very casual (albeit brief) exchange a moment later when she wakes up and takes her leave. Like, I don’t know if it’d be paranoid or blushing, but I know I wouldn’t be calm about it.
 
2. I’ve just looked over my notes, again, and…it’s going to be hard to talk about this without getting into the nitty-gritty details of the film, which I certainly don’t want to spoil any of it, if possible…so let’s just say this, up front: I loved this movie. I really liked it the first time, but I was so much more…in the right place, I guess—like, as a person or in my life—for it, this go-round. It’s great. Big recommend—if you’re okay with something a little artsier (and maybe a bit more controversial/”controversial”) than your average story.
 
3. One thing I will “spoil,” though, is that the old writer is attracted to Eun-tak. And one of the ways the movie does this—and I had absolutely no recollection of this—is by emphasizing how unintentionally erotic Eun-tak is, at any given moment. By which I mean the movie uses shots that are meant to be tantamount to the old writer’s perspective, and we see a million little details of her that she isn’t aware of or wouldn’t give a second thought that even we might ignore in real life: glimpses of her waist as she reached for something, how short her shorts are, the way she lies down on a couch—little things like that. Not in a gratuitous or excessive way, just…interesting, I’d say, in how inherently alluring she is to him. They’re great details.
 
3A. To balance this a little, though, there’s a scene where she’s getting her school uniform tailored, and the seamstress specifically comments that Eun-tak seems to want the shirt “too tight” and the skirt “too short,” so there’s this ambiguity added to the whole thing: is she trying to look sexy/”sexy” for herself? for someone else? if someone else, is it someone specific or just some potential someone (boys in town, that sort of thing)? is she aware of how the old writer sees her? is she looking for his response? is this nothing at all to do with him but with her not realizing that looking sexy/”sexy” in one scenario (at school, in town) doesn’t just stop in other places (the old writer’s house) just because she isn’t looking for it to? is she aware of it but thinks it doesn’t matter because he’s an old man?
 
3B. My opinion? I don’t think she’s trying to flash skin for him. Whatever else I think of their relationship and their feelings for each other, I didn’t get “seduction” from her.
 
4. …that said, there’s a lot more naked Eun-tak in this than I remembered. So…be ready for that. (Not that it’s excessive, but…I’d probably have shot the scenes differently. Kept the content, but maybe shot it differently.)
 
5. There is a discussion, in the movie, of whether or not poetry is a higher form of art than novels. And, to weigh in on this, I’d argue that—broadly speaking—yes, it is. Though, I want to clarify: great poetry will do for the human heart what a great novel will do, but a great poem will do it in far fewer words—and, as such, a great poem must therefore be even more in tune with the heart of the matter it discusses. In other words, it is more concentrated and therefore more potent. HOWEVER…there are other factors to consider in this comparison that might tilt the conclusion to a more specific discussion of this point in a different direction.
 
5A. That said, if you’re not Hamlet, does it even matter?
 
6. It is always beautiful, when two people connect. Human connection is our echo of divinity, our tenuous tether to the perfect. But connection exists in the trappings of our corporeal world, and so its…ethereal purity is corrupted. That is, while there is no stricture that bounds connection, its beauty can only fracture when pulled into our living context. As such, love never just is. It can’t be. Sadly. Understandably, perhaps, in some cases, but always sadly.
 
And…yeah, let’s leave it at that.
 
My past self was right to find the movie heartbreaking—but I think I found it even more heartbreaking this time around. The ending is still a little…odd, even if it makes sense. It just happens very quickly, I think. But it’s a great film, regardless. And, again, big big big recommend.
 
 
 
Anyway.
 
That’s all I’ve got for you, today, Erin. But I’ve got another one bubbling in the background for you very soon—and you’re going to be very excited about it, I promise.
 
Well, okay, I can’t really promise you’ll be excited, but I’m pretty sure you’re going to like it.
 
I think.
 
Maybe.
 
…maybe.
 
--Daryl
 
  
 
 
 
 
P.S. – Apropos of nothing: I was listening to a song, this morning, about a girl who listens to songs about breakups and pretends that she has ex-boyfriends so that there’s reason for her to feel moved by the songs. And it reminded me of your (and Hee-do’s) story. Well, a much more passive version of your story, but…still.

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[1] ***SPOILER ALERT*** There are several strands in the movie that are brought up and then dropped immediately, and this contributes significantly to why I say this is just a series of successive events rather than a story. Just looking at the rich son, we are given two pieces of information that would seem to be significantly relevant to what’s going on: 1) that he is faking his whole wild dreamer shtick, and 2) that he knows Morse Code and is shown jotting down the dots and dashes sent by the housekeeper’s husband. Neither of these come into play—at all. They’re just…there.
    Worse, these details—and many others—are just excuses to justify things that happen later in the movie. His persona allows the poor sister to swindle her way into the household. He’s obsessed with American Indians to make it clear (…“clear”?) that he’s a Cub Scout. He’s a Cub Scout so he can be assumed to know Morse Code. The assumption of knowing Morse Code allows us to see the housekeeper’s husband using Morse Code from the bomb shelter. The housekeeper’s husband uses Morse Code from the bomb shelter so that the poor family’s dad can use Morse Code when he is forced to hide in the bomb shelter. One thing leads to the next—technically—but only 1) if you work backwards in an attempt to say, “How do we justify ending with the poor dad in the bomb shelter sending Morse Code messages?” and 2) follow the ludicrous idea that the “story” is about how the dad ended up in the bomb shelter…which it absolutely is not.
    Which leaves us with the idea that this is a movie about the “message” and nothing else—because we have to assume that something must be driving its existence—regardless of whether that’s true or not.