The Korea Society Interviews Park Chan-wook

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South Korean star director Park Chan-wook has thrilled both critics and audiences in his native country for a decade. His "vengeance" trilogy brought international recognition, including a Cannes Film Festival Grand Prize and a Jury Prize, and established Park as a virtuoso filmmaker with a thoroughly original artistic vision. On July 24, 2009, The Korea Society recorded a special interview with director Park Chan-wook in which he spoke about his influences, his meteoric ascension into the pantheon of internationally celebrated directors, and his latest film, Thirst.

Q: Song Kang-ho is enormously popular in Korea, mostly for playing crude, lower-class gangster types. Here he's cast as a priest. How do you think the audiences will react to him in this very different role?

Also, I thought Kim Ok-bin, a relatively unknown, was a gem in this film, with very glamorous and elegant movements--at times almost like a puppet. Likewise, Kim Hae-sook, whose character becomes paralyzed during the movie and can only communicate through her eyes, had to play a difficult role. How did you make these casting choices?

A: Song Kang-ho is a very close friend of mine, a weekly drinking buddy even. He's been in many of my previous films before. In fact, 10 years ago when I first came up with a coherent concept for Thirst, I told Song Kang-ho about it right away: We were on the set of JSA at the time. So in a very natural and unforced way, both of us agreed at that time—10 years ago—that he would star in this project. When I decided to start up the film, then, I didn't have to ask him to star and he didn't have to ask me for the part.

Of course Song Kang-ho has been in many films already, but I wanted to show a side of him that we haven't seen in any of his previous roles. In one of the films we did together, Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance, Song played a really cold, cruel character, so in Thirst, I thought it would be very interesting to show him as wishy-washy, nervous and indecisive.

When casting Kim Ok-bin, the female lead for Thirst, what first drew me to her were her hands. Most Korean actresses have very small, delicate hands. Kim Ok-bin's hands are rough and rather large, larger than some men's hands, even, with thick knuckles. So when you look at her hands, they're scary in a way, very imposing. Her hands, especially when contrasted with her beautiful face, really show that she has this force that grips something and won't let go. So, it was her hands that I thought would really give her character the sense of being a femme fatale.

Kim also dances very well. When you see her acting, even if she's just doing something simple like walking, it's very elegant to watch. There are some flying scenes in the film, which we did with wire action, and she does them very gracefully. The way she takes flight, or lands, is almost like dancing.

Kim Hae-sook is, of course, a seasoned, veteran actress and for her and for myself, as a director, her character in the film was a sort of challenge. Playing someone that has lost all means of expression, with only their eyelids to convey meaning, confirms how great her abilities are as an actress. It was an exciting character challenge for both of us.

Q: One location in the film, the Happy Hanbok House, is very unique: A Korean clothing shop built in a Japanese style, where women drink Russian vodka, play Chinese Mahjong, and listen to Korean "trot" music by Lee Nan-young. The shop is the scene of much jealousy, hatred and death. Clearly the Happy Hanbok house is not a happy place. Was its ironic name your idea?

A: In the early stages of the script I called it the Saimdang Hanbok Shop, after Shin Saimdang, the famous 16th century poetess and painter. This was a strange name in its own right, but as I rethought it, I found that the name Haengbok Hanbok had a lyrical quality to it, and with "haengbok" meaning happiness or good fortune, this contrast really pops up between the store's name and the unfortunate, tragic things that happen there.

I think the most comic aspect of the hanbok shop are the mannequins. The mannequins used for traditional Korean clothing and for Western clothing are actually quite different, and are made quite differently. Mannequins made to exhibit Korean clothing are actually made with smaller, rounder faces and smoother body lines; it fits what some might call a more typically Korean sense of beauty. Mannequins for Western clothing are completely different. What we did, then, was to dress Western-style mannequins in traditional Korean clothing.

These visual aspects, along with the music in the film—which included Johannes Sebastian Bach as well as old Korean music by Nam Isu and Lee Nam-young—and along with the narrative elements, all reflect the theme of how external forces, things from the outside, come face to face with and clash with things on the inside. These external things can be accepted or rejected, and that's what I wanted to show. Vampirism and Catholicism are both external things that have been brought to Korea from the West. The occupation of priest is also a part of that external religion, which was brought to Korea. Sang-hyun the priest is, in a way, an external person who has intruded on this closeted family of three. You can see this idea in the way the FIV virus works as well, how the process of becoming a vampire starts with foreign blood entering one's body. All these things center around the idea of an external entity making its way inside.

Q: It's especially interesting to build a movie around a priest vampire because, more than ordinary people, priests must suppress physical desires and pleasures. The film is peppered with biblical metaphors and Catholic symbolism, like Sang-hyun cleaning Tae-ju's feet. I believe you were raised in a strict Catholic family. Did this upbringing influence how you made Thirst?

A: It's true I was raised Catholic, but my family wasn't particularly strict about it, rather more liberal. I never felt any pressure to make this film, or not make this film, because of my upbringing. Although I haven't attended church regularly since I was in high school, I have always had a great respect for the role of priests, because they renounce their own pleasures and desires. I think people who choose to become priests are halfway martyrs for the church in that sense, and for that I have great respect for them.

A priest that experiences the most difficult trial, of becoming a vampire against his will, of suddenly being able to remain alive only by killing others, when his instincts have only ever been to help people: I wanted the film to show how painful and agonizing an experience that must be. The other element that I think shows I do, in fact, have a reverence for Catholicism and religion in general, is that even as the character is going through this difficult experience, he does not renounce or abandon his faith, his religion. He's a vampire, but he does everything possible to avoid killing. Even if he has to commit a sin, he tries to make it a lesser one, and so forth. The greatest tragedy of this character is that he is unable to throw away either his vampire desires or his religion, and he has to struggle to make these very incompatible elements co-exist somehow. That's the greatest tragedy. If there is any comedic segment in the film, it's in those scenes where we see Sang-hyun struggling to make this co-existence happen.

Q: It's difficult to place Thirst into one specific genre. It could be a religious drama, a love story or a horror film. It's also hard to find one clear theme. It could be a story of redemption, forgiveness, morality or even love. At a press conference you did after coming back from Cannes with the Jury Prize, you said that film festivals considered Thirst to be a commercial film, whereas Koreans considered it a highly artistic film. What do you think the film is, and how do you want audiences to read it?

A: I think the difference in those two opinions —with Koreans considering an art film, and international audiences considering it a more commercial film—is somewhat artificial, and I think it comes from the fact that film festivals, like Cannes, usually invite films that are very strong artistically, thus compared to those films, Thirst might be regarded as more commercial.

Anyway, it's meaningless to classify my films as either artistic or commercial. If I have to choose a category, of course, I'd say that I direct commercial films: because I get paid and because the work can only be accomplished by a huge amount of investment, so in that sense they're definitely commercial. As a commercial film director, I feel a strong sense of responsibility for the film's financial success. Also, I'm not only a director, but a producer. Therefore, I'm very responsible for making a successful commercial film. At the same time, I don't want to limit myself and my films to any one category. I prefer to be seen as a film director who makes unique films with a recognizable style, not a director who makes artistic films. Ultimately, I aim to make films that present a unique vision.

Q: You once said in an interview, after shooting Old Boy, that "to shoot an action scene is really hard, and I'm not really good at it." In fact, you are renowned for depicting violence in a beautiful and stylized way. Violence is critical part of your movies, though it tends to be about more than just violence for violence's sake; it helps to explain characters and emotions, and helps to define themes. For example, in the screening I attended of Thirst, the audience really reacted--some with laughter--to the violent ending. With all that said, what's the meaning of violence in this film?

A: It would probably be more accurate of me to say that, rather than having a difficult time making violent action sequences, I'm often annoyed by making them. I would prefer to convey my stories to the audience through the actors' subtle emotional changes, not through violent action scenes. It's not fun at all. Thus, I try to limit those kinds of scenes. But here I'd like to clarify the difference between violent scenes and action scenes.

The sorts of action scenes I get annoyed by are martial arts scenes, gunfights, car chases and explosions. I don't enjoy shooting these scenes. So, you have to set those sorts of scenes - which are really just eye candy - apart when discussing how violence can be an essential part, and at times the most important part, of my films.

I have very strict criteria on how I use violence in my films. First of all, I don't use violent action scenes as a way of expressing resentment or rage. Second, I don't use them as visual pleasures. For example, Kung Fu films have fight scenes that are very beautifully choreographed and filmed, and are fun to watch in and of themselves. Such violence has its merits, but it doesn't apply to my films. The reason why my films have as much violence and action as they do is that I want to deal with the anguish violence causes, in both the perpetrator and victim; whether it be psychological pain, physical pain or guilt. Sometimes, when such scenes embrace ironic circumstances, they become comic and if it's not handled correctly, it's possible for the audience to get the impression that the director is ridiculing human pain. Thus, I shoot these scenes very carefully. When I shoot violent scenes with irony, my goal is to make the audience feel sorry for laughing at the end.

Q: Having won at Cannes not once but twice, and having received an unprecedented amount of publicity for your work in Korea, the expectations for your next film must be high. Do you feel any pressure to deliver future projects?

A: Believe it or not I don't feel any pressure for having won again at Cannes. Standing on the stage at Cannes was a brief moment. As a director, most of the time I'm pretty occupied with writing scripts, planning with crews, talking with actors and so on. Therefore, such a grandiose event is really a fleeting moment in the daily life of a director.

As for future plans, I've been receiving many scripts from the U.S., and I'm looking right now. I'm working on a film in Korean, and I'm ready to shoot in France or Japan or wherever a good, exciting script may take me.