by Ed Travis
Open your Korean horror/mystery with a Bible passage about the nail holes in Jesus’ hands and feet and just see how hooked you can get your audience. South Korean filmmaker Na Hong-Jin kicks off The Wailing with a bold confidence born of past filmmaking success with The Chaser and The Yellow Sea. Those films were calling card enough for The Wailing to be an instant watch, and Hong-Jin does not disappoint.
Taking place in South Korean redneck territory, The Wailing focuses on a rural town in the grips of a recent rash of curious murders. Bumbling officer Jong Goo (Do Won Kwak) tries his utmost not to get involved: lounging around in a patrol car, scrolling through his phone, arriving late to every new crime scene. But this is a small town, and rumors are swirling everywhere. Most involve a “Jap” who recently moved to the village seemingly just as the crimes began. Before too long local shamans and Catholic priests are being called in to assist with these families who’ve been violently extinguished by one of their own, where the survivors seem to be the perpetrators, but are covered in boils and raving lunatics by the time law enforcement arrives. As tensions rise and rumors swirl, Jong Goo quickly crosses the line from disengaged police officer to personally invested father and husband, his disregard for his profession and any rule of law never once entering into the equation.
All of this sets the stage for an idiosyncratic film experience, very clearly dabbling in horror tropes and mystery/thriller procedural which somehow manages to feel like really nothing that’s ever come along before. Also written by Hong-Jin, The Wailing’s tale involves the crossroads of differing religions in an area of the world where Westerners may not quite have a handle on the cultures and customs. Being unfamiliar with the traditional religious practices of the area kept me on the edge of my seat as exorcisms and bizarre rites were performed by a track-suit wearing shaman. Familiar ghost/demon tropes feel far less familiar when broken free from the traditional Catholic interpretations seen so often in horror cinema.
And when it comes to Korean cinema, fans well know that virtually anything goes. The totally unpredictable nature of Korean film combined with the prowess of Hong-Jin creates a space for a spine-tingling kind of horror which had me frightened and uncomfortable for long stretches of The Wailing.
Speaking of long stretches, the movie clocks in at over two and a half hours which, while not uncommon in Korean cinema, was almost certainly not needed. Granted there are moments in the first half which let the characters breathe and which set the stage for the second half to feel cataclysmic. And the slowness of rural life is well illustrated by the pace of the film. But for as lengthy as the film is, and for as effective as it becomes due to unfamiliarity with the customs, the ending does feel quite dense and challenging to follow. In order to make good on the mystery, the audience is left in the dark on a few things which creates great tension but also leaves a few questions lingering. Those questions might not linger as hard for a Korean audience as it did in my Western mind, but I can only guess as to some of the meaning and purpose behind some of the final sequences.
Challenging ending taken into consideration, The Wailing still remains an excellent viewing experience and a fascinating melting pot of a story. Deftly bouncing from horror to mystery to rural drama, Hong-Jin keeps the audience on their toes. The explorations of clashing religions and modernity versus old world spirituality are particularly fascinating. And the casual racism our characters display towards “The Jap” (Jun Kunimora in a beguiling performance) also make for a dynamic “is he or isn’t he” game. Inside of the spiritual duality of the film there’s a constant reflection on whether there are ghosts, and if there are, can they be flesh? Touching and placing hands on another being (along with photographing them) seem to be paramount to the events of the film, and the nature of the corporeal is deftly explored, ever harkening back to the opening scripture about Jesus’ resurrected body.
Western fans of Korean cinema have a treat waiting for them with Na Hong-Jin’s latest. While very dissimilar to his previous work, it has the advantage of feeling fresh and original. Maybe there are dozens of Korean films exploring religious horror and clashing traditional religions with the Catholic faith, but I’ve never seen them. And that set me up to be equal parts riveted and terrified.
And I’m Out.
