hankyoreh

Korean film has not been doing so well this year. It has actually been something of an embarrassment. Part of the industry’s poor performance can be attributed to repeated offensives by big Hollywood films, but it has also been for a lack of movies that give either artistic or entertainment satisfaction. May 18, which opened just a few days ago, has straightened out the wrinkled pride of Korean film a little. It is the first Korean film to sell the most advance tickets in 13 weeks, that honor having previously been taken by foreign films.

Advance ticket sales do not, of course, guarantee a good overall box-office performance. However, the day May 18 opened it sold 126,000 tickets in 490 theatres. Ahead of the July 26 weekend, it has been playing in 520 theaters, so there are things that make you hope it might break the record for a domestic film in its first week. (Currently that record is held by Voice of a Murderer, which was seen by 1.4 million moviegoers in its first week.) Audiences are responding well to May 18. It deliberately brings up political issues and there are some critics who say it lacks artistic perfection, however most audiences are moved to tears while sympathizing with the pain of Gwangju 27 years ago.

It is in this sense that May 18 suggests a lot for Korean film and the crisis it faces. Much about the crisis originates from internal factors, and it was in this context that members of the film community took the unusual move of declaring a “grand compromise” to overcome it. The biggest causes of the crisis are excessive production costs and poorly-made films. Even May 18 had more than 10 billion won spent on it, but more than half of that was spent on building the kind of set necessary to establish historical authenticity and the number of people involved. The fees paid to actors and for planning and marketing were fair. Also, while most big productions try to achieve popular appeal, May 18 sought to be moving and popular without damaging historical authenticity.

The Gwangju massacre of May 18, 1980, is a subject any artist might want to work with, but it is also material that cannot be deal with easily, not by anyone. Mainstream Korean society is still composed of people who were perpetrators or who stood by watching, and the victims live with deep wounds even today. Being highly politically explosive, this is material you are far more likely to fail with than succeed. May 18, however, deals with the subject head on yet still succeeds at delivering both a slice of historical tragedy and dramatic emotion.

The events of that day continue to define Korean life. It is a tragedy that could even be repeated if not remembered, but it is a part of history already being forgotten by Koreans in their twenties and thirties. We express our gratitude to those who have restored it clearly in the lives of the country.



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