REVIEW: Unlikely Homegrown Korean Hit Reaches U.S. Shores; Lee Jung-
Hyang's "The Way Home"
http://www.indiewire.com/film/reviews/rev_021114_TheWayHome.html

by Erica Abeel

(indieWIRE: 11.14.02) -- How can the scene of a kid rearranging
clothespins on his grandmother's clothesline deliver a big emotional
payoff? Well, that's precisely the feat achieved by "The Way Home,"
the stunningly assured and affecting second feature by the young
South Korean director Lee Jung-Hyang. Opening in Seoul with almost no
advance hoopla, her film about the unconditional love of a
grandmother became a surprise box-office smash, outperforming "Spider
Man," "Oceans Eleven," and "A Beautiful Mind" in the South Korean
market. "Way," which Paramount Classics releases tomorrow, was also a
standout at this year's Toronto Film Festival's 10-film country
Spotlight titled "Harvest: South Korean Renaissance."

To the surprise of many -- and the piqued interest of Hollywood --
South Korea, along with India, boasts a thriving indigenous film biz
that holds its own alongside American blockbusters. This is partly
due to domestic quotas -- but also the burgeoning taste of Korea's
cinephile public for homegrown product. The flowering of South Korean
film is all the more remarkable since the Japanese occupation in
1937, and then the Korean War, destroyed most of its rich cinematic
past. Now, such remarkable films as "Way" -- along with "Chiwaeseon"
by old master Im Kwon-taek, which shared best director honors at
Cannes -- are deservedly finding distribution in the West.

"Way" tells the simplest of stories: city-bred Sang Woo gets fobbed
off on his rural grandmother for the summer by his out-of-work mother
while she gets her life together. Partially deaf and mute, the
grandmother is at first an object of derision for the self-reliant,
bratty kid hooked on Western toys and junk food. But eventually he's
transformed by her devotion.

Echoing a leitmotif in Korean cinema, the grandmother is a variation
on suffering, subservient woman, a character type that has alienated
some Western viewers. And at first, it must be said, "Way" is less
than inviting, with sequences that include a lined ancient woman bent
double, fetching water from the well like an old pack horse, and
there's little dialogue. Yet under the director's sure hand, the
grandma becomes a welcome, even radiant image -- the viewer is
seduced along with the grandson. And despite the meager plot, Sang
Woo's character travels a grand arc, bringing fresh credibility to
minimalism.

The boy's transformation occurs through minuscule increments. A
French lit major back in college, director Lee Jeong-Hyang skillfully
uses the telling detail that Stendhal named "les petits faits vrais"
to chart Sang Woo's evolution. In a rage over his rural exile, he
pees on the grandma's clogs and later hides them, so that she must
journey barefoot over rocks to the well. When his precious Game Boy
breaks down, he steals her one treasure to buy batteries. He roller
blades around her, as if she didn't exist; in contrast, she sweeps
around him as he lies on the floor, to avoid disturbing him. He
throws a tantrum when the chicken she serves him is not from Kentucky
Fried.

The clothesline byplay marks the boy's first recognition of his
grandmother as more than just an irritating object, but his actions
understand before his heart. By mid-film, the word "retard" he's
written on the walls has been crossed out. The turning point arrives
when he realizes his grandmother has sold her watermelons in the
market to get him money for the batteries he no longer wants.

The film's deliberate pace soon stops feeling slow; you happily de-
accelerate to embrace its rhythms. Except for Sang Woo (Yoo Seung-
Ho), the characters are played by non-pros recruited on location. As
the grandmother, the marvelous 78-year-old Lee Eul-Boon, who had
never seen a film, embodies both the serenity of village life and
some bounteous force of nature. The film's visually austere style
resists hyperbole over the landscape, instead allowing the nights
alive with tree frogs, misted mountains, and lime green fields to
diffuse a magical presence.

Adding breadth to this "small" film is a barely concealed attack on
Western culture -- the fast food and electronic gizmos stand in for
emotional coarseness and hollow values. In contrast are the
innumerable small kindnesses that make of the village a cohesive
community (the grandmother gives away the "nourishment for old
people" brought by her daughter to a sick neighbor.) "The way home"
is a metaphor for a retreat from the West and the detritus of
American markets, and an embrace of traditional Korean values of
family and community (though in a striking dissonance, Western music
cues the viewer at key moments). The grandmother becomes a guiding
spirit who enables Sang Woo to find his path.

Can a film at the farthest remove from the din and pointless fury of
typical Hollywood fare fly in America? Perhaps, because it traffics
in universal emotion. It speaks to a yearning for home, wherever that
may be. And at seven, this child precociously understands the great
gift of unconditional love that may never come his way again --
though whatever else happens in his life, he's firmly grounded.
Unlike the shameless manipulation standard in big studio productions,
this admittedly teary film avoids sentimentality, because it earns
the emotion it generates.