Summertime

 

A student activist endures the summer heat in a provincial town peeping through the floorboards of his  second floor apartment, lusting after a woman who is someone else's wife. Heralded by critics to be a bold examination of human relationships and symbolic of South Korea's violent and uneasy path towards democracy, director Park Jae-Hong's controversial and erotic movie could have arguably been all that, had it not been a déclassé and unacknowledged remake of Peque Gallaga's 1985 classic film, Scorpio Nights.

The year is 1980 and Sang-Ho (Ryu Su-Yeong) is one of many students who are on the run following the Kwangju incident. Fearing apprehension, he seeks refuge in a rural town, renting a small room above a place occupied by a young couple; biding time, waiting for things to settle down. He's a virtual stranger in this part of the country where he doesn't know a single soul, and as his prolonged isolation and constant fear of being caught gets to him, along with the humid weather, Sang-Ho turns to voyeurism to while away time. Spying through holes in the floorboards, Sang-Ho starts to lust after Hee-ran (Kim Ji-Heon) who lives downstairs. Observing her each and every move, Sang-Ho finds pleasure in watching Hee-ran prance around the house in a charmeuse chemise without a care in the world. He spends his days and nights fantasizing about the young woman, and looks upon the young couple as  part of his daily  routine. He's aroused and titillated by the mechanical way in which the husband, Tae-yol (Choi Chul-Ho) makes love to his wife; bewildered by the cool and detached way in which they treat each other.

Drunk with desire and loaded with restless energy, Sang-Ho seizes the chance to make his dream into a reality by stealthily entering the couple's apartment while Tae-Yol is away and having sexual intercourse with an inert yet receptive Hee-ran. This first encounter leads Sang-Ho to risk another lovemaking session, where a sexually stimulated Hee-ran is roused from her state of half-slumber to discover that the man she was with was not her husband. And so begins a dangerous love affair, characterized by peep shows and stolen moments; marred  only by the looming threat of getting caught by Hee-ran's volatile husband.

Summertime is, by all respects, your average film erotica with ample nudity and sweaty simulated coupling staged in the confined spaces of a warmly lit, sparsely furnished, one room apartment. It beckons viewers to share Sang-Ho's growing infatuation with the pretty neighbor who lives right below his dark temporary abode in the midst of the dreary landscape; showcasing the peephole as a passageway to a world that promises unbridled passion and life...  As a sex film,  it accomplishes its purpose of providing a means of escape, it even manages to lavish actress Kim Ji-Heon with the camera work and attention befitting an object of desire. Director Park Jae-Hong teases his audience well, showing  Hee-ran lazily draped on the bed; it's accentuated by shots that show the hem of her chemise momentarily lifted by a rotating fan, just enough to expose a lacy undergarment. Viewers can't help but be mesmerized by this imprisoned goddess who languidly stretches about like a cat, it's actually in these uninhibited moments that one sees what Sang-Ho sees and dares to covet. At times the camera angles are downright lascivious but these bits and pieces serve as a fitting prelude to the two characters' endless bouts of sex.

As a film that allegedly makes a statement on the political climate of South Korea in the early 80s, Summertime is more of a clumsy attempt at injecting historical relevance to an otherwise lousy knockoff of a Filipino "experimental" film. And while on an intellectual level it might be plausible to argue that the three characters in this story represent a microcosm of Korean society at a time when student activism was instrumental in raising the awareness of the masses to fight against an oppressive regime, the elements introduced in the story were far too weak, too flimsy to support this interpretation. For all intents and purposes, it is an intriguing analogy-- to liken a bloody revolution to an extramarital affair-- the problem is,  even though the events that transpired in the movie occurred shortly after the Kwangju incident, the actual references thereto were far too limited to overcome or draw attention away from the movie's sexual content. A short radio announcement at the beginning of the film, a few lines from Sang-Ho admitting his minor participation in the incident and a Time magazine article splattered with his semen does not exactly alert the average viewer to Summertime's underlying political content. As such, the variations from the original story appear to be more of contrivances to romanticize the affair, with the back story as to how Hee-ran and Tae-yol's marriage came about being more of an afterthought than a deliberate move to further the plot.

At best, Summertime stands out as a product of South Korea's liberal film policy; it's more of a reflection of the reduced level of government censorship that the industry enjoys as a result of the country's shift from a military dictatorship to a thriving democracy instead of an actual representation thereof. What makes it less compelling than its lesser known predecessor is perhaps the writer's failure to recognize the limitations of its source material. Scorpio Nights was conceptualized first as a "bold film" that challenges the general notion of what is and is not pornographic. Partly inspired by Nagisa Oshima's In the Realm of Senses, it slowly evolved into an exhilarating and nerve-wracking piece of cinema that explores human behavior in the throes of passion, or rather in that movie's case,  how humans react in the clutches of unhampered lust. It's a movie that took advantage of the no-censorship policy that came out in the mid-80s and is one of the most notable products of the Experimental Cinema of the Philippines (ECP) mainly for its controversial content and heady depiction of infidelity in such close quarters. Scorpio Nights succeeds to capture one's attention not only because of its visceral images but also because of the heightened sense of danger that comes with the more frequent and daring encounters between the two lovers. In effect, it was more straightforward, more grounded, unlike Summertime which had to contend with layering such a simple plot in order to justify the film's [pretend] depth.

As a standalone film, Summertime's use of sexual imagery inevitably overshadows the political aspect it tried so hard to integrate within the original story. Part of the fault lies in the failure of the movie and its characters to engender a sense of reality, there's almost an artificial quality to it that's very disengaging from the very beginning. Ryu Su-Yeong as the student who stirs up this forbidden passion from the complacent Hee-ran plays Sang-Ho like a lovestruck, hormonally charged teen more than a heroic activist turned  enraptured  lover. Meanwhile, Kim Ji-Heon's Hee-ran appears too happy in her gilded cage to be mistaken for an oppressed and detained wife.  All decked in lipstick and rouge, her sudden desire for freedom after experiencing the pleasures of the flesh  in turn make for a frivolous heroine as the supposed love story between her and Sang-Ho never developed naturally. It's one messy affair as the film never really managed to bring out the political narrative that was theoretically hiding underneath its erotic artifice. For this reason, one is much better off watching Scorpio Nights; it has a more direct and honest approach, furthermore, anyone who's seen it can attest that it never fails to incite discussion.

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Actresses

Six actresses, one photo shoot.

Lee Je-Yong's Actresses takes its audience behind the scenes of a high-fashion shoot in an attempt to offer a glimpse into the psyche of six of Korea's top actresses, playing an onscreen version of themselves. Discussing everything from how growing old in show business is treated like a crime, to how something as common as a divorce could adversely affect a celebrity's standing, this movie contains a chockful of references pertaining to the six actresses' personal lives whilst threading lightly on the underlying truth that they all belong to an industry obsessed with youth and beauty.

Beginning with a candid interview detailing how each actress feels about being in the limelight, the movie cuts to the arrival of each actress to this one of a kind Vogue photoshoot to exhibit six generations of actresses, each in different stages of their careers.

Veteran actress Yoon Yeo-Jung (Hotelier, Be Strong Geum Soon) impeccably dressed in a sable coat arrives an hour early at the venue, followed by relative newcomer Kim Ok-bin (Thirst, Accidental Gangster & the Mistaken Courtesan), who's decided to wait in the parking lot a while longer to avoid carrying on an awkward conversation with her senior. Next to arrive is a casual and laidback Ko Hyun-Jung (Queen Seonduk, What's Up Fox) in a randomly thrown outfit, with a dazed and jetlagged Kim Min-hee (Love Marriage, Some Like it Hot) hot on her heels, rounded off by a composed Lee Mi-Suk (Untold Scandal), showing off some grey hairs. Last and fashionably late is Choi Ji-Woo (Winter Sonata) who, after fretting about her face looking bloated, decides to honor her commitment to do the pictorial, thinking twice about being photoshopped into the group picture.

What follows is a mock documentary as the women measure themselves against each other, starting with the way they look to how the star system is carried over the photoshoot. Confronted with the challenge of sharing a magazine cover, personal issues start to crop up, as the seasoned pro can't help but feel insecure after hearing that she was called in as a last minute replacement and the newbie tries to keep her head down and not draw too much attention to herself; while the others try their best not to behave like primadonnas. 

Actresses has a solid first half thanks to the natural rapport of actresses Ko Hyun-Jung, Lee Mi-Suk  and Yoon Yeo-Jung, who frankly deliver their opinions on common subjects such as cosmetic surgery and skin care like ajuhmmas killing time at a local beauty salon. At times the gracious veterans and at times acting like embittered divas, the three provide the film with a certain level of believability, providing a clear contrast to Kim Ok-Bin and Lee Min-Hee's understated performances as the ingenue and the token hot babe, respectively.

Choi Ji-Woo unfortunately sticks out like a sore thumb but holds her own in a scene where she's pitted against a tactless, slightly inebriated Ko Hyun-Jung, as the two engage in a verbal smackdown in the powder room. It's the culmination of the underlying tension and competitiveness that comes with bringing together these high-profile actresses which the movie only alluded to in its first few minutes but while it's a cinematic treat to see the famed hallyu actress lash out, the conflict gets all watered down as all six actresses play nice in an impromptu dinner party to celebrate Christmas eve.

No one really gets to play the villain, for unlike Entourage, where the guest stars get to poke fun and do something over the top with their alternate personas, this film, as may attributed to Korean modesty and convention, is a curious and restrained piece of scripted-reality. It has no major revelations nor does it impart any controversial information, probably in deference to each actresses' image and comfort zone. Neither does Director Lee intend to push the envelope, given the roundabout way that he chose to depict the vanity and self-consciousness that comes with his subjects' chosen profession. As such, viewers are forced to deduce only what they can about the women before them, based on how the people around them studiously shower them with compliments to gain their attention.

By the end of it all, one can't help but wonder what percentage of the film managed to reveal what's real and what percentage of it was a performance delivered by six actresses who merely wanted to add something different to their filmography.

In the same way that the camera deliberately weaves in and out of shots to give an "in-the-moment-feel", it eventually draws back to show a mirror image of its stars to remind people that perhaps amidst the glitter and the lights, they only get to see only as much as what they're allowed to see---a mirage, an ideal, but certainly not the true person underneath. And with that, you begin to realize that what you have before you, is just another movie.

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