Burning (2018)

Asian cinema has become a strong, innovative, purposeful and revitalizing beast. Recently, it has earned a unique and unmatched reputation due to its unique way to experiment with different genres. The final products often turn out to be peculiar, strange, violent and elegant. We just need to take a look at the tremendous success of Parasite (2019), directed by South Korean filmmaker Bong-Joon Ho: this film was universally acclaimed by the most demanding film critics and by the general public, it won the Palme d’Or at the 2019 Cannes Film Festival and for the first time in history, a foreign film was awarded ”Best Picture” at the 2019’s Academy Awards. Now, if we go a little backwards into Asian cinema, highly iconic films are to be found, like Oldboy (2003) directed by Park Chan-wook (South Korea), Battle Royale (2000) directed by Kinji Fukasaku (Japan), or the wonderful In The Mood For Love (2000) directed by Wong Kar-Wai (China).

This time, we’re going to focus on the unparalleled Burning (2018), directed by South Korean master Lee Chang-dong. The director’s last gift had been the beautiful Poetry (2010), a critically acclaimed work of art. Poetry synthesizes Chang-dong’s entire cinematographic style, his stories are crafted with an incomparable beauty. There is a monumental respect and sensitivity towards the main characters and the environments in which they develop. Sometimes, the powerful strength of image and interpretation overshadows the intentions of telling a linear story, but in the end there is something that just clings to the most introspective corners of the viewer.

Burning remained widely unnoticed and was only appreciated by certain cinephile sectors. Chang-dong was influenced by Haruki Murakami’s short story Barn Burning (1983); and William Faulkner’s homonymous short story from 1939. On the other hand, Schrödinger’s cat paradox is also taken into account. The three worlds of film, science and literature coexist in the same universe.

Burning tells the story of Lee Jong-su (Ah-In Yoo), a young man that does little jobs and dreams of becoming an acclaimed writer. The lonely and reserved protagonist seems to be in a constant state of rambling through life, until he accidentally meets Shin Hae-mi (Jong-seo Jun), a childhood friend. They both grew up in a rural environment, their common past and some experiences help to build a special connection between them. On their first date, Hae-mi makes an exercise of mimics- she peels an orange. Jongsu praises her action, commenting that she seems to be peeling a real orange. Hae-mi’s answer is crucial: “Don’t imagine that the orange is here, but forget that the orange is not here.” This particular sentence becomes the key to understand the narrative and to find out how this film should be deciphered. Perception is more important than the events that occur in reality.

The two friends’ extensive conversations trigger a brief sexual experience between both. Later, the girl asks Jong-su to take care of her cat while she makes a quick trip to Africa, in search of something that she calls “the great hunger”. Upon returning home, Hae-mi introduces Ben (Steven Jeun), a young and wealthy upper-class man. Ben is surrounded by a haunting aura of mystery. The triangle finally takes shape.

Without any taboos, Lee Chang-dong introduces us to the intimacy of the protagonists. The three characters are very different, yet they find themselves as strangers navigating into an inhospitable land, heading towards a tragic hallucination of jealousy and uncertainty. We move on to Ben’s luxurious apartment, the tiny living room where Hae-mi survives, and the farm where Jong-su is trapped by his inner demons – the spaces are masterfully used to define these three enigmatic presences. Chang-dong, with fabulous staging, builds three highly addictive personalities.

Hae-mi is in a constant internal conflict, looking for what she calls “the great hunger”; Jong-su is psychologically affected by the ravages of the past, hovered in the shadow of his troubled and erratic father. Meanwhile, Ben is the wealthy man out of nowhere, follower of William Faulkner’s literature, and whose personal hobby is “setting barns on fire”, Behind his smile, there is a recalcitrant darkness and incendiary narcissism. The sudden disappearance of a central character invites us to witness the perverse and dreamy atmosphere that surrounds us. Jong-su and Ben are distinguished from each other by their points of view regarding to the concept of fire. Both burn in their own particular ways. Jong-su burned his mother’s clothes when she abandoned him- this could be interpreted as an act of satisfactory vengeance. Ben burns barns to feel euphoria. The burning of Jongsu is humble and humanistic, while the burning of Ben is for pure entertainment- the wealthy man burns because he has everything in life and gets bored of it. Simultaneously, Jong-su is burning inside for Hae-mi, whereas Ben sees her as a hobby.

Chang-dong mentioned that William Faulkner’s short story talks about anger. Although this film is primarily based on the story of Murakami, it is also connected to the world of the first one. Faulkner’s short story is about an angry man that rebels against life and the world, and it also vividly represents the guilt that a son feels for a fire caused by his father. Unlike Faulkner’s plot, Murakami tells a story about a man who burns barns for fun. Murakami’s barn functions as a daydream, while Faulkner’s barn represents reality itself.

Musically, we have the pleasure to appreciate a beautiful sequence in which Hae-mi dances to the rhythm of Miles Davis‘ trumpet, with a piece taken from the soundtrack that he made for the film Ascenseur pour l’échafaud (1957), directed by French filmmaker Louis Malle. The blissful jazz and feminine silhouette merge into the evening sky, the flag of South Korea waves in the background.

Burning is not an easy movie, there are few answers to gigantic questions. We must experience and interpret the descent of the characters into their own psychological hells. This is the type of film that allows the audience to appreciate the absolute control of a filmmaker over his surroundings. Sooner or later, the viewer will be fascinated by the rhythm and construction of the atmosphere. With the course of days, weeks and months; Burning keeps growing in our memories. In Murakami’s words: “Memories warm you up from the inside. But they also tear you apart”.

by Octavio Carbajal González