cinema and media studies, Gender Studies, korea, korean drama, TV

rewriting a woman’s history with JANG OK-JUNG (2013): (Yoo Ah-in just like Leonardo DiCaprio in my heart)

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I haven’t felt this kind of depression after watching a Korean drama series since Autumn in My Heart (2000)/가을동화.

Jang Ok-Jung, Living by Love  (2013) is a period piece from SBS. It is based on the historical novel work of the same title written by Choi Jung-mi, and is directed by Boo Sung-chul. The series is set during the Joseon Dynasty in the late 1600s.

The show centers on a young, aspiring fashion designer Jang Ok-jung (Kim Tae-hee) who is born of a middle-class rank (중인) but falls in love with King Suk-jong/Yi Soo (Yoo Ah-in) and becomes his favorite concubine. It starts off as a lovey-dovey tale simply about a young woman and man whose affections for each other seem pure and eternal, then of course shit hits the fan when every single person around each character has a political problem with their getting together. Drama ensues.

Jang Ok-Jung is not only an intense political drama, but also an interesting critique on Joseon’s classism stemming from a caste system that damns a person’s life according to who s/he is born from and what the parents’ ranking is according to Joseon’s societal standards. This is the show’s primary critique–the rigidity of a society that make class mobility near impossible. But the protagonist Ok-jung makes it up the ranks (4 to 1) as a consort, eventually even taking over the dethroned Queen In-hyeon’s place as Queen herself for a short term reign. But In-hyeon returns and Ok-jung is demoted back to the place of consort Hui Bin. She eventually is framed for having placed a curse on the queen and is forced to kill herself, ordered by her beloved King.

Ok-jung in her early appearances takes a fascination to Joseon days’ erotic illustrated novels, which are essentially just some softcore sketches of men and women caressing. Ok-jung takes a liking to the way the women’s dresses flow depending on their sensual positions. The drawings inspire her vision. Sexuality is where Ok-jung sees beauty, and the show has plenty of coded sex talk throughout that compares women to flowers and men to bees.

The drama relies heavily on the female characters’ catty tension throughout, mostly rooted in jealousy over things like beauty and male attention. There’s really just one man who all the women desire, and that is the King. Around Ok-jung, however, there are men galore. She has three different pursuers but the King is the one she wants and eventually gets.

The women on this show all must rely on their only agent of power and that is their body. The women must be beautiful. Her face is the main selling point. After that, she must know how to dress well.  If the King desires her, then she has found “favor” by him, meaning that he sleeps with her. Her vagina is the access to bringing her status and power–it is her only agency towards class mobility. From there, she can move up by becoming pregnant but her status upgrade is only a possibility if she births a son–a potential heir to the throne. Ok-jung accomplishes all of this. She even maintains her favor with the King until the end of her days.

Throughout the series, Ok-jung and Lee Soo’s romantic theme is their little promise to each other that they would never let go of each other’s hands. (Ring a Titanic bell much? Yoo Ah-in is the Korean doppelgänger of Leonardo DiCaprio. They remind me of each other so much that I can hardly contain myself; they have the same nose, the same voice, the same trembling mannerisms that have a danger of appearing trite/overused at times; a tendency towards frequent explosions in their performance that oozes thick passion.)

What depressed me at the end of the series is that ultimately the King does not overcome the political powers that be and allows his beloved consort to be put to death by poison. Her crime is breaking the palace rules of having no shamans make an offering on site; at the desperate situation of possibly losing her son to smallpox, she brings the shaman in, gets caught and is blamed for the death of Queen In-hyeon by placing a curse or some bullshit…

What then added to my depression is how after Ok-jung dies, the King mourns her at Chwi Seon Dang (Ok-jung’s place of residence and the King’s gift), and the drama immediately cuts to King Sukjong’s grave site,  calling him one of the greatest reformers of Joseon history. Be that as it may, the namesake of the show seems almost completely forgotten at this point. Later, another title card appears, explaining that Ok-jung’s damnation was lifted in 1965 and that her grave was moved to be placed beside Sukjong’s.

Anyway, what made me so sad was how awful, limited, and impossible a woman’s life was back then. What the hell’s even the point of rewriting the history of Hui Bin this way? Even if there’s the mediated, dramatized effort to make her appear a little less evil, and make the relationship with her and the King more meaningful, it doesn’t change the fact that she was a victim of rigid circumstances and was ultimately killed by the man who was supposedly in love with her.

The rules back then were insane. Truly, truly insane.

Now, I have to refer to the Wikipedia page because it’s just so fascinating how it writes about her (FYI, Wikipedia’s citations link back to website descriptions written by museums, government sites, cultural sites, etc.), and the general consensus is simply that she was an awful woman. Historical references even blame her son King Gyeongjong’s illness and infertility on her (Gyeongjong’s illness, according to these records, made him an unsuited King, and he was replaced by his half-brother Yeongjo, who held a very long tenure on the throne). This type of blatant misogyny on a lower status historical figure is just more evidence of patriarchal sexism and bias. In a lot of ways, the drama rationalizes some of those accusations of evil that is frequently placed on her while also moving against the grain of patriarchal injustice. Some of the best dialogues are the ones shared by Queen Inhyeon and Ok-jung when they discuss the King’s flaw which is being male.

Anyway, what a great show. The costumes were utterly beautiful. Color coordination, head pieces, lipstick shades–all of it–utterly beautiful. (Think Marie Antoinette (2006) level of costume beauty.)

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Art, cinema and media studies, Film, Photography

quick thoughts: The Revenant (2015) by Alejandro González Iñárritu

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The whispery voiceovers from pieces of an intimate conversation over epically swooping camera movements that capture the sun directly, the wind blowing through hair and fabric, trees, the glistening snow, and forests are all very Malickian. We’ve seen these kinds of openings in Days of Heaven (1978), The New World (2005) and The Tree of Life (2011). Whereas Malick’s films search for meaning or God inside the tension between man and nature, Iñárritu’s The Revenant is a Jobian wonderment at nature’s power as man goes head to head with it, bringing to viewers Iñárritu’s awe of human tenacity for survival. 

The film itself seems to have gone through a turmoil just to be made; the original source is a historical novel by Michael Punke which was published in 2002, based on the life of a Pennsylvanian frontiersman Hugh Glass who survived a real bear mauling and was left to die by his men but crawled his way back to a settlement. The film was optioned for a screenplay around the same time of the book’s publication, and initially had John Hillcoat to direct with Christian Bale for the lead, but was later handed to Korean director Park Chan-wook with Samuel L. Jackson in the lead role. After Park abandoned the project as well, the project was handed over to Iñárritu in 2011, who decided to make Birdman. 

According to sources, the film was shot in some of the coldest locations in Calgary and Tierra del Fuego of Argentina. It was shot over nine months. I couldn’t help but wonder if anyone suffered from frostbite (Iñárritu claims that no one on set was harmed). As beautiful as the images were, I was distracted by wondering throughout how on earth the crew had made their way into such wild terrains deep in the winter’s snow.

Aside from the epic visuals, the music made a large impression on me. Iñárritu teamed up with previous collaborator Ryuichi Sakamoto, who also composed Babel (2006), as well as German electronica musician Alva Noto. (Bryce David Dessner is also credited for composition.) The electronica sounds mixed into the voice of Glass’ dead Pawnee wife juxtaposed against the images of a cold winter covered forest creates an alluring and ironic effect.

The violent scenes between the natives and the whites from America and France are gory and brutal. Iñárritu is not immune to problematic representation of Native Americans in the film; the audience is manipulated to root for the white team despite Glass’ partial adoption of the Pawnee lifestyle.

For all the epic effects that the film contains, there are majorly apparent dubbing and sound sync issues which are distractingly noticeable on the big screen. And for all the epic-ness that the film builds up, the content is ultimately quite shallow.

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