I was fifteen in 1995. I entered the film industry and came across the genre of independent cinema.
As I found the audition ad for the film A Petal featured on the front page of a newspaper on a newspaper stand on the street, I gradually fell in love with European independent cinema. Leos Carax's Les Amants du Pont-Neuf (1991) provided ignitions. When I had free time, I stopped by Chungmu-ro and bought movie tickets. I was eager to watch films like Luc Besson's Léon: The Professional (1994). Such movies were obviously R-rated. I aimed to look old enough to pass through the theater's access control staff. It was convenient to have an older sister, although her clothes did not fit me well. I had her lipstick on. Nutty-smelling popcorn helped me to settle down so I could walk into the theater and watch films.
I cherished my old ticket stubs. I kept them in my planner and revisited them during every recess at school. Sleepless night thoughts were on when to go back to Chungmu-ro for another film.
I became an adult, and films by the Dardenne brothers fascinated me. The Child is my personal favorite. It is merciless. Armored with raw and apparently unpurposeful handheld shots, it introduces a tiny and helpless creature, an infant newly born into the world. The gray ambiance says it is ready to bombard my heart. It is not my first time, and I know what I am doing to myself. I know the deal, but it never fails to have me surrender to myself in tears as I watch the last scene. Compared to the splendor of Hollywood movies, The Child uses seemingly unadorned and even simple mise-en-scènes, stirring the viewers' emotions to surge, plummet, and run wild. It has an explosive potential, exposing reality by presenting things 'as-is.' It constantly presents social problems, making the viewers feel qualms and endlessly uneasy.
In the spring of 2002, I was a singer. I sang "trust me at least halfway" everywhere, sweeping stages everywhere. Before the Korean peninsula turned red with Red Devils, another masterpiece, Sympathy For Mr. Vengeance, came out. Many say they love Oldboy (2003) or more recent Decision to Leave (2022) most among Director Park Chan-wook's work. However, my favorite is Sympathy For Mr. Vengeance. I always argue that it should be listed as his representative work. When it was released, it was not a box-office success. Still, it is a masterpiece. Its storyline and aesthetics are truly exceptional. Precisely calculated use of color tones, angles, and sounds renders it even more attractive. It offered me new perspectives on how to better understand cinema.
It was 2005, and I was one of the leading first-generation Hallyu artists. I spent a lot of time on the airplane, traveling overseas, and watching an uncountable number of classical movies and new releases. I loved to carry some movies on a portable device. The Wizard of Oz (1939), works by Stanley Kubrick, Darren Aronofsky, and Woody Allen, were my sources of joy.
When I occasionally visited Korea from time to time, I loved going to movie theaters. I was in my mid-20s and met a Japanese movie poster showing a heartwarming and happy family. It was Nobody Knows by director Hirokazu Kore-eda. Miyazaki Hayao's animations were the only Japanese films I had watched before then. The running time was long, 140 minutes, so I had to get ready and wait for the first scene. Since then, I could not take my eyes off the screen. When the last scenes unfolded, I found myself crying like a baby. I vividly remember. After the ending credits, I wiped my tears off. Then, I headed to a convenience store to pick up the strawberry-shaped Apollo Choco candies. It asked me for more responsibilities. I am an adult. The problem felt like mine, and it questioned where my conscience lies. The power of direction was there. It was amazing. It is the movie of my life. (Programmer of the Year Lee Jung-hyun)
