This article explores the trajectory of Song Kang-ho’s on-screen performances from the release of his fourth film, Number 3 (1997), to one of his most recent films, Thirst (2009). As a case study, it reveals new insights about this popular and representative actor’s numerous screen personae and how they have enabled audiences to peer into a cinematic surface that reflects back a mixture of anti-heroism and pantomime. Beneath the many costumes and performance styles he adopts, audiences have come to see a human being with everyday problems and concerns. In a way reminiscent of the French pantomime clown Pierrot, Song’s characters reflect a depth of human feeling and compassion modulated by a comic undercurrent—the tension between these overlapping layers is precisely what holds his various personae together.
Song Kang-ho is a classic movie star whose acting ability is well known to the film industry and whose performances are appreciated by audiences in South Korea (hereafter Korea) and abroad. He has acted in some of the contemporary Korean cinema’s most profitable and critically acclaimed feature films, productions which have contributed to the national film industry’s current global notoriety. Song’s numerous product endorsements, ranging from the national Lotto and financial services to
This article explores the trajectory of Song Kang-ho’s on-screen performances from the release of his fourth film,
By projecting this unique mix of elements, Song has contributed to the expansion of Korean cinema beyond the country’s geographical borders. More than just another pretty face, Song’s media profile and public recognizability have enabled him, and the contemporary Korean cinema of which he is so intriguing a part, to achieve fame at home and abroad. Song became a valued commodity at the same as the Korean cinema was rising on its lion’s paws in terms of domestic audience numbers, box office returns, domestic market share—at the expense of Hollywood’s share of the local market—and the launch of fresh genres by a new breed of auteur filmmakers. Given these links, he owes much of his early development as a star to the directors he has worked with on a repeated basis, most notably Kim Jee-woon (Kim Chi-un) (three times), Park Chan-wook (four times), Lee Chang-dong (Yi Ch’ang-dong) (twice), and Bong Joon-ho (Pong Chun-ho) (twice)—in a similar way that Robert De Niro has worked with Martin Scorsese on a large number of projects. Symbiotically, these directors owe much of their success to Song; his ability to enliven his characters through physical training, manipulation of the body and dialogue ad-libbing has helped to elevate their reputations as master filmmakers and secure them a place among the foremost directors of the contemporary Korean cinema.
While Song’s popularity began to spread after his performance in
A vital element of Song’s performances, as well as his extratextual stardom, is the overlapping layers of personae that shift and change in a state of constant flux. Each layer influences the others in ways that produce subtle transformations. The discussion that follows focuses on these transformations in four of Song’s early films,
1For an insightful study of Hollywood film stars in the 1950s and the challenges that they faced during their crossover to television as it increased in popularity, see Becker (2008). 2Elsewhere in Gledhill (1991: 214), stardom is conceptualized in terms of the layers formed by an actor’s “reel” and “real” personae. The “reel” refers to the diegetic character(s) and images constructed for the screen and the world of the story, while the “real” is the individual personality self-expressed by the actor and the one known to close acquaintances.
Song, who plays Jo-pil (Cho-p’il) in
Song’s portrayal of the stuttering Jo-pil has a significant impact on the chain of cause and effect that determines the relationships between the characters in the film. He is linked to nearly all the figures in the narrative in both direct and indirect ways. Jo-pil, who is nearly always dressed in black, is introduced through a montage sequence at the start of the film. He is depicted holding a menacing sashimi knife over two bloody corpses lying in a parking garage. Unexpectedly, and in silence—like a pantomime figure—Jo-pil uses his blood-soaked hands to catch and eat a cockroach (pictured in Figure 1). In this brief scene, the mixed dark and comic tone of the film is established—Song’s character is firmly situated somewhere near the emotional center.
Through the character of Jo-pil, Song projects two personality trajectories— sinister and comic—that inevitably collide. One persona is a violent and calculating killer who approaches his victims with a cold, blank face and few words. The other, a cross between a jokester and a hooligan, provides comic relief through his stutter and high-pitched, whiny shriek of a voice that emanates excitedly through curled and puckered lips. When he is enraged, the noises projected from Jo-pil’s mouth sound like a mixture of the vocal exhalations of Bruce Lee in combat mode, a meowing kitten, and a hungry, barking hyena. (There may be a reference here to the big fight scene between Bruce Lee and Chuck Norris at the end of
One memorable scene shows Jo-pil in a hospital bathroom as he prepares to assassinate a major crime boss resting in a nearby room. After rummaging through his briefcase—overflowing with random items such as cigarette lighters, cans of tuna, tissues, unpackaged ramen noodles and assorted pills—Jo-pil removes a foot-long hunting knife and begins to sharpen it (rather ineffectively) against his leather belt (see Figure 1). Although about to commit a violent crime, Jo-pil seems totally at ease with himself, an impression augmented by his dark sunglasses. Oddly, he grooms himself in the mirror and nonchalantly applies ointment to skin blemishes on his mouth and earlobe—actions which, as in the cockroach-eating scene, serve to reinforce the macabre comic subplot (illustrated in Figure 1). Encountering his target in the hallway being wheeled away by Tae-ju’s gang, Jo-pil drops his briefcase and assumes a Bruce Lee-style martial arts pose. However, he fails to inflict any harm on his intended victim or his bodyguards as they escape the confrontation via an elevator.
Despite his questionable record of kills (and skills), Jo-pil acts as trainer for a trio of hoodlums who aim to gain a reputation as a feared gang. After forcing them to eat take-out noodles with black bean sauce (
The last we see of Jo-pil in
In his next film,
Young-min’s childishness is signposted by a number of personal traits— including his habit of chewing gum as if he were a cow chewing its cud, making large noisy movements with an open mouth. His disregard for privacy also makes him seem juvenile. He likes to peep at and eavesdrop on guests having sex in their rooms, and pilfers money from the cash register (see Figure 3). (So well-known is this particular habit that the whole family turns to look at Young-min after discovering that a guest’s wallet is missing.) Each time he catches an eyeful of nudity, Young-min launches into a fit of high-pitched giggling. One of the few scenes in which he remains quiet shows him delivering a couple of bottles of beer to a guest with a packet of laver (
A scene that typifies the duality of Song’s character in
In the next scene, Young-min is seen sitting on the floor of a dimly lit room, quietly smoking a cigarette and contemplating recent events. This is followed by a shot of Young-min grooming himself in the mirror and tending a wound on his mouth that resembles the blemish that Jo-pil doctored in
In
However, like his distant cinematic relatives, Lee is dedicated and loyal. He is married to his career in a way that recalls the value placed on the institutions of work and family by Jo-pil and Young-min respectively. Similarly, Lee is a loner (he is the “third wheel” when Jong and his girlfriend are on a date: see the images in Figure 6). Despite the comic potential in such scenes, the serious demeanor adopted by Song in
After the show, while the three of them are eating dinner, we learn that Lee is a relentless hunter—he enjoys tracking people down (recall that Jo-pil stalked his victims and Young-min tracked his sister into the woods at night). Showing Myung-hyun a photo of the notorious female assassin Bang-hee (Pang-hŭi), Lee jokes that he broke up with his former “girlfriend” so that he could search for her. Lee’s light-hearted display of irony is in marked contrast with the (albeit hidden) reactions of Myung-hyun, for she is in fact Bang-hee, the woman in the photo—a double spy who has undergone reconstructive facial surgery and assumed the identity of another woman.
One of the few times that we hear a hint of the high-pitched voice reminiscent of Song’s previous characters occurs when the three friends are running toward a bus stop in the rain. In a faint hyena-like voice, Lee complains that he is soaking wet. At once, Lee takes on the persona of an older and more mature composite of Jo-pil and Young-min, but with more talent and expertise and, of course, a stable and respectable job in the big city. His agent’s revolver is a significant upgrade from the knives and shovels wielded by Song’s earlier personae. But his older incarnations are always lurking in the background. Towards the end of the film, after being shot melodramatically by the North Korean spy leader (played by Choi Min-sik [Ch’oe Min-sik]), and lying covered in blood in his partner’s arms, he croaks out the assurance that he is going to be alright (despite the overwhelmingly evidence to the contrary). Thus Lee’s one last attempt to remain serious backfires. Sure enough, seconds later Lee is gasping for his very last breath (pictured in Figure 7).
In retrospect, Song’s decision to appear in
3With a total audience of 297,617, Number 3 became the sixth most popular film in Korea of the 59 films that were produced in 1997 (Korean Cinema ‘98: 70–71). 4The Quiet Family attracted audiences of 343,946 in Seoul, ranking it the fifth most popular film of the 43 films produced that year in terms of attendance figures. (Korean Cinema, 1999: 188)
For his first leading role, in
While working with Song Kang-ho on
After his boss kicks him out of the office for being late one day, Dae-ho visits a neighborhood gym known for teaching wrestling (see Figure 9). Keen to learn how to escape from a headlock, he pesters the head coach to teach him this trick. (Song trained for this role by taking professional wrestling lessons and developing speed and accuracy in the ring.) To get Dae-ho out of his hair, the coach shows him how to tickle his way out of a headlock. On the way home, emboldened by this new knowledge and a few beers under his belt, Dae-ho chances on a small pack of hoodlums (led by then novice—and uncredited—actor Shin Ha-kyun [Sin Ha-gyun]: illustrated in Figure 9). However, not only does Dae-ho fail to see them off, but the louts chase him back to his home, where his father (played by Shin Goo [Sin Ku]) scolds him for his numerous shortcomings and packs him off to bed. In a classic move, on his way out of the room Dae-ho knocks over a pile of dishes stacked near the door, triggering another outburst from his father, who lets his son know how much he embarrasses him. Dae-ho is the very picture of the anti-hero (see Figures 10 and 11).
Audiences voted for Song’s performance in
5JSA eventually became the leading Korean film in terms of ticket sales in Seoul cinemas for the whole of 2000. Total attendances reached 2,447,133 (Korean Cinema, 2001: 229). 6Between January and June 2000, The Foul King attracted a total audience of 817,000, making it the top film in terms of attendance among all Korean feature films released in 2000 (Korean Cinema, 2000: 262).
Born in 1967, Song grew up in a farming district near Busan. In an interview, Song recalled how, as a child, he had dreamt about performing on stage, and that from an early age he enjoyed making his friends laugh by telling interesting stories in an animated way. It seems his classmates all believed that the young Song would be a great actor someday (Song 2003a, 2004; Yi 2003). At the age of 22, he made his first appearance on the live stage, working under the guidance of the well-known theatrical performer Ki Kuk-sŏ at the Yeonwoo Theatre (Yŏnu Sogŭkchang), a small regional performance center. Here, as a non-professional actor, Song gained experience performing, developing his trademark amplified gestures and animated body language, in front of large crowds. He landed his first (small) film role at the age of 29 in Hong Sang-soo’s (Hong Sang-su) low-budget film
Among his acting peers, Song is appreciated for his professionalism and wit (Kim Hyun-seok 2003; Moon 2003), a reputation that has earned him plaudits in the Korean film press since the early 2000s. In 2000, 2003, 2006, 2007 and again in 2009, the popular cinephile magazine
If Song became a great comedy actor while working with Kim Jee-woon, and if
Around the time he was beginning his work with Park, Song’s face (and body image) began appearing extensively on billboards and signs as well as in magazine advertisements and on television entertainment shows. Represented as the average Korean male, he was cast in advertisements for such quotidian items as alcohol, lotto, financial services, and vacuum cleaners (pictured in Figure 13). Certainly, until now his anti-heroic and all-too-fallible characters all had their share of everyday problems to contend with—or at least difficulties that ordinary people could relate to with some degree of empathy.
7According to an interview with Song, Park offered him the vampire-priest role in Thirst during the filming of JSA in 2000 (Joo 2009). 8The international legacy of Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance is still evolving. It has inspired the giant Hollywood film company Warner Bros. to remake it—something that only a handful of Korean films have achieved, including Il Mare (Siwŏrae, 2000, remade as The Lake House in 2006), My Sassy Girl (Yŏpkijŏgin kŭnyŏ, 2001, remade in 2008 under the same title), and Kim Jee-woon’s A Tale of Two Sisters (Changhwa, Hongnyŏn, 2003, remade in 2009 as The Uninvited). For a notice of the remake of Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance, see Michael Fleming, “WB wants ‘Vengeance’” Variety.com 6 January 2010. Available at: http://www.variety.com/article/VR1118013427?refCatId=13. Accessed 3 January 2011.
In the early 2000s, as Song’s reputation was rising, Korean film critics would often refer to the “masks” that Song created for each of his characters. It was thought that these masks provided glimpses of Song’s inner self—particularly in his comic roles (Lee 2003). His more substantial roles in dramatic, action and thriller films were regarded as revealing something different: a dual persona alternating between a serious intent and a sense of humility. One might say that Song only has to smile (or, in some cases, merely look into the camera) to activate the spark that fuses these two aspects of his on-screen personality. Admittedly, this convention is most effective for viewers already familiar with his
It is arguable that the gap between Song’s anti-heroic and serious sides has been most successfully bridged in his most recent films. Critically acclaimed films such as
In
While Gang-du’s brother and sister are engaged on the hunt, Gang-du is quarantined for “coming into contact” with the monster, and is held under orders from the U.S. Army. Gang-du is thoroughly examined by a team of doctors who test him for signs of “contamination” (illustrated in Figure 15). Eventually, the authorities lobotomize him, fearing that the “disease” is hiding in his brain. Despite this setback, which would have left most people in a vegetative state, Gang-du’s intelligence is actually enhanced, thanks to the medical team’s incomepetence. Inexplicably, he demonstrates a newfound working knowledge of English, which enables him to understand the evil plans of his captors and to escape from the lab where he is being held. Gang-du then resumes the search for his daughter.
At the climax of the film, which has maintained a mixture of serious and comic tones, Gang-du thrusts a fatal skewer into the monster’s mouth before it has a chance to retreat to the river (see Figure 16). Song’s character—who miraculously overcomes his innate feeblemindedness and clumsiness and saves Seoul, and indeed the nation, from this strange, American-inspired beast—is thus a quirky variant of the quintessential anti-hero. In a twist of fate that manipulates the conventions of the monster genre, Gang-du extracts the bodies of his daughter and the young boy she has been protecting from the monster’s maw, to find that only the boy has survived the ordeal. The film ends with Gang-du and the young survivor having a family meal together in his tourist snack shack near the river’s edge, thus enabling Gang-du to recuperate his failed fatherhood, at least on one level—and to maintain a vigilant and protective watch over the area.
Building on the momentum generated by Song’s international exposure, writer-director Han Jae-rim (Han Chae-rim) cast the actor in the lead role in
For local critics,
Yet, for up-and-coming director Han Jae-rim—
In
On the one hand, Sang-hyun’s new incarnation has a profound desire to redeem common humanity from the forces of evil—yet his gruesome appearance (his body is covered with virulent pustules) forces him to hide his face from public view (see Figure 17). On the other hand, his piety is tested by a newfound craving for sex and female flesh—and, of course, blood to satisfy the vampire in him. Like a good Samaritan, at least until he is totally overcome by his vampirical urges, Sang-hyun only takes blood from individuals for compassionate reasons— he will do no harm unto others (pictured in Figure 17). Nevertheless, in the end his “disease” gets the better of him, and he cannot prevent himself from committing religious and sexual transgressions. Fraught with a mixture of despair and compassion for humanity, the erstwhile priest commits suicide—by watching a beautiful sunrise with his love by his side (who he has “infected”)—in a desperate attempt to protect the community from his unquenchable desires.
9See http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0468492/business. 10See “Wrapping Up 2007: 10 Film People of The Year (2007 nyŏn songnyŏn kyŏlsan: Orhae ŭiyŏnghwa in 10 in)” Cine21 No. 634 1 (January). Available at: http://www.cine21.com/Article/article_view.php?mm=005001001&article_id=49618. Accessed 21 April 2011.
In this article, I have attempted to expand our understanding of the contemporary Korean cinema through an in-depth discussion of the screen performances of one of its leading stars: Song Kang-ho. However, it is important to remember that Song is but a single agent in a perpetually evolving web of relationships and opportunities linking actors, directors and films and their local and global critics. The burgeoning of international relationships experienced by the Korean cinema in recent years has greatly multiplied these opportunities since the release of
Since appearing in
Standing back and considering these moving and still images in their totality, Song can be seen as representing certain tropes of masculinity that resonate across pan-Asia and beyond, superceding “Chow Yun-fat and Jet Li, the marquee names in [the] movie business in metropolitan areas of Asia” (Kim 2004: 231). Through his diverse roles and performances, Song has drawn a positive response from audiences of all ages and critics alike. Since the early 2000s, he has been recognized for his ability to capture the basic human instinct for laughter and tears—without exaggerating and thus caricaturing these emotions (Shim 2000). As others have observed, Song has accumulated a living repertoire of stored characters that he wears as layers—when he moves, they move with him (Baek 2003a). In all his films, we have the sense that these layers originate from something and someone real. The “real” Song is the sum of these many parts—and then some.
As we have seen, most of Song’s characters have their roots in the middle and middle-lower classes, creating a connection to the common man with believable personality flaws, a sense of humor, and a range of everyday concerns that embrace family, work colleagues and neighbors. His filmography now contains as many distinguished serious roles as comic ones—each of which embodies a unique portrait of Korean manhood in its various aspects. His characters seem most comfortable when interacting with other men, often in hierarchical settings. Social environments habitually occupied by men, such as the gangster underworld in
It has been repeatedly asserted that the “real” Song acts like the characters he plays in his films. It is true that, from the start of his acting career, Song has found the source for his characters within himself. One might catch him in personal or social settings in real life laughing in a high-pitched voice and expressing a mischievous attitude one minute, and waxing philosophical the next (Baek 2003c). This complexity of character, and Song’s ability to project it on screen, is hardly surprising. As film scholar John Belton notes, “at the base of the human pyramid known as the star lies an actual person, whose physical attributes and, in some instances, psychological constitution, provide the foundation for the construction of the personality of the actor, or actress, who appears on screen” (Belton 1994: 87)
When asked to comment on Song’s success, Choi Min-sik, the star of Park Chan-wook’s 2004 Cannes-pleasing macabre feature film,
Song’s mass appeal reaches beyond the physical attractiveness of other Korean actors such as Lee Byung-heon (Yi Pyŏng-hŏn), Jang Dong-gun (Chang Tong-gun) or Won Bin (Wŏn Pin). 11 He has been compared to comedy-drama actors such as Charlie Chaplin, Woody Allen, and Roberto Benigni (Lee 2003) and many would agree that Song possesses the same on-screen charisma as these big international stars. Considered as both actor and movie star, Song has successfully made the transition from the local to the international context, thus demonstrating how a single dynamic performer has transformed the ways in which we think about Korean cinema. Song’s unique on-screen presence is perhaps best exemplified when his characters look straight into the camera lens, and thus outward at the audience and society—a gesture which often occurs at the end of the film, as in
In one interview, Song was asked to comment on the use of a close-up shot of his face, which appeared at the end of
11Lee is known (at least in Korea) for his roles in JSA, Kim Jee-woon’s A Bittersweet Life (Talk’omhan insaeng, 2005), and G.I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra (2009). Jang made a name for himself in Friend (Ch’in’gu, 2001), Taegukgi (T’aegŭkki hwinallimyŏ, 2004) and, most recently, The Warrior’s Way (2010), a Korean-New Zealand co-production, while Won has starred in Guns and Talks (K’illŏ tŭl ŭi suda, 2001), Taegukgi (2004), Mother (Mŏdŏ, 2009) and, more recently, The Man from Nowhere (Ajŏssi, 2010).