The Handmaiden

South Korea’s Park Chan-wook is probably best known to American audiences for making movies with brutality that would make Hollywood wince. That’s a vast oversimplification, as he’s far from a simple gory schlock-master. Intertwined with the sometimes extreme content in his work is deep, palpable emotion that’s as visceral on the viewer as the most shocking moments. This is perhaps best exemplified by 2003’s Oldboy, arguably his most famous picture. The film is quite violent and depraved, but emotionally shattering and moving in ways few pictures are. It’s one of the best movies of the 21^st century (the American remake, no so much). 

The Handmaiden reigns in the extremity to a degree (most, though not all, of it is implied or described rather than depicted). As a result, its passions burn even brighter, enrapturing the viewer and exhibiting a total control of their emotions that’s awesome. This is a great picture, at different times romantic, mysterious, disturbing, sorrowful, and sexy as hell.

The film adapts the Sarah Waters novel Fingersmith, changing the setting from Victorian England to Japanese-occupied Korea prior to World War II. The plot follows a young Korean thief (Kim Tae-ri) who becomes handmaiden to a shut-in Japanese heiress (Kim Min-hee), the niece of a cruel, perverted nobleman and rare book collector (Cho Jin-woong). Her employment is secretly part of a scheme to convince the heiress to marry a Korean conman posing a Japanese Count (Ha Jung-woo), so they can dump her in a mental asylum and steal her fortune. This plan is complicated, however, when a mutual attraction develops between lady and servant.

There’s much more to it, of course. The plotting has the definite construction of a thriller, presenting two side-by-side narratives covering the same events from different viewpoints. This approach sees story points or progression that would seem natural in a linear narrative become unexpected twists and revelations. Except, piecing together the jumbled storyline isn’t really the point.

Rather, this is an intense trek across the emotional spectrum. At different times, the film shifts from romantic to tragic, from desperate to uplifting. There’s even some sick humor thrown in to throw the viewer off. One truly doesn’t know what emotional peak or valley they’ll travel next, but feels every single one of them. It’s amazing work from the two lead actresses, letting the audience intimately know their feelings, yet detached and secretive enough to give no hint of what’s in store before it happens. And their chemistry is white-hot, but with a touching sweetness instead of steamy salaciousness.

This time, the not-safe-for-Hollywood material isn’t violence. This is a very sexual film, though consistent with Park’s direction, not just for the sake of meaningless titillation. There’s a deliberate repugnance to much of it, particularly in regards to the male characters’ tastes. The men in this story are awful people, viewing women as little more than instruments to fulfill their wants. This sharply contrasts with the impassioned moments between the two women, a stark bit of beauty in the otherwise ugly world they’ve known. The love scenes between the two aren’t so affecting because they’re graphic or incredibly sexy (though they certainly are), but because they’re an emotional release for the characters as well as the viewer.

Despite some of the off-putting subject matter, the film is absolutely beautiful, in both spirit and to look at with its gorgeous landscapes and period recreations of Korea and Japan. Particularly stunning is its cinematography, a mix of lush color and sinister (and moody) dark amplifying the feeling of any given scene. Aesthetic aside, though, it’s the picture’s raw emotional power that makes it such a fulfilling experience.