[kim ki-duk] arirang reviews

Variety (May 13th) by Leslie Felperin

Korean filmmaker Kim Ki-duk bares his tortured, inebriated soul in "Arirang," and it's not a pretty sight. An experience that can be likened only to being stuck next to a drunk in a bar who keeps reminding you he used to be famous, all his friends are bastards and he now understands the meaning of life, pic might have proved therapeutic to make, but it's a grind to watch, even for fans of the maverick writer-director's work. Kim's rep will inevitably ensure further fest bookings for what is essentially one long whine, but theatrical distribution anywhere looks highly unlikely.

Further evidence, as if it were needed, that digital is both the liberation of low-budget filmmaking and the enabler of self-indulgence, the pic was made entirely by Kim, according to credits culled from the production notes. (Indeed, the only word onscreen, apart from subtitles on the version shown in Cannes, was the title.) And like some other films that have cropped up recently (notably Joaquin Phoenix meltdown movie "I'm Still Here"), "Arirang" takes advantage of the verite connotations associated with digital to deliberately blur the line between docu and drama.

The action, such as it is, mostly consists of footage of Kim going about his daily routines -- chopping wood, making food, voiding his bowels in the snow outside -- in and around the mountaintop shack he's been holed up in for some time, ever since he had a nervous breakdown precipitated by a near-fatal accident that happened on the set of his previous feature, "Dream," in 2008. In between these quotidian tasks, he knocks back the soju (the Korean equivalent of vodka) and interviews himself via some crude crosscutting about where it all went wrong.

Like many barroom bores, he's not shy about crowing over his own talent, little in evidence here, although supporters know he's capable of greatness. One example of his former glory is "Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter … and Spring," his international breakthrough, which, in one of "Arirang's" most piteous scenes, Kim watches tearfully on DVD, a shadow of the former self seen in "Spring," climbing a mountain while dragging a concrete anchor behind him.

Kim partly blames his miserable state on former friends, such as his one-time protege Jang Hun (who helmed "Rough Cut" from a script by Kim), for abandoning him. But to his credit, he also blames himself a bit, and goes over how he's always been an outsider, even when he was a machinist and street artist. In tones more bemused than wounded, he wonders if the countrymen who gave him medals of honor when he won awards at international film festivals even saw his dark films, particular those, like "Address Unknown" and "Time," that lambast Korean society.

Just when auds might be thinking this is an actual video diary, Kim puts his machinist skills to use on a firearm and goes out to take revenge, a swerve into pure fantasy (one hopes) that reps the cinematic equivalent of saying, "I was just kidding, this isn't for real." Altogether, the whole shooting match is sordid and tacky; to discuss or program it further starts to feel like some kind of enabling in itself. Fans can only hope that having gotten this out of his system, Kim will go back to making proper films, which, as he self-aggrandizingly points out, many are eagerly awaiting after this uncharacteristic three-year hiatus.

According to the rather clumsily translated English subtitles, pic's title refers to a word meaning something like "self-realization" in Chinese characters, and is the title of a mournful tune Kim bellows repeatedly throughout.

Camera (color, HD), Kim; sound, Kim. Reviewed at Cannes Film Festival (Un Certain Regard), May 13, 2011. Running time: 100 MIN.

The Hollywood Reporter (May 14th) by Maggie Lee

The glorious agony of struggling directors is a theme that’s been around for as long as filmmaking itself. Kim Ki-duk’s Arirang explores the reasons and emotions behind his three-year hiatus like a no-tech documentary answer to Fellini’s 8 1/2. A one-man production in which Kim engages in deep conversation with himself, his shadow, recorded images of himself and excerpts of his screen performances, it is so navel-gazing it makes Takeshi Kitano’s Takeshis and Glory to the Filmmaker seem positively self-effacing.

Never a reliable commercial bet, this will be Kim’s least theatrically saleable work. The sour, malcontent attitude may be his devious way of playing up his bad-boy image to the cine-literati, but there’s precious little with which even an arthouse-inclined audience can identify with.

Kim begins with self-examination of why, after making 15 films that were internationally distributed and awarded, he has reached an impasse. He initially attributes it to trauma from an accident on the set of his last film, Dream, but gradually, it transpires that what’s holding him back is not creative block but financial.

In a swearing session delivered with machine gun speed and aggressiveness, he rants and riles at moviegoers, investors, protégés who in some way or other betrayed him. It culminates in a wish-fulfillment revenge spree that is funny for its anti-production-value statement.

Snippets of his hermitic mountain life become welcome diversions. As if he’s getting in touch with the primal instincts that characterize his protagonists, he camps in a tent inside a hut, makes simple meals and has fun with self-reassembled espresso and drip coffee machines. His primitive yet meticulous and creative handiworks reveal more about his unique style as a filmmaker, than the self-indulgent shots of his handwritten scripts, posters of his films and his oil paintings.

Kim also provides the score by belting out Arirang in a coarse but plaintive voice. This most famous of Korean folksongs expresses an abandoned woman’s feelings: She misses her lover even as she curses him. Although it’s obvious Kim identifies with her bitter lament, there is a tinge of pathos when he says “I miss all the film festivals I’ve been to.” The subtext being: he really misses filmmaking itself.

Filmed using a Mark II digital camera, Kim arranges the shots to make his monologues look like dialogues between — or commentaries on — two or three personas. Although sometimes the edits and compositions look casual, the overall technique is professional.

Venue: Cannes Film Festival (Certain Regard)
Sales: Finecut
Production company: Kim Ki-duk Film
Cast-director-screenwriter-producer-director of photography-music-editor: Kim

Ki-duk
No rating, 100 minutes.

Variety와 The Hollywood Reporter는 내가 챙겨보는 두개의 industry journal이다.
영화의 세일즈나 배급의 시장성에 초점을 주는.
둘다 김기덕 감독의 아리랑에 그리 선호적이지 않다.