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The Way Home
The Way Home is a three-hankie, feel-good picture from Korea, and I shamelessly admit to have needed all three hankies before it was over. The film tells a simple story, simply, and resonates with charm and warmth, no small thanks to the 78-year old non-actress Eul-boon Kim as an arthritic, mute grandmother who has to put up with a grandson that would make both Linda Blair and Patty Duke give pause. That’s pretty much the premise—a boy and his grandmother—and I think part of the film’s appeal is that it never deviates from this simple story in an attempt to form more complicated, philosophical themes. The film is really nothing more than a series of interactions between the two characters, and how, through the course of a summer, their relationship shifts from one of antagonism to acceptance to, eventually, appreciation. If you think I’m giving too much away, I’m only doing what the film’s promotional material has already done: Both the poster and the picture on the DVD box feature both characters looking so jovial that you know that at some point in the film, they’re going to start growing on each other. The plot: Sang-woo ( Seung-ho Yu) is a young boy from the city who prefers fast food (“Kentucky Chicken”) and his Gameboy over the simple peasant’s life in the country that his grandmother offers. When his desperate mother (Hyo-hee Dong) drops him off with Grandmother for the summer, the lad finds himself in a leaky shack without electricity, living with a grandmother who spends her day knitting and selling her work at a marketplace. Needless to say, little Sang-woo does not find this new environment to his liking, and instead of making the best of it, he spends much of the time making sure everyone within twenty miles of Grandmother’s shack (which seems to be only around a dozen people) are keenly aware of his unhappiness. I have already compared young Sang-woo to the demon-possessed child in The Exorcist and the spoiled, angry deaf/blind child in The Miracle Worker. Such comparisons might seem extreme, but I believe that they are fair. Make no mistake about it: This kid is a monster. He screams and yells and stomps when he realizes that there’s no working television; he steals his grandmother’s possessions to barter for batteries for his Gameboy; he scrapes profanities on the wall for the sole purpose of hurting his Grandmother’s feelings. By the film’s half-way mark, I was beginning to think that A) the demon from The Exorcist would be afraid of this kid, or B) This was actually a surprise sequel to The Exorcist, and any moment Max von Sydow would breaks through the door and begin his magical chants. Eventually (and fortunately), the kid begins to mellow out and appreciate the sure, steady presence of his unwavering Grandmother, who deals with him with almost saint-like patience. I just wrote that at some point, the two start growing on each other, but perhaps that isn’t completely accurate: The Grandmother never changes, but simply stays consistent in her work, her service, and her acts of kindness towards Sang-woo. She has no other motivation except what is seemingly a very kind, servant’s heart. In the constant face of this kindness, Sang-woo has no choice but to give in. Jeong-hyang Lee writes and directs The Way Home, which won Best Film and Best Screenplay at the Grand Bell Awards (the South Korean Oscars). I liked the way that Lee uses her camera to tell this simple story. At the beginning the film, she utilizes long, silent shots that feature Grandmother and Sang-woo standing at opposite ends of the screen, indicating the distance between them and their worlds. As the film progresses, we are shown shots of the two of them moving closer together. It’s a simple trick, but it works. Lee also makes use of the beautiful Korean scenery and locales without overshadowing the story: Instead of revealing attractive shots for the sake of it, Lee creates a country-setting that both reminds Sang-woo that he is a long way from home and presents an elegant, almost poetic way of life for simple peasants like Grandmother. As she knits and works and takes the old, rusty bus to the market, we watch her admirably, and perhaps wish that we could find satisfaction in a life so simple. Perhaps. According to imdb.com, Eul-boon Kim “had not only never performed in a movie before, but she had never before seen a film. She was found during an extensive talent search among real rural village people by director Jeong-hyang Lee to play the lead role of the stoic, heroic mute grandmother.” She’s certainly effective in the role, and as a peasant woman in the twilight of her years herself, I wonder how much of her presentation was really acting. Still, it’s a charming performance—her quiet, wrinkled face, her hunched-over walking position, and her half-blind eyes provide a balance for the hyperactive, bitter Sang-woo. Without that balance, the brat would have otherwise been intolerable to watch. Their relationship is so compelling that I wish that the film had stayed completely on that course. There are some subplots that include a locale girl on whom Sang-woo develops a crush that seem incomplete and unnecessary, except to add a child-like innocence and “sweetness” to the film. I’m not sure if they were needed—the appeal between the Grandmother and the spoiled city boy are enough. One subplot, however, involving a mad cow conjures up some laughs and ends with a relationship developing between Sang-woo and a local boy that’s not nearly as forced as the would-be romance. I said that this is a three-hankie film. It is, and I won’t tell you why, even though you’re likely to guess it before the film is over. The ending isn’t sad so much as it is bittersweet and, yes, simple in the way that it reveals how deeply the relationship between Grandmother and Sang-woo has developed. The final shot, long and unbroken, suggests that the film has ended the same way that it began, with the characters coming full circle and filled with new appreciations for each other. This is exactly how it should be: The Way Home isn’t a great film, but it doesn’t want to be. It’s content in being a warm, unprofound one, and we embrace it on those terms. A.K.A. Jibeuro (original Korean title) Cast: Cj Entertainments presents a film by Tube Entertainment. Written and directed by Jeong-hyang Lee. Rated PG, for mild thematic elements and language (it’s fine for the family). Running time: 88 minutes. Original Korean theatrical release date: April 5, 2002. In Korean, with English subtitles. Questions? Comments? E-mail me: danel_the_tinman@hotmail.com |
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