The same is thankfully not true of writer/director Hong-jin Na ("The Yellow Sea," "The Chaser") and his tendency of overdoing everything. There are no small melodramatic plot developments in "The Wailing," only a steady stream of major ones. For example: it's always raining in this film (usually thunderstorms, too), and victims are almost always covered in mud, dirt, blood and sweat. Na ruthlessly works viewers over with these shock-and-awe tactics, but he does it so well that I can't really complain given his film's cacophonous, but satisfyingly ambiguous ending. Still, and I repeat this for good measure: "The Wailing" can be very, very dumb.
Obzor Na Film
A series of gore-drenched slayings hits home for Jong-gu, a slow-witted cop in a small town, when he discovers that his daughter Hyo-jin (Hwan-hee Kim) has become afflicted by, well, whatever is killing his fellow townsfolk. Jong-gu is, as the first hour or so suggests, completely out of his depth. At this point in the film, Na mines his story for black humor, and wins viewers over by making Jong-gu look like a lovable screw-up. He's confronted with a mountain of bodies, an evil foreigner with a cabin-full of creepy photos, and plague-like omens that manifest in the form of dead ravens, a rock-chucking mute and portentous dreams.
This portion of the film is full of implausible plot twists, one of the least interesting things to write about when it comes to horror/mystery movies. After all, so many of the best genre films cannot be held accountable to a strict, literal relationship with reality. Still, there are a lot of things about Jong-gu's investigation that not only make him look rock-stupid, but also make the rest of the film's events look braindead by association.
To be fair: there is a supernatural element to the film, and viewers are ultimately left wondering if characters are genuinely being afflicted by something beyond the realm of rational thought. But within the detective/mystery portion of "The Wailing," there are a lot of unanswered questions. For example, Jong-gu is a cop, but he doesn't arrest the above-mentioned Japanese stranger (Jun Kunimura) even after he discovers photographs, and creepy ritual totems littering the stranger's Unabomber-style forest cabin. Nobody oversees Jong-gu's investigation, so nobody tells him how to fact-find or gather evidence. Instead, there's just a bunch of random events spurred on by Jong-gu's anger and curiosity. And it's not just Jong-gu whose actions are questionable. You have to wonder: Why didn't that other character say something? Where did that secondary character disappear to? What's she thinking when he says that? Who's in charge here?
That last question is, despite some ludicrous plot developments, the question of the film. It may be that much harder to accept that characters behave in an unbelievable way throughout "The Wailing," especially when faced with perils as dire as a seemingly possessed/heavily afflicted child, and a mountain of corpses. But once the film becomes a demonic-possession-type horror film, "The Wailing" makes a lot more sense.
Unlike "The Exorcist," Na's film periodically asks viewers to realize, or at least question, what they would do in the face of such oppressively overwhelming evidence. Jong-gu sees his daughter in pain, and hires a traditional Korean shaman (Jung-min Hwang) to help get rid of her affliction. The scene where the shaman tries to exorcise Hyo-jin is intense, and not just because it's appropriately loud. Na paces and visualizes events with a perceptive eye for detail. He films every scene as if it were a set piece, and makes every plot point feel climactic. You cannot help but feel as worn out as Jong-gu does. It may be impossible to turn off your brain while watching "The Wailing," but that makes the film's visceral charms that much more admirably vexing.
Brian Tallerico is the Editor of RogerEbert.com, and also covers television, film, Blu-ray, and video games. He is also a writer for Vulture, The Playlist, The New York Times, and Rolling Stone, and the President of the Chicago Film Critics Association.
This conventional view is completely wrong. What we think of as Felliniesque comes to full flower in "La Dolce Vita" and "8 1/2." His later films, except for "Amarcord," are not as good, and some are positively bad, but they are stamped with an unmistakable maker's mark. The earlier films, wonderful as they often are, have their Felliniesque charm weighted down by leftover obligations to neorealism.
The critic Alan Stone, writing in the Boston Review, deplores Fellini's "stylistic tendency to emphasize images over ideas." I celebrate it. A filmmaker who prefers ideas to images will never advance above the second rank because he is fighting the nature of his art. The printed word is ideal for ideas; film is made for images, and images are best when they are free to evoke many associations and are not linked to narrowly defined purposes. Here is Stone on the complexity of "8 1/2": "Almost no one knew for sure what they had seen after one viewing." True enough. But true of all great films, while you know for sure what you've seen after one viewing of a shallow one.
"8 1/2" is the best film ever made about filmmaking. It is told from the director's point of view, and its hero, Guido (Marcello Mastroianni), is clearly intended to represent Fellini. It begins with a nightmare of asphyxiation, and a memorable image in which Guido floats off into the sky, only to be yanked back to earth by a rope pulled by his associates, who are hectoring him to organize his plans for his next movie. Much of the film takes place at a spa near Rome, and at the enormous set Guido has constructed nearby for his next film, a science fiction epic he has lost all interest in.
The film weaves in and out of reality and fantasy. Some critics complained that it was impossible to tell what was real and what was taking place only in Guido's head, but I have never had the slightest difficulty, and there is usually a clear turning point as Guido escapes from the uncomfortable present into the accommodating world of his dreams.
All of the images (real, remembered, invented) come together into one of the most tightly structured films Fellini made. The screenplay is meticulous in its construction--and yet, because the story is about a confused director who has no idea what he wants to do next, "8 1/2" itself is often described as the flailings of a filmmaker without a plan. "What happens," asks a Web-based critic, "when one of the world's most respected directors runs out of ideas, and not just in a run-of-the-mill kind of way, but whole hog, so far that he actually makes a film about himself not being able to make a film?" But "8 1/2" is not a film about a director out of ideas--it is a film filled to bursting with inspiration. Guido is unable to make a film, but Fellini manifestly is not.
Mastroianni plays Guido as a man exhausted by his evasions, lies and sensual appetites. He has a wife (Anouk Aimee), chic and intellectual, who he loves but cannot communicate with, and a mistress (Sandra Milo), cheap and tawdry, who offends his taste but inflames his libido. He manages his affairs so badly that both women are in the spa town at the same time, along with his impatient producer, his critical writer, and uneasy actors who hope or believe they will be in the film. He finds not a moment's peace. "Happiness," Guido muses late in the film, "consists of being able to tell the truth without hurting anyone." That gift has not been mastered by Guido's writer, who tells the director his film is "a series of complete senseless episodes," and "doesn't have the advantage of the avant-garde films, although it has all of the drawbacks."
All of these moves are brought together in his characteristic parades. Inspired by a childhood love of the circus, Fellini used parades in all his films--not structured parades but informal ones, people moving together toward a common goal or to the same music, some in the foreground, some farther away. "8 1/2" ends with a parade that has deliberate circus overtones, with a parade of musicians, major characters, and the grotesques, eccentrics and "types" that Fellini loved to cast in his films.
I have seen "8 1/2" over and over again, and my appreciation only deepens. It does what is almost impossible: Fellini is a magician who discusses, reveals, explains and deconstructs his tricks, while still fooling us with them. He claims he doesn't know what he wants or how to achieve it, and the film proves he knows exactly, and rejoices in his knowledge.
"Včera byly vyhlášeny vítězové národní soutěže Český obzor. Ve dvou kategoriích zvítězil mnoha cenami ověnčený film Darii Kashcheevy Dcera. Kromě studentské kategorie ho členové RAFu zvolili hlasováním napříč všemi kategoriemi i Nejlepším českým animovaným dílem."
This article was amended on 13 July 2015 because an earlier version said How to Train Your Dragon 2 won the Academy award for animated feature film. Big Hero 6 won the award, although How to Train Your Dragon 2 was nominated.
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