Asian film expert Paolo Bertolin, a consultant for festivals such as the Venice International Film Festival, Visions de Reel in Nyon, the Udine Far East Film Festival and the Doha Film Institute, attended the Jeonju International Film Festival (JIFF) as a member of the main competition jury this spring. He took time out of his busy schedule to answer some questions for KoBiz during his annual trip to the Cannes Film Festival.

 

For the longest time, JIFF has had a distinctive image and identity within the panorama of film festivals in Asia. It was practically the sole event to place independent productions and so-called avant-garde cinema at the core of its programming. Its worldwide reputation is also thanks to its groundbreaking support of digital cinema, as seen in the Jeonju Digital Project. In the past two years, there was a shift towards a more compromised selection of films. Yet, JIFF hasn't abdicated its mission of presenting challenging and daring productions, and it absolutely shouldn't.

 

With the disappearance of the Cinema Digital Seoul Film Festival (CinDi), the support and relevance JIFF gives to idiosyncratic cinema has become even more invaluable. Another distinctive trait is the excellent audience turnout within a provincial setting. It is always encouraging to see casual local viewers, who are clearly not hardcore cinema buffs, seeking out the most obscure films.

 

For quite some time, I have had the feeling that Korean independent films are looking more and more inward. The stories told seem to focus very much on individual experiences, and revolve around the sphere of personal emotions and familial crisis. I guess this is inevitable when one thinks that the greatest bulk of independent productions we get to see at fests are low budget films made by young directors. Still, there seems to be a comparative lack of works that engage in more ambitious challenges, not only thematically, but also narratively and aesthetically. For some time now, in the circle of international festival programmers, the notion of a 'Korean indie look' has been identified: well-crafted, well-acted films revolving around apparently ordinary plots that suddenly present one (or two) clever twists, and/or often veer into outbursts of violence or disturbing imagery. As with every formula, the interest for this kind of production is wearing out and chances for such films to travel are growing thinner and thinner.

 

 

Conversely, and luckily, a few distinctive films have shown possible stylistic approaches that are more engaging and narratives that are more ambitious, without the need of relying on huge budgets. Three notable examples are, in my opinion, PARK Jung-bum's The Journals of Musan (2011), for its deeply human social engagement presented through a storytelling style that is almost akin to documentary, O Muel's Jiseul, for its stylistic rigor in dealing with historical trauma, and NOH Young-seok's Intruders, for its unpredictable exploration of genre, whose breathtaking crescendo and surprising political nuances reminded me of early Carpenter.

 

One could also mention that there were a few examples of documentaries trying to deal with a more creative approach to the material they present: the fact that two Korean documentaries, A Dream of Iron and Non-Fiction Diary, were both selected in the Berlinale Forum 2014 and shared the NETPAC Award was an encouraging sign.

 

Judging from the highly publicized box office results, one could not help but marvel over the achievements in the mainstream sector. I have the feeling that the truth is that, like elsewhere, a few films are making a lot of money, while most are struggling to break even – at least theatrically. However, from a strictly industrial point of view, there is no doubt that Korean cinema is in good shape. This is simply because of the vertical integration in the cinema sector, where some key conglomerates dominate the production, distribution and exhibition sectors. After all, this is the American system; a system that allowed Hollywood to thrive and curtail external competition. The Korean industry boldly recovered from the fears that followed the halving of its screening quotas almost a decade ago. One could complain that the creative spur in mainstream cinema of the late 90s and early 2000s is long gone. Yet, this is probably an inevitable price to pay for a system to find its internal stability – if for nothing else, to minimize risks and sustain itself in the long term. If there weren't still good, or even outstanding films, the aforementioned box office achievements would not be possible.

 

I somewhat disagree with this question. In the last fifteen years or so, Korean films have managed the incredible feat of establishing an identity and a reputation among Western audiences. Before that, the notion of a “Korean cinema” or of “Korean films” was totally alien even to dedicated art-house audiences. If one remembers that, thanks to the landmark Golden Leopard it won at Locarno Film Festival, the 1989 Buddhist drama Why Bodhi Dharma Has Left for the East? was the first South Korean film to find it way to specialty cinemas in the West (quite ironically, considering its title!), it is clear that Korean films have come a long way. After all, the notion of “(Mainland) Chinese cinema” and “Chinese films” only started developing and spreading among Western audiences a few years earlier. Let's be frank about another fact: if one looks at the East Asian cinema that traditionally has had the longest and widest visibility in Western festivals and art-house cinemas, not even Japanese cinema has ever been truly mainstream or well-known to the wider theater-going public.

 

Korean cinema and Korean films now enjoy a somewhat wide recognition among Western audiences, thanks also to DVD-only releases – and yes, let's face it, thanks to illegal downloads, which have had an undeniable role in spreading awareness and even creating a fan base for Korean films. However, one has to mention that the widespread image of Korean cinema in the West have may be distorted and affected by some stereotypes, i.e. Korean films being violent and 'twisted'. This was probably fostered, on the one hand, by the affirmation of director KIM Ki-duk's films as the hottest Korean sell in Western art-house markets, as well as, on the other, by the canonization of PARK Chan-wook's Old Boy (2003) as one of the ultimate cult movies in world cinema of the last decade. Although some find these stereotypes problematic, it is undeniable that they helped Korean films set a firm foot in the consciousness of Western audiences. It might be hard, but in the long term, more and more compelling films will help overcome the stereotypes and establish a richer and multifaceted image of Korean cinema.

 

Co-productions may represent the real stage for Korean cinema, both for mainstream and (even more) independent films. Engaging in talks with foreign counterparts may be harder and time-consuming for local producers and directors, but it could bring in a critical interface helping Korean films garner an even wider international reach. It is a challenge, but one that is worth taking, as an insular attitude will surely not help in an industry that pushes more and more for global exchanges of capitals and creativity.

 

Because of my jury schedule and, honestly, because of jet-lag, I could not view many of the new Korean films. But I managed to catch the award-winning A Fresh Start by JANG Woo-jin. It is indeed a refreshing breath of fresh air, and a truly brilliant debut. It is one of those rare films that fully captures your attention from the very first images, establishing a self-assured cinematic gaze through an unsettling opening. Although the narrative doesn't map uncharted lands and the director does not rely on unexpected twists or attention-grabbing stylistic flourishes, A Fresh Start convinces for its direct, simple and true-to-life account of its characters' predicament. The final scene has stayed in my memory, as it beautifully staged a fine dramatic closure on a very unexpected natural backdrop.

 

Our jury deliberation in Jeonju was quite unanimous. We all more or less agreed on the three titles we thought deserved recognition, and we only talked a bit more extensively on the actual ranking for the three films in question. It is thus inevitable for me to subscribe to our verdict, and confirm that the standouts in the Jeonju competition were Benjamin Neshtat's ambitious and disquieting History of Fear, Lois Patino's lyrical landscape movie Coast of Death, and Irene Gutiérrez and Javier Labrador's touching documentary Hotel Nueva Isla.

 

The national tragedy of the Sewol Ferry disaster obviously affected the general mood at the festival, and it led to the cancellation of all red carpet and party events. Nevertheless, the audience still showed great interest and dedication to the movie programming.

As for the changes it has undergone, it is clear that JIFF is going through a moment of transition. But I guess that only by maintaining its vocation and mission as an event that champions diverse, inventive and challenging films, JIFF will be able to keep its standing and importance in the overcrowded panorama of international film festivals.

 

 
Unfortunately, I did not manage to view the three feature films produced under the Jeonju Digital Project scheme this year. Expanding the program to the production of feature length films was surely a hazardous bet. Yet, it is also an exciting one, especially because of the filmmakers involved (György Pálfy, PARK Jung-bum and SHIN Yeon-shick). If it can help talented directors produce features in total freedom, why not welcome this new opportunity? In any case, such a move perfectly suits the adventurous nature the Jeonju Digital Project initiative has had since its inception. I look forward to discovering the films in this year’s batch (and in future ones) with high hopes and great expectations.

By Pierce Conran