A vanguard of the Korean New Wave returns to cinema – without vengeance. By TIM WONG. (contains spoilers)

TWO TIRESOME trends – religion bashing, and in particular, Korean ultra-violence – are put to bed this year with the belated Secret Sunshine, a bright light amongst a procession of gangster and revenge pictures, which, by way of recent film festivals here, have appeared to hijack the entire annual output of a national cinema. With the exception of Hong Sang-soo and The Host, local audiences could be forgiven for thinking the makers of Old Boy have had a monopoly on film exports ever since, repackaging their flashy, yet increasingly soulless action pieces for world distribution. Such movies have found their way into this festival not necessarily at the expense of others, although it could be argued that had Lee Chang-dong continued to direct, his films would have supplanted the likes of A Bittersweet Life and No Mercy for the Rude by default. Now having completed his civic duty, Lee’s return to filmmaking can not some soon enough – 2002’s remarkable Oasis, his last outing prior to accepting the portfolio for Korean Minister of Culture, remains among the best films of the decade. Meanwhile, a quota of ditsy comedies, manipulative melodramas, and one-dimensional Kim Ki-duk movies wait in the wings, best kept at arm’s length.

A saving grace with cheap shots Jesus Camp and Audience of One prolonging religion’s bad rep on screen, the aptly titled Secret Sunshine, while not quite the positive reinforcement, arrives at a more constructive view of Christianity, portrayed here as a faith well equipped to manage and absorb debilitating grief. Yet for all the love and rejuvenation He offers a distraught mother in the wake of her son’s kidnapping and death, the film never loses sight of God’s mean-spiritedness either: the rationale behind the Lord’s will to taketh away a point of contention for the inconsolable Shin-ae (Jeon Do-yeon). Relocating to her late-husband’s hometown in the hope of starting afresh, she finds only temporary solace; her son discovered face down in a creek after being ransomed and murdered. Jeon, who claimed Best Actress at Cannes for her exhausting performance, hits the right notes of emotional devastation required for any Lee Chang-dong role, even if the uncontrollable wailing at times resembles comedy over tragedy – her hysterical breakdown in the throws of Christian worship a real doozy of born again frenzy. Joining her spiritual journey is the splendid Song Kang-ho; he plays a mild mechanic whose dysfunctional courtship both confirms him as Korea’s most interesting thesp, and provides the film with an alleviating sense of humour.

Lee, a novelist turned filmmaker, demonstrates a literary command over proceedings, with the structural integrity of the film never in doubt. But unlike the hermetically sealed Peppermint Candy and Green Fish, Lee’s hiatus has given rise to a less rigid translation of the script, and Secret Sunshine is allowed to wander – at least tonally – between humanism, cynicism, and classically Korean melodrama. Form also compliments function, with naturalistic visuals unhindered, open-ended, and appropriately subdued minus the cute devices of Lee’s previous films (save for the final shot of patterned sunlight which recalls the shadows-on-tapestry motif in Oasis). Adapted from a story by Yi Chong-jun, there’s also relief in the knowledge that Secret Sunshine found the right director; Yi’s abduction treatment conceivably another transgressive vengeance fantasy in the hands of a cowboy like Park Chan-wook. As Korean filmmakers persist with high-pitched, bloodthirsty stylisations of retribution, the key is not to overlook the quieter touchstones that emerge every year. Secret Sunshine, admittedly, is anything but muted, and possesses a violent, anguished soul. Like all Lee Chang-dong films though, it emits light in the strangest of places, and is grounded in a hopeful, human reality, histrionics notwithstanding.