Even though it has had its screenings in multiple film festivals around the world and its theatrical release in many different countries, I have carefully resisted the temptation to watch Bong Joon-ho’s ‘Parasite’ on any virtual platform, because I was keen on watching the “brilliance” of this “modern masterpiece” unfurl in a theatre (its intended viewing space). To say that my expectations were naturally aroused owing to the overwhelming adulation it has received would be an understatement. To say that the film superseded my greatest expectations, however, would be a bigger understatement.
The central story is deceptively simple. The economically disadvantaged Kim family, consisting of father Kim Ki-taek, mother Chung-sook, son Kim Ki-woo, and daughter Kim Ki-jeong, live in a small basement apartment and are compelled to resort to temporary jobs with paltry remunerations to make ends meet. Through a providential turn of events, the son finds employment as an English tutor for the daughter of the vastly wealthier Park family, consisting of father Park Dong-ik, mother Yeon-gyo, daughter Park Da-hye, and son Park Da-Song. The plot thickens as all the members of the Kim family scheme to become employed by the Park family by deceitfully infiltrating their household and pretending to be unrelated and highly qualified professionals.
I am painfully aware that there is very little (perhaps nothing) for me to say about this film that has not already been said. I must, however, attempt to convey my sincere appreciation for the film as sincerely as possible. The root of that appreciation is the masterful screenplay and the storytelling techniques employed by Bong and co-screenwriter Han Jin-won. The dialogues are pithy and purposive, but they never feel unnatural. The feel of the film is distinctively reminiscent of many of Bong’s earlier films, such as ‘Barking Dogs Never Bite’ (2000), ‘Memories of Murder’ (2003), and ‘The Host’ (2006); the writing is precise and taut, the social commentary is incisive, the mood is consistently inconsistent, the hybridisation of multiple typically separate genres is skilfully achieved, and the frequent touches of humour are delectably dark. Another familiar technique is the visual cyclicism that Bong has employed in certain earlier films like ‘Memories of Murder’ (2003), ‘Mother’ (2009), and ‘Okja’ (2014); the film begins with a shot of the Kim family’s socks hanging from a height in their apartment and ends on a similar note. It elicits a strange sense of pragmatism swathed in gloom; despite the monumental events that have transpired in the lives of these people, the larger world remains unchanged, and their world remains bound to their circumstances by the larger structures(s) that the film attempts to examine. A “happy ending” is often achieved through visually and metaphorically projecting the individual as someone who rises above the constraints enforced by intersecting elements in their milieu; but, in this implicit rejection of the power of the individual over the social structures presiding over them, the film is evocative of sociologist Émile Durkheim’s positivist theory of social facts, which posits that social facts are norms and structures that transcend the might of every individual and exercise social control over them.
There are several symbolic motifs that are utilised to great effect; most notably, elevations and odours. Even at their most anxious, the affluent elite are constantly shown climbing staircases. The residence of the Park family is also positioned on one side of a slope, which must be scaled by “lesser” individuals to reach. In constrast, the Kim family lives in a basement apartment, the windows of which barely peer above the street; these apartments are characteristic of urban settlements in many countries around the world, particularly in South Korea and its capital city Seoul. Their living space resembles a class-enforced purgatory from which the elevated outer world is visible enough to strive toward, but not accessible enough to possess. In the case of odours, the recurring element is the (figurative and literal) stench of poverty; there is frequent mention of it, and those who are farther from class aspirationalism detest the unpleasant odour of those who are closer to it. It is evident that the writers have constructed the narrative keeping in mind both the metaphorical nature of the film and the tangibly polarised circumstances of the people it depicts.
The cinematography of Hong Kyung-pyo is strikingly assured and delicate; it is as if each frame has been adeptly designed to showcase the allegorical absurdity of the narrative. The camerawork keeps the viewer fully invested in the film despite the limited locations within which it advances, and the shots feel simultaneously well-timed and organic, which is highly commendable. I must also mention Yang Jin-mo’s superlative editing, which, combined with the cinematography, not only contributes to the film’s crisp finesse, but also gives us one of the best montages in recent memory. The montage chronicles the events leading up to the ordination of the Kim family’s mother into the Park household, set wonderfully against the classical piece ‘Spietati, io vi giurai’ from George Frideric Handel’s opera seria ‘Rodelinda’ (classical music is used more than once in the film).
A memorable montage, for me, should not be content with compressing narrative information through an economical ordering of shots; it must be one that positions itself seamlessly within the larger film, while also displaying relevance as a self-contained cinematic unit unto itself. Here, the makers achieve just that. The montage acts as a representative of a specifically prodigious quality of the film; the rhythm and the pacing are beautifully calibrated through the cinematography, the sound design, and the editing, which provide a comfortable mobility within the advancing narrative, and this is imperative for a film that frequently changes its mood and its cadence. They guide the viewer through the intermittent tonal shifts without letting one feel so much as a single bump. Lee Ha-jun’s production design is also a significant contributor to this effect, and it succeeds in potently realising the stark contrast between the characters. The Park household, in particular, is an ostentatious display of both wealth and empty space; the spatial vastness (and hollowness) serves as a reminder of the unwillingness of the wealthy to share what they dearly possess and what the less fortunate dearly desire.
The actors perform their roles with appropriate conviction. Each actor’s reliance on the other is less parasitic and more symbiotic. Song Kang-ho, Choi Woo-shik, Park So-dam, and Chang Hyae-jin portray the co-existent craftiness and desperation of the Kim family without faltering. The vulnerability of Choi as Kim Ki-woo is especially impressive. Lee Sun-kyun, Cho Yeo-jeong, and Jeong Ji-so effortlessly embody the naïveté and hubris of the Park family. Lee Jung-eun delivers a surprisingly noteworthy performance as Gook Moon-gwang, the Park family’s original housekeeper who loses her job owing to the duplicitous conspiracy of the Kims.
When speaking about his 2013 film ‘Snowpiercer’ with IndieWire, Bong termed it a “hallway movie”; it was a reference to the fact that the film is a tale of class warfare within the passengers of a train who happen to be the last humans on Earth, set against a dystopian world engulfed by political strife and global warming. Each section of the train represents a socio-economic class, and there is a horizontal class progression from the caboose to the head. In a press conference at the Cannes Film Festival, he referred to ‘Parasite’ as a “stairway movie”; this is not merely a reference to its frequent use of staircases, but to its exploration of social hierarchies and its willingness to scrutinise each rung of the social ladder. In essence, it is a parable about the pitfalls of modern capitalism sans the moral preaching at the end. While it most certainly delves into the prominent themes of class conflict and socio-economic inequality, it avoids absolutism in its investigation into privilege, and chooses instead to acknowledge the relative privilege that is an intrinsic part of the class hierarchy. It tactfully circumvents the temptation to formulate a moral binary that can naturally arise from a cursory perusal of Classical Marxism; it refuses to blatantly champion the proletariat (the Kim family) as the shimmering representative of accepted ethical codes, or to portray the wealthy bourgeoisie (the Park family) as sinister embodiments of “evil vices”. On the contrary, it presents the Kim family as a conniving and disingenuous lot, while the Park family is presented as a study in convivial affability. The film does offer a subtle justification for this, however; through an interaction between the Kims, it establishes prevailing notions of civility as luxuries of the privileged. In the story’s world (and perhaps ours), the internalised lust for hierarchical progress in a capitalist framework ensures that the poor cannot afford to be congenial or altruistic, because neither congeniality nor altruism ensure sustenance; deceit and manipulation often do. In this regard, the Marxist concept of alienation becomes relevant. Karl Marx spoke of a multi-faceted alienation that occurs as a systematic result of capitalism; along with the alienation of the labouring class from the the fruits of their labour (the surplus value of which is exploited by the capitalist class), Marx described the estrangement of individuals from the core of their ‘Gattungswesen’ (which roughly translates to “species-essence” or “species-being”) as a result of social stratification, thus alienating one from oneself and one’s sense of humanity.
These readings of the film lead us to a larger and more complex question: who, then, is the eponymous parasite of the film? To begin with, we could tackle two obvious interpretations. One, the elite is the parasite that is empowering itself by sucking on those that are more disadvantaged; their cruel disconnect from their surroundings manifests itself in the form of an explicit aversion to the aforementioned “stench of poverty” and the implied disgust that poverty makes them feel. The severity of this perennial humiliation is so casually inhumane that it might not even be noticeable. Two, the poor is the parasite, feeding on both those who are richer and those who are poorer; the Kim family attempt to worm their way into (pun intended) the Park household through dishonest means, and momentarily thrive because of the Parks’s gullible nature. Under the guise of ensuring their upward climb along the class ladder, they have become as averse to the needs of those who are even less fortunate than they are as the elite has become indifferent to theirs. Even in scenarios that could result in mutual benefit, their instinct is self-interest.
However, can more abstract concepts and emotions also be construed as parasites? Can avarice be thought of as an overarching parasite, that sucks the soul out of human beings regardless of their social status? Can capitalism and economic inequality be thought of as the parasites that feed on this same greed that propels market competition and pushes humankind towards eventual darkness? Or, is the hope of the poor the parasite that slowly eats into the lives of the oppressed by feeding them the illusion that their lives can be elevated beyond servitude and bondage?
The film poses many such disconcerting questions, but does not attempt to provide all the comfortable answers. Bong does not mince his sentiments at the cost of brtual honesty, and his film is as unrelenting in its commitment to its vision of social realism as it is assertive in its ambiguity. For that alone (and much more, of course), the film deserves all the plaudits it has received.
Contemplations of a Chaotic Cinegoer 