When Bong Joon-ho’s Okja premiered at Cannes this year, it was quickly surrounded with controversy. The news circulating was less about the film itself, however, and more about Netflix’s role as a producer. While the future of streaming services in the world of film is an legitimate debate, I was more interested in Okja for its content—specifically, how it would compare to Bong’s previous film, Snowpiercer (2013). Both films take place in the near future, feature ensemble casts, and tackle similar themes, from capitalism to environmentalism. Based on these similarities, I expected Bong’s eccentric and artistic style to convey these themes with equal strength in both films. After watching Okja, however, I realized that this ability to weave politics into cinema was a careful and tenuous balance, one which wasn’t struck properly in Bong’s newest film. When I asked myself what about Snowpiercer enables it to explore some of the same political themes as Okja without feeling incoherent and sanctimonious, the titular setting stood out to me as a possible answer.
Snowpiercer takes place in a post-apocalyptic future, where the last survivors of humanity withstand a new Ice Age in the confines of a train (called the Snowpiercer) where rigid hierarchy separates citizens into different train cars. The train travels immense distances during the film, but its nature as an entirely closed system keeps the characters tightly packed together. This physical immediacy effectively streamlines the social structure within the film world (car passengers increase in social status as one moves toward the engine) as well as the physical action and goals (the tail section must progress through the cars in order to reach the engine and take control). These two elements are so clear, precise, and simple that the film can be comfortably sprawling in other aspects—in particular, Bong is able to explore distinct and heightened visual styles without derailing the narrative or losing sight of the gritty reality of life aboard the Snowpiercer. This ability is particularly clear when the rebellious tail passengers violently storm a series of cars, as the viewer is subject to a series of distinct environments, from a dimly lit car of heavily armed guardsmen, to the bright and clean schoolroom car, filled with the smiling faces of children. These visually disjunct spaces are threaded together with a constant forward movement, as well as the tail passengers themselves—dirty, in drab and threadbare clothes, these passengers act as constant, sinister reminders of the true situation on the train. These characters are also given the crucial freedom to be ambiguous, complex, and contradictory without muddling the political issues that Bong explores. The protagonist and valiant leader of the tail car revolution, Curtis Everett (Chris Evans), is revealed to have a dark and troubled past. A father-daughter pair of genius drug addicts (Song Kang-ho and Go Ah-sung) are driven by pure self-interest, but become vital to the success of the rebellion. None of these or other characters are allowed to remain on the same moral footing that they were introduced on, however, as an increasingly dire situation prompts developments and revelations regarding their personal codes of ethics. Even the real nature of the revolution that Curtis leads, when it is finally explained, utterly upends expectations about good and evil, while the clear imagery about the evils of hegemonic government and the power of fear tactics remain as clear as they were when our knowledge was still limited to the reality of the tail car.
The action in Okja takes place over a much wider space, split evenly between the United States and South Korea. The film follows a young Korean girl, Mija (Ahn Seo-hyun), and Okja, her pet “super pig,” a species created by the sinister Mirando Corporation to make meat production more efficient and (supposedly) sustainable. The plot necessitates an ensemble cast, which is split into two general groups: those working with Mirando, and members of the Animal Liberation Front (AFL). Conflicts between these groups arise through the film, as both attempt to secure their own fate for Okja. As direct as these interactions may be (hijacking a Mirando truck, breaking into their facilities, and disrupting their operations), they lack much of the intimacy and immediacy that made Snowpiercer so visceral. That’s not to say that Okja isn’t violent or jarring at times, but these moments don’t land with the same effective artistry. One of the most violent scenes in Snowpiercer comes in the car of guardsmen, where an utter bloodbath takes place as the train passes through a tunnel. Bong plays with perspective and light here, portraying the violence with an obliqueness that makes it all the more grotesque. In contrast, violence in Okja mostly comes in the form of violence against Okja herself. Bong elects to show these scenes of animal cruelty completely, which serves as important motivation for the AFL but lessens their visual impact. In a similar vein, Okja’s action sequences are rooted much more in realism, further limiting opportunities for Bong to play with the extremes of his visual style, as well as opening a door for more specific political tangents that are ultimately more distracting than it is illuminating. One example of this allusion to modern politics that caught popular interest was a frame featuring the leaders of Mirando grouped around a table, watching a disastrous newscast on the activities of the AFL. The positions and appearances of the characters are designed to mimic the famous photo of the White House Situation Room following the killing of Osama bin Laden. The image is an interesting artifact of satire when viewed in a vacuum, but in the context of the film, however, political statements like this feel less clear—is the film about militarism or corporatism? Is the US government that subject of ridicule, and if not, who is? Because Bong decides to deal with such varied political topics, story coherence is instead found in the consistency of character morals. From the start of the film, those involved in corporate and commercial exploits, particularly the whimsically evil Mirando sisters (Tilda Swinton), have purely impure goals: that is, to continue with the cruel super pig program in order to maximize profit. On the other side of the spectrum are the members of the ALF—a sizable cast in themselves, these characters are almost all on the same page politically, and the complexity of their tactics of direct action are left mostly unexplored. When one member of the AFL makes a morally questionable decision, this is characterized as a personal fault rather than a systematic one among its members, making the reversal of the mistake a simpler narrative task.
Bong Joon-Ho is a filmmaker unafraid to make a statement, whether it be in the form of inventive visuals, eclectic storylines, or controversial politics. While Okja is the film of Bong’s that seems to be making more wave, both in terms of its production and its content, I feel that it’s Snowpiercer which deserves this notoriety. Of course, both films are visually striking and constitute noble forays into an eccentric and stylized world of sci-fi. But when it comes to politics, Snowpiercer is far more effective at delivering the message.
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