The Sobering Reality We Never Controlled

The world of Na Hong-Jin’s The Wailing is rife with awful outcomes morphing into tangible reality. This is a world riddled with ignorant people who live very compartmentalized lives. A picturesque rural region of South Korea stripped of any social, or environmental, discrepancy that could upset the flow of existence. The locals seek to diminish any encroaching sense of potential reflection in lieu of tranquility. The cataclysmic nature of what transpires festers before their thrives on this detached urge to remain ignorant. The indolent, and narcissistic, Jong-Goo, played with pitch perfect irritation by Kwak Do-Won, is saddled with a generational case of possession within his community. The residents are physically degrading as this malicious energy begins to seep and dislodge any remnants of a normal home. Jong-Goo, and his fellow officer, Oh Seong-Bak, are mortified by this and proceed to unravel the gargantuan task laid before them. The film then proceeded to spend the next two hours and thirty minutes erasing any ounce of control that these two could disingenuously claim to have. The unanticipated spiral this fable induced for me existed in a contemplative realm. We all have to contend with our mortality and limitations as we grow wiser as individuals. A very startling conversation that’s only grown in importance these past two years in my story. The line between wisdom and arrogance has been a cyclical barrier to overcome on many fronts. Many nights of endless consideration as to whether my thought processes fostered the right point of action being taken in any given situation. I think the core of these situations is why such a morose adventure struck such a fundamental nerve. I am vindictive with the main character and still harbor no sense of obliviousness to my own traits potentially leading me astray. The unraveling of Satan’s machinations are completely avoidable and still we are ensnared due to our own unshakable inhibitions. A damning mosaic of the importance of unmitigated self awareness and reflection. 

Jong-Goo, and his family, live a very simple existence. The set up is captured with serene essence by cinematographer Hong Kyung-Pyo. A forestry covered with a lush green and a sky that’s simmering under the umbrella of a dark blue. The pieces begin to manifest with subtle menace. Na Hong Jin’s methodical pacing is aptly paired with his defiant willingness to subvert any clear meaning. The editing will place a frame at each transition that can convey a specific message that initially doesn’t strike as important. The encounter between a hunter and a satanic creature devouring an animal’s flesh is patched with Jong-Goo sinking into a quiet huddle. Is it a fantasy? Is it the truthful recounting of a man who survived a malicious entity? The answer is transparently communicated and still we question the authenticity of the spiritual power. How can it be something so simple and childish? The framing of it almost merits empathy when you consider the logic of the diatribe. The compulsion to feign ignorance for stability lends itself to inciting recoil at such a spiritual implication. This is already following multiple instances where brutal murders have rampantly sprung forth around the town. That’s where Jin manipulates your perception with such firm confidence. I could even sense my own doubt encroaching as I took a second to evaluate the possibilities as it trollied along. Each crime scene with Jun Kunimura, as the potentially nefarious figure, roaming in the backdrop with the essence of a dour cretin. He’s practically taunting us. Does the comfort of ignorance carry a stronger weight than the liberation of closures? How can we overcome such a tremendous force of nature if we can’t recognize what is right in front of us? It evokes all the instances my fellow Americans have ignored its own malevolent leaders in these past ten years. People who can watch something transgressive unfold against the working class without even breaking their daily routine. A sincere situation that could’ve resulted in an awakening for change and still chose complacency. A microcosm of that same frustration is pulsating with each missed opportunity for Jong-Goo to seize the moment and save lives. He never does. Throughout the film, I was on the edge of my seat hoping to feel some elation that would counteract the constant dread in my head. It never occurs. That’s the crucial component lingering in my mind as I thought about what ruptures when we choose to look away instead of forward. 

The villain of the story has already won. The attitude of the deity in the film conveyed a snide sadism that only worsens when you consider how simple his method is. The running theme with ignorance in the film is best exhibited by the form of evil being manifested by a Japanese man. Korean history is riddled with the dark behavior of the Japanese Empire of the nineteenth and twentieth century. What is a better way to distract from the spiritual nature of a crime than to intertwine your behavior with a pre-conceived bias? It doesn’t matter how grotesque the state of victim’s physical infections increase, how violent the familial massacres are, or how frequent the strange sightings become since everyone has made their peace placing it on the “Japanese foreigner”. In the final scene, he looks a deacon in the eye and declares bluntly, “You already made a decision. Now you only have to understand why.” The single most ferocious message of the film becomes quite apparent for me. A ghastly embarrassment is worse than a genuine mistake. The few times we are almost granted a reprieve are also destroyed from impulsive decision making. Jong-Goo breaking the Shaman, Il-Gwang’s, ritual is where the truth is revealed without a word spoken. We finally see a chance into the light just to have his “logical” instinct kick in for the sake of quelling discomfort. A moment of weakness when courage is required. “You already made a decision.” That rang within my mind like a chime. The Devil is a figure that doesn’t thread the needle himself. He reaches out to you wielding the blade you’ll collapse on yourself. Your inability to help yourself is the culprit of The Wailing. Can a demon hurt those already pre-destined to manufacture their own downfall? A brilliant shot that comes to mind is the very beginning when the Devil casts his fishing line in the river. We think what he seeks to capture is a fish. The greatest laugh erupts when you ingest the reality that capturing the “fish” wasn’t the real entertainment. It was derived from how much it resists its fate. Jong-Goo is a character that was always meant to fail. Even angelic figures that use divine intervention can’t soften the blow of what transpires over the film. He is destined to watch his family suffer, to watch his community dissolve into despair, and to squander the assistance of God. 

The heartbreaking aspect of it all culminates first for me before the madness begins. It’s the state of the family as curated by Jong-Goo. A man who cheats on his wife, lazily upholds his duty as an officer of the people, and constantly orchestrates excuses to why he is absent when it’s most important. It’s easy to see his flagrant misgivings and see why he is going to be punished in a cosmic sense. It’s even more difficult part to swallow is how human it is. I can remember all of the instances in which I made excuses professionally, didn’t live up to my ideals as a romantic partner, and also failed a close- knit group that I cared about sincerely. Granted, I don’t believe that my mistakes contain a fraction of the grievances Jong-Goo causes. It’s a very thin line most can not confidently say they haven’t crossed. The eloquence of the writing begins to truly blossom in that third act when you start to feel Jong-Goo genuinely beginning to try. It’s simply too late and the one chance he has to regulate the problem results in another failure. I compare the scene of the Angel promising to resolve the issue to my final time relapsing as a young man. I had finally begun to understand where I was failing. I was rising from the endless abyss of addiction and starting to conceive of life without numbing my ability to think or express. I simply had to just go to college and do my work. Yet, as Jong-Goo does, I began to doubt a very simple answer. “After the third rooster crow you may return home”. Once again, my personal devil won and caused me to waver. I had ignored all the harbinger of peace before. I wasn’t going to do that again. The greatest persuasive force is doubt. Jong-Goo returns home to find out what tragedy had unfolded. I had returned home with my mental faculties under the cloud of complacency again. Sometimes, the truth is one to accept with patience instead of indulging hastiness. 

The Wailing is a film that was even more mesmerizing to me upon my recent reappraisal. Rarely does a horror property engage with existentialism so fluidly and concretely. It was the film I needed at my current juncture as a twenty-eight-year-old seeking to make the right decisions about forming his future. Everyday, we must confront the aspects of ourselves that can promote the most harmful outcomes. It sounds fabulistic until you engage with a piece of art like the one I’m currently discussing. The inability to look in front of you and make decisions that best propagate a reality that enhances your livelihood and secures outcomes that don’t enable the harsh outcomes experienced by Jong-Goo. Whether it’s interpersonal decision making or societal decisions we are responsible on some level. One can only hope that they have the resilience and courage necessary to not stumble into a grave conclusion.