Director Na Hong-jin is back. It has been 10 years since "The Wailing." Unveiled at the Grand Théâtre Lumière of the 79th Cannes Film Festival, his new film "Hope" boldly crosses genres with overwhelming directorial command. It ultimately lands as science fiction featuring an alien, but what the film truly asks about is "hope." What happens when my hope collides with another's hope? The director clings to the consequences of that collision until the very end. His signature damp, unsettling dread is still intact, and the relentless sense of pursuit remains alive. This time, traces of humor slip in between the horror, offering a different kind of pleasure.
The characters in the film each move with their own hope. For some it is survival, for some it is family, and for others it is an unknown being. The director says, "Neither side is at fault." No one harbors evil intent. And yet when their hopes collide, only tragedy remains. Rather than blaming anyone, the audience is led to face that sorrow and cold reality together. The film shows that the world we live in is ultimately a place where different hopes collide.
The title "Hope" carries a double meaning. Avoiding both the directness of the English word "Hope" and the obvious weightiness of the Korean word "huimang," it twists the nuance of the word into the name of a fictional town.
Hopo Port is a strange space where the institutional and the non-institutional, the past and the future, are mixed together. British-style place names, signs combining Roman letters and Chinese characters, aging factories and harbors, and tangled languages create an uncanny atmosphere. The film's two protagonists, Hopo Port branch chief Beom-seok (Hwang Jung-min) and village youth Seong-gi (Jo In-sung), differ in purpose and method but ultimately run along the same path. Beom-seok represents institutional hope, a figure trying to protect his family and community. Seong-gi embodies a wild, instinctive hope of survival. By constantly cross-cutting between the two, the director makes the audience physically feel the tragic structure.
Space is especially significant in this film. As with the alleys of "The Chaser," the wilderness of "The Yellow Sea," and the forest of "The Wailing," space in "Hope" functions as an active agent that determines the fate of its characters. The narrow alleys and enclosed interiors of Hopo Port bind the characters and amplify their desperation. The deep blue forest looks free, but it is ultimately a labyrinth from which there is no escape. The vast meadows of Romania, where the climax unfolds, stand in stark contrast to the Korean settings, visualizing how vast yet fleeting hope can be.
For all 160 minutes, there is no room to breathe. A giant unidentified being descends on the village, and a struggle and chase unfold amid chaos. Through it all, the deep blue of the dense forest creates a sensory contrast.
"Hope" is not a film that gives answers. The questions begin after the film ends. Does the hope I hold not become someone else's despair? Within endless collision, can we still remain human? The film leaves that question quietly, yet chillingly.
/Ha Eun-sun, Member of the Golden Globes Foundation
