How to Play With Tone and Get Away With It
Memories of Murder (살인의추억) is a 2003 crime film by some guy called Bong Joon-ho who never did anything of note afterwards. The end. Let’s all go home.
God I’m so funny. Of course, Bong Joon-ho is probably the most famous South Korean director working today, alongside Park Chan-wook. His most recent film, Parasite, won the Oscar in 2020 (possibly the only good thing that actually happened in 2020) and his other work has included bangers (technical term) like The Host, Mother, Okja and Snowpiercer. Being incredibly cool with a bustling social life, I have of course seen all the movies I have just mentioned, Memories being the last major item on the Bong list that I had yet to tick off. OK, OK, I haven’t seen Barking Dogs Never Bite either, but that’s the debated-quality first feature. Memories is a bit more than that.
Set in 1986 and loosely based around Korea’s first serial murder case (the perpetrator for which was finally caught…in 2019. Speedy work there), Memories of Murder is, of course, a crime thriller. However, it manages, like a lot of Bong’s other work, to hit several other modes as well. If you’ve seen Parasite, you’ll know the culmination of these threads that we see here: the comedic balancing with the dark, satirical and tragic, sometimes all in the same scene.
The story revolves around two policemen- Song Kang-ho as Park Doo-man, lead detective (and king of Korean cinema acting), and Kim Roi-ha as Cho Yong-koo, his junior with a penchant for beating people- who are charged with investigating the murders of multiple women in their sleepy little town. They are joined by a detective from Seoul, Kim Sang-kyung’s Seo Tae-yoon, who is far more knowledgeable and level-headed than them. Countryside police as they are, Park and Cho cut ridiculous figures trying to unsuccessfully cordon off murder scenes from curious villagers, or preserve footprints from oncoming tractors. The main conflict of the narrative character-wise comes from their ‘rough and ready’ approach clashing with the experienced Seoul detective who, whilst no fun, seems to actually know what he’s doing.
From this description, and that that some critics give it, the film almost sounds like an out-and-out farce. And, to be fair, there is more than one scene of ridiculous fighting and people falling over. I was a little worried at hearing the description of a serial crime murder thriller as funny: whilst dark humour is absolutely a thing (hello Death of Stalin), it is a fine line to walk between being sharply satirical, and being insensitive. As a *pause for emphasis* feminist woman (hushed whispers from the shocked audience), I couldn’t help but fear that there might be a slight insensitivity here in making a film vary in tone when the subject is the brutal murder of women. We’ve seen it before, of course, because femicide is just so darn funny, but I was concerned Bong would slip into problematic territory.
I needn’t have worried, though, and Parasite should have assured me of that if nothing else. The expertise in Memories of Murder comes in knowing exactly what tone to use for each moment in the film, and how to shift that tone when needed. Whilst lesser movies feel like they are taking nauseating 180 degree turns at will (I Love You Phillip Morris springs to mind), Memories is a masterclass in placement and use of mood in different moments.
Take the scene where Park and Seo get into a fist fight in the police office as an example. They lunge at each other due to Park’s frustration at Seo rejecting his latest suspect, throwing punches and falling haphazardly into desks. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that it’s funny, but it’s certainly a ridiculous moment. Until their female colleague, Kwon Kwi-ok, screams to divert their attention to the radio. This radio is playing a song that Kwon had identified as being played whenever the killer is about to strike, on specifically rainy nights. Noticing that their fighting has led them to miss this, we watch as the characters realise that they have allowed another murder to happen. In the one room in mere moments, the narrative dips into a frightening and tense place, in a manner that seems as natural as the twists and turns of real life.
This expert handling of tone meant that the movie treated every one of its elements in the way that they deserved, short-changing nothing and no one for the sake of narrative gain. I couldn’t help but notice this especially in the presentation of the female characters. Whilst I do have some issues with the notion that a film can be completely feminist without actually having lead/important female characters (I get that you can make movies focussed on men that display their problems in relation to women, of course you can, but like, jeez, we’re 50% of the world, can we maybe stop with there being so many movies with only one of us?), this film is a great example of how it can be done.
The men are the policemen investigating this crime (and of course, the perpetrator behind it is also male), while the women are the victims, the girlfriends, the school girls, and one lone female detective (the previously mentioned Kwon). The men are inept, bumbling, and reductive in so many ways in their attitudes to women, and this isn’t shied away from. The detectives speak fairly suggestively about one of the victims with a bit of a ‘reputation’, rely on Kwon to make them coffee even though it appears she is of the same or similar rank, and leer and grope at women in the karaoke bar whilst they get smashed. Bong Joon-ho is clear to show us that these guys are absolutely not the paragon of right-on, and, particularly in their disregard of detective Kwon, that their behaviour is actively damaging to the cause of finding the murderer. These details show the impact of what some might call ‘minor’ misogynistic behaviours: they can snowball into a situation where women end up dead.
It sounds strange to say that I also really enjoyed the presentation of the crime scenes, but again, I was relieved and impressed that, in these moments, the bodies of these murdered women were hallowed things. Never a point of any kind of lightness, once the camera was on these women, the image was simply stark and sad. I’m glad no need was felt to zoom in on graphic details, or to show nudity or injury detail. In fact, these women seemed remarkably human, eyes still open and all. The film took great care to present these bodies as those of women who had led whole lives, even if we mostly didn’t see them.
Smelly feminist stuff over. JK it will never end, mwahaha. But, through this one example, Memories of Murder demonstrates itself as a film of nuance and complexity. Much as it is really difficult to pin down the exact genre of Parasite due to its constant tone switches, here it is equally challenging to fully label this film as crime, thriller, satire or tragedy. It sits at the intersection of all of these things, much as real life does. Which is of course apt, as this film comes from a real case. Much as the true tone of Memories is ambiguous, so is the morality of our stupid but hardworking cops, and even the narrative itself.
To spoil the ending (spoilers ahead: if you hadn’t twigged that from the beginning of the sentence, I’m telling you now), the actual murderer of the women is never found in the movie, and the last scene leaves us with the tantalising knowledge that he was not caught and may well have continued his crimes. The famous parting shot of the film, where Song Kang-ho looks directly into the camera, piercing the audience with his stare as he wonders who the killer could be, is a fitting moment of questioning in a film with no answers.
Memories of Murder does not want to lead us to an obvious killer in a murder spree played for thrills and excitement. It wants us to see the people in this tragic situation as complex, questions of people who have not been answered. This film is ambiguous because its subjects are; its tone changes because life changes. As an early gem in Bong Joon-ho’s cannon, Memories shows us the skill of a director who would only go on to extend these ideas in later milestones of Korean cinema.
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