Parasite

My first-ever Letterboxd review, written in early 2020, when I was still a 16-year-old writing joke reviews, was for Parasite. However, despite seeing it a couple times, I have not given this film the deep dive it deserves. Now that I've gotten to rewatch it for a screenwriting course, and have seen some of Bong joon-ho's other works, it's about time. This will not be one of my more cohesive reviews: instead, it will be a collection of notes I took on this viewing, akin to my reviews of Jaws and Get Out. There is just so much to unpack from this film that I could write multiple essays about. This is why I love Parasite:  - When I first saw Parasite, it affected me in a way I had trouble describing at first. My father and I were catching up on 2019’s Best Picture nominees, so we saw one of AMC’s Best Picture Showcase programs: there we saw Jojo Rabbit, Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, then Parasite. I went into it blind, as everyone who saw and loved the film insisted on, which certainly helped. The host of the Best Picture Showcase only told us three things: “Rich family, poor family, directed by Bong Joon-ho,” and noted it as his favorite by far of the nominees. What a perfect way to introduce the film. On leaving the theater, I didn't have a sudden, profound epiphany like I’ve experienced in other films I love. All I knew was I had seen SOMETHING. Whatever I had seen was unlike anything else I’d seen in a film, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. I was entertained and surprised by a film, in a way that stuck with me more than even most films I love. Parasite hadn’t left my mind. And the more I thought about it, the more I knew this was the most original, sharp-witted, perfectly structured, insightful, and shocking film in years. When my father and I rode home, we both agreed that Parasite was our favorite of the films we’d seen that day, and I told him, “That was unlike anything I’d seen before, it seemed like the most original one.” Those words from younger, dumber, less media-literate 16-year-old me still ring true. - I’m always surprised at how darkly funny the film is, and without feeling like bathos at all. Never does the film go like “this is funny, laugh at this quip!” It’s so much smarter and subtler with its humor, integrating it all brilliantly with the story at hand. Putting this clever, hilarious dialogue in the mouths of great dramatic actors like Song kang-ho helps the comedy even more. Bong is a master at balancing satire with suspense, and this is proof. - I keep forgetting how beautifully shot the film is: it’s shot in scope, with mostly static shots, the camera only moving when necessary, and mostly in wides and mediums. That formalist approach to the film form works to show how artificial the Parks’ household is. Each composition feels meticulous and intentional, a result of Bong joon-ho refusing to shoot coverage (a practice typical of Hollywood films, which often results in bland and messy filmmaking) and storyboarding every scene. - The Parks’ house has to be one of the most distinct set designs in recent memory. The sheer space in that house conveys the Parks’ affluence, while the square concrete that surrounds it makes it look even more cold and inhuman, just like the Parks themselves. I was surprised to hear that the sets around the house were created in post using greenscreens, since they look rather convincing. - I love how Da-song turns out to be the biggest existential threat to the Kims, despite being a little kid. He’s the only one who knows their smell, knows how to use walkie-talkies, and knows the morse code message Geung-sae beats out. Da-song’s threat is definitely one of the more unpredictable twists the script has in store. - That peach scene gets better with each viewing. This FILM gets better with each viewing. I could write a whole paper on the peach scene alone. Ford v. Ferrari winning Best Film Editing over Parasite at the Oscars is a crime. Ford v. Ferrari’s racing scenes are edited with skill and attention to detail, but are scholars and critics still studying Ford v. Ferrari for its brilliant film editing? Of course not. The most editing won, not the best editing. Parasite has somewhat less editing, but far more inventive and meaningful editing, and for that its editing is well worth studying. That peach scene utilizes editing to elicit laughter, shocks and gasps from the audience, cutting between different time periods, and doing so with nuance, detail and perfection. It is truly one of the great film scenes of the century so far. -The fact that none of the cast got nominated for Oscars, despite the film getting ample recognition in other categories, is criminal. Not Park so-dam, Song kang-ho, or Park myung-hoon, who is phenomenal as Geung-sae. His face is so expressive, fitting for such a menacing performance; and Song kang-ho is fantastic as usual, proving him to be one of the more versatile actors working today. - I’ve seen some analyses of the film accusing it of demonizing the Kims for being working-class. Guys, moral ambiguity and nuance exist. And this whole story is a critique of the idea of the “corporate ladder” to begin with: we see the Kims sell their souls to rise to the top and infiltrate the Parks’ property and livelihood, insisting they aren’t needy in front of Moon-gwang and Geung-sae. In order to truly rise up in the social hierarchy, humans have to sell their souls to some degree. We have to become, as the title suggests, parasites. I’m actually glad the film doesn’t treat the Kims’ takeover as an uber-triumphant, comical meme with no further implications. Even then, our empathy is all with the Kims. We share their catharsis as they game the system and con the Parks into hiring them, as well as their desperation as their home–and in turn their lives–fall apart. We see the Parks willing to give each other handjobs on the couch, while the Kims have to hide, or else their poverty is revealed and stigmatized. Many later films saw how pointed Parasite’s class critique was, but decided to only take inspiration from the surface-level, “rich people dumb” critiques, and not delve much deeper than that. Granted, the Parks are naive–Mrs. Park is revealed to be particularly dim and insecure–but they never come across as buffoonish caricatures. The Menu, Saltburn, and Glass Onion are still entertaining films in their own right, but I’m not going to act like they’re the most cutting class critiques. Here, we actually get to see the Kims get deeper into poverty and get their house flooded, while the Parks throw a party as their house remains intact and above ground, all the while kicking the woman they exploited back down into the basement, literally and metaphorically. In both the class system and the screenplay, this is all by design. Within that design, you cannot truly make plans, as the world finds a way to thwart them all. Parasite feels like a before-after point for class commentary in the media, constantly imitated but never bettered. - The Native American imagery in the Park household sticks out even more on this viewing. It gives an insight into who they think they are, as they live out a superficial “cowboys and indians” fantasy while fetishizing and appropriating that culture. So it’s easy to see why, of all people, Ki-taek wears the headdress to kill Mr. Park in the bloody finale. - Speaking of which, the ending hits hard on every viewing. Although Kim Ki-taek’s plight is more than a classic rise and fall (more like a rise-and-fall, and rise-and-fall-again at the Parks’ party), it feels no less tragic. Geung-sae in the basement is a warning sign, a sign of where Ki-taek could end up, and sure enough it is. Of course a capitalist society treats it as a far greater sin when a more powerful figure is killed–certainly greater than workers dying while the CEOs exploiting them continue to live in peace–so Ki-taek is fucked. Whenever exploited people even try to rise up, they are met with resistance, and frankly it’s much more difficult to feel sorry for the Parks when they still have that power. It’s murder, but only if the perpetrators are less powerful do they pay the price. To see Ki-taek having to hide in the basement next proves the cyclical nature of exploitation: without someone in their basement hiding from exploitative people (same goes for Geung-sae hiding from loan sharks), the Parks are nothing. - Every single detail in this film is so meticulously crafted, and I think that’s part of the reason the film is so beloved. Small visuals that would be of no consequence in any other work become major thematic calling-cards: the placement of stairs representing the corporate ladder, the lines in the windows become the sheer divide between the rich and poor, the middle-class seemingly nonexistent in this world. This feels like a film made for people with OCD, where every little detail and plot point is in its right place and works perfectly. - Like Memories of Murder, Parasite starts off very good, but becomes outright brilliant once the major plot twist occurs. Moon-gwang coming into the Parks’ house and showing the Kims the hidden basement takes the film from a subtle satirical comedy into a chilling, dystopian parable. That is just one ingenious aspect of Parasite’s structure. - What I love about so many Korean films is that they are unpredictable and challenging. When I go into a Korean film by Bong joon-ho or Park chan-wook or Kim jee-woon, I have no idea what I’m gonna get, and I’m always surprised at the outcome. Whatever twist or turn comes, it hits and I never see it coming. I feel that when I see many films from overseas: they rarely feel the need to conform to a Hollywood formula, so these films are more willing to take risks and experiment with their form and content. Parasite defies expectations through its unpredictable narrative structure, and its lack of a set genre label. It’s part satirical comedy, part suspense thriller, part tragedy, and it’s even got a bit of horror (Geung-sae’s “ghost” is still such an unsettling image) - A reason why Parasite is so revered, and rightly so, is its universal appeal. This is a story about rich and poor, the lifestyle dream, and the westernization of the world. We see these issues affecting the whole world. So despite Parasite being in Korean, it has something that everyone in the world can relate to. The same goes for all of the greatest films: cinematic stories are universal, regardless of the languages, cultures, and countries they come from. Parasite isn’t an obscure art film that demands a dizzying intellect of the audience. This is a universal film that perfectly balances classic storytelling with an arthouse sensibility, like only the most successful films today can. - I see so many people complaining about mainstream Hollywood’s lack of original films, but most of them only watch those derivative mainstream Hollywood films. If people like these were open-minded enough, they would try something different, watch independent films and films from overseas, and find something challenging and original that they would love. The truth of the matter is, there’s so much more to cinema than the latest superhero film. Art cinema, independent cinema, and films from outside English-speaking territories make up the bulk of cinema history, and for that they are all worth studying. Everyone (except for Donald Trump, but he can’t read subtitles anyhow) lost their minds when Parasite won Best Picture not just because it was a legitimately great film, and one of the most worthy winners the category has had. Parasite’s win was a landmark moment because it helped open western audience’s minds to the great cinematic works they would have otherwise skipped. Like many people, Parasite was one of the earlier films I saw that was not in English, and what a wonderful way to cross into world cinema.. With a brilliant, universal, engaging, timeless yet timely story like Parasite. Like Bong himself said, “Once you overcome the 1-inch-tall barrier of subtitles, you will be introduced to so many more amazing films.”