The Handmaiden

i could easily leave this as a gleeful one-liner, something along the lines of lesbians-triumph-against-all-odds, but i fear doing so would almost diminish how special this film is to me. even on my sixth (and certainly not final) rewatch, there is much to be realised and uncovered.  the title of the film alone foreshadows its many layers. in english, 'the handmaiden' roots the narrative in servitude, obedience and a neatly slotted role within a hierarchy. in korean, however - which i have never felt so fortunate to call my mother tongue - '아가씨 (agassi)' simply means 'miss': an ambiguously polite form of address that gestures towards a person, rather than a position.  but which person? hideko? sook-hee? both? it's a question that director park chan-wook toys with from beginning to end. often, naming is the first act of control - so park revels in destabilising it. the english title fixes our gaze downward, and the korean title directs us upward; neither, it appears, is entirely wrong. this puzzle of perspectives represents the very core of the film. divided into three acts, each reframes what we’ve seen before, not by changing the events, but by changing our access to them. what seemed sinister becomes pathetic, what appeared innocent reveals itself as performative and what initially looked like male fantasy unravels into something far more subversive and female-centric. park forces us to watch the same moments repeatedly, but filmed from different angles and using mise-en-scène to expose how much our interpretations depend on the vantage point we’re granted.  a moment initially shot with wide frames and masculine confidence is later constricted into close, suffocating compositions that reorient the scene towards the two women. the camera is used to imperceptibly shift allegiances, through a tilt toward sook-hee’s darting eyes, a lingering shot of hideko’s trembling hands or a framing choice that reveals a lurking figure occupying the periphery. through all of this, park constructs a narrative that does not progress linearly (and as such, there are plot twists abound).  the visuals are utterly breathtaking, as per usual in a park chan-wook film. this beauty, however, is as oppressive as it is seductive. the hybrid architecture of the mansion, with its japanese framework awkwardly overlaid with victorian ornamentation, symbolises a (historically accurate) society cobbled together by colonial and patriarchal pressures. park renders it with a level of fetishistic attention that makes us complicit in admiring it before recognising the violence embedded in its design. i’ll conclude this convoluted mess here to remain spoiler-free, but god i adore this film. truly what grips me most is how park manipulates the very act of storytelling to flip the entire apparatus inside out. tldr: please watch this and debrief with me and i will probably fall a little bit in love with you. and don’t judge my mum for recommending this to me at thirteen; it’s only half an erotic thriller, i promise.