Oldboy

This is an experience that words can’t really even describe. Heading into my local AMC at 6:00pm this fine Saturday in August to see a vaguely remembered masterpiece I watched one very cold summer night (or well, technically day; it was like 2:00am). Being lonely & not having been the most groomed during a pretty nasty depressive episode somehow made for a great first viewing experience I almost think was necessary even though I so heavily dissociated throughout the watch & who could’ve guessed that would make my second viewing even better? By some off chance, the stars aligned thereby manifesting my eternal link to Oldboy via the very tragic irony that I honestly struggle to admit even while typing this. To an extent, I was — or maybe — I am Oldboy; it’s a very bleak piece, having this very manic approach to telling a very absurdly depressing story that is so sad it’s hard not to laugh at, but it’s also self aware enough to where it’s perfectly ok with that. That’s why I love it so much. To make my words an image: Oldboy is like walking into a classroom late & disheveled with a damp book bag due to a leaking lid you didn’t screw on tight enough on your way running out the door. A lid which conveniently was leaking just against the paper you needed to read from. Without any other options, you recite the literal worst most vulnerable summer of your life to your class written on a wet piece of paper which must makes it as difficult to read as it is to be this vulnerable. It sucks, nothing can possibly get worse. But oh no, it can, as you realize you were never even reading the right thing at all, so your needlessly vulnerable, failed & probably getting your ass kicked when you get home but hey, maybe through your endless fuck ups someone learns something special; maybe there’s someone who’s even more of a fuck up that idolizes you, or maybe someone helps you out of pity; hell, maybe the best case scenario is them laughing it off & forgetting about it. Doesn’t matter, ultimately you’re left feeling dirty; this really is just here to show you the worst, or so you think, but in a few years time you’ll reflect on that vulnerability; what motivates it? Who motivates it? Am I really in control over my life or is each & every one of my mistakes articulated? Is life literally just a sea of karma we all inevitably sink to the depths of? Is there a point to all this? Does it matter? Oldboy doesn’t give us an answer to any of these questions, it doesn’t even properly reassure you. It actually consistently says fuck you to the audience, specifically people like me who’s fundamental existence is woven into the medium; I have a deep connection with the medium beyond just art as a blank term, but Oldboy makes me look how I sound but I’m not sure if that’s exactly what I am. I’m not sure if it matters either. These questions are actually pretty stupid & ignorance is bliss, or are they? To answer this question we need to look at the darkest sides of ourselves & the world around us; how we’ve negatively affected everyone & the manic worsts that can happen because of it. Are you prepared to be confronted with your sins? Are you prepared to face the music? You tell me. Oldboy makes you feel like a piece of shit, & look at all the faults in the world through the most over-the-top comic book-y lense imaginable. & it’s just so damn perfect. — it’s mania explaining depression & I’m all here for it! *Strong 10/10 — *Perfect film. Perfect theater experience. Perfect friend to see it with. Oh, & the bonus interview was cool too. Definitely worth staying the extra 12 minutes for.