“I said from the start, I wanted the film to be felt physically, not just emotionally,” director Park Chan-wook declared in 2003 after the premiere of Oldboy in Seoul. “I wanted the audience to be tired when they finished the film. I wanted their bodies to be tired.”
In the twenty-plus years since its debut, much has been written about the seminal neo-noir, from the film’s influence on Asian and Western directors alike to Oldboy’s place in South Korean film history as a jumping off point to the country’s international recognition. The legacy of Oldboy has largely been surrounding its action — specifically that hallway oner — which has been imitated many times over but never duplicated.
I would argue, though, the film’s most enduring quality, and why it will remain a cinematic masterpiece for generations to come, is the unforgiving journey Park takes audiences on, from the opening frame to its shocking finale.
Warning: Spoilers for Oldboy ahead
We’re first introduced to a drunken and disorderly Oh Dae-su (Choi Min-sik) detained by the police for the behaviour his inebriated state has caused, missing his young daughter’s birthday. After wrestling at the payphone with his friend who picked him up from the police station, without warning Dae-su goes missing as the title card appears.
Dae-su is re-introduced to us as a desperate man, with his head poking out from a hole in the door where trays of food are shovelled through, pleading with a pair of black-shoed feet: “I’ve been locked up here for two months already. What is this place? Sir, just tell me how long I have to stay in here.”
Park places a television set in a nondescript hotel-looking room for Dae-su, using news stories to show the passing of time: Princess Diana’s death, Y2K, 9/11, the changeovers of South Korean government administrations. Fifteen years pass and Dae-su, still unaware of who is responsible for his imprisonment or the reason behind it, becomes numb to his own madness.
Just as abruptly as he was taken in the middle of the night, Dae-su is dropped back into society — albeit on a grassy rooftop inside a large chest. We and Dae-su are no more the wiser as to what’s going on as we stumble around the city attempting to clear the mental cobwebs of the ordeal.
For most films, this would be the crux of the plot — the suiting up, the action sequences, the unveiling of clues little by little. But Park reveals the “who” of the equation quite readily: Lee Woo-jin (Yoo Ji-tae), a wealthy businessman. The mystery of the movie turns into a psychological thriller as Woo-jin plays mind games with Dae-su.
“To get your revenge or to find out the reason,” Woo-jin says plainly to a hammer wielding Dae-su during their first confrontation. “Seeking revenge is the best cure for the ones who were hurt. Try it.”
Woo-jin eventually presents Dae-su with an ultimatum: if Dae-su can figure out why Woo-jin imprisoned him, Woo-jin will kill himself using a remote connected to his pacemaker; otherwise, Woo-jin will kill Mi-do (Kang Hye-jung), a sushi bar chef and eventual lover of Dae-su.
Once again though, we’re hoodwinked to believe that the entire point of the film is Dae-su’s revenge, when the final reveal proves otherwise.
I first watched Oldboy in 2010 and within the first 20 minutes I recalled a friend of mine had relayed the entire plot to me a few years prior. Even with that knowledge, the experience of watching Oldboy was as disturbing as it was intriguing. For a film that seems to rest on plot twist after plot twist after plot twist, pre-existing knowledge of each twist (even the final one) bears no weight on its ability to compel.
There are whodunits like The Usual Suspects where repeat views are warranted to reveal the clues missed on first watch. Joy can be found in the uncovering of a mystery and the subtle hints along the way, but Park doesn’t instill that quality into Oldboy.
Instead, it’s the cruel and vile nature of Woo-jin that strikes a chord displayed most deeply in his final interaction with Dae-su. Even after Woo-jin’s act of vengeance has been accomplished and Dae-su has debased himself to Woo-jin’s satisfaction, Park doesn’t deem this enough. He leaves Dae-su laying on the floor, helpless and tongue-less, surrounded by audio evidence of his abhorrent shame. I haven’t seen a film before or one since that drowns its film in such a nauseating premise that never ceases and doesn’t rely on a gross factor à la Human Centipede.
Park Chan-wook has made many great films since Oldboy, and some classics prior, but undoubtedly, this will be the crowning jewel of his career — and it isn’t because of its shock value. It’s his ability to tap into an uncomfortable side of humanity, elevated by his skills as a filmmaker to build a world so taut and visceral we feel every moment of Dae-su’s journey at our core.
We’re disoriented when Park first drops his protagonist into a cramped hotel room with nowhere else to go. We’re invigorated when Dae-su takes on street thugs and henchmen. We’re softened when Dae-su and Mi-do’s relationship develops and deepens. We’re repulsed when confronted with Woo-jin’s malice.
We’re utterly exhausted by film’s end, physically and emotionally, just as Park intended and desired: “I like that kind of experience. I don’t know how people can find any fun in watching mindless films. If you want a peaceful rest, have a bath. Why go to the cinema?”
