The Great Flood (대홍수, Kim Byung-woo, 2025)

Humanity survived a great flood once before, or so we’ve been led to believe. The mysterious forces at the centre of Kim Byung-woo’s The Great Flood (대홍수, Daehongsu) believe we can survive it again, albeit in an altered form. Or then again, maybe not. What begins as a disaster movie soon shifts into speculative fiction exploring the nature of “human emotion” and whether such a complex thing can ever really be replicated synthetically.

After their apartment is surrounded by floodwaters slowly climbing past their third floor flat, An-na (Kim Da-mi) tries to make her way to higher floors with her often uncooperative six-year-old son Ja-in (Kwon Eun-seong). As in recent similarly themed films, the apartment block becomes a microcosm of the contemporary society with An-na encountering stairs that have been blocked and neighbours who aren’t happy about those from lower floors encroaching on their space. Religious maniacs block access and insist this is God’s will. The only way out is a human sacrifice. Meanwhile, thuggish looters rob abandoned flats despite the fact that all of these previously valuable items are probably worthless now that no one knows when the waters will stop rising let alone when they will recede. 

It turns out, however, that An-na is an important person because she works for the Emotion Engine Development Team at the Darwin Center which has apparently known about this all along and has planning ways for humanity to survive for quite some time. It’s soon revealed that Ja-in is not An-na’s biological son but an experimental AI child she’s been developing to create the Emotion Engine. After the initial flood, An-na and Ja-in become separated and she is plunged until a looping series of simulations structured like a video game in which she must reunite with her son to give the Engine maternal instinct and save humanity.

Whether intentional or not, this is all incredibly sexist. Though apparently a top researcher, An-na’s worth is now entirely defined by her ability to become a mother. A flashback reveals An-na asked her boss if she could give Ja-in back because motherhood isn’t for her, while in flashbacks to her time with him she’s shown repeatedly hurting his feelings by neglecting him for her work. He asks to use her work iPad to do his drawings because she doesn’t look at them otherwise, while she’s irritated by his badgering when she’s obviously busy. The conceit is that she can’t find Ja-in because she doesn’t understand why he left her. She worries that he might not want to go with her anyway because she “abandoned” him to go with the men from the Darwin Centre to be saved from the flood and continue her research to save humanity.

The man sent to save her, the unemotional Hee-jo (Park Hae-soo), was also abandoned by his mother and is cynically looking forward to seeing what decision An-na will make. He’ll feel reassured in some way if she chooses to leave Ja-in behind because it will mean that it wasn’t just him, this is the way “human emotion” works. An-na obviously has an opportunity to recast “human emotion” than just recreate it, if that weren’t perhaps against the spirit of what she’s doing. In any case, the earlier part of the film is full of these dilemmas as Hee-jo encourages her to leave struggling people behind so they can make it to the roof for the helicopter. Even so, she comes across people who haven’t abandoned their humanity such as an old man continuing to feed his wife who seems to have dementia with the waves approaching and a man who stays with his pregnant wife who has gone into labour. In the end, An-na can only complete this quest by embracing her humanity by saving the little girl who is trapped in the lift and helping the pregnant lady rather than by abandoning them to survive alone.

This is also true of overcoming her maternal anxiety to believe she can be a mother to Ja-in which is also positioned as becoming a mother to all mankind as a kind of eve in a new digitised world. The apartment blocks are shaped like datacentres and the water reinterpreted as fire as if this is where people live now. Even so, we can’t be sure whether any of this, even the first flood, was ever really “real” or part of the AI-training scenario in which the Engine must be trained by “real” experiences, or if the An-na who accepts her motherhood and asks to be the test subject sent with Ja-in is the “real” woman or the model from the simulations. In any case, is humanity really surviving by being recreated as AI or bringing about its own demise? In our world at least, the waters may already be rising.


Trailer (English subtitles)

Decision to Leave (헤어질 결심, Park Chan-wook, 2022)

“I went through hell for you but without you my life would be empty” a fugitive murderer asks an insomniac detective to tell the woman he loves, making his own Decision to Leave (헤어질 결심, Heojil kyolshim) which will in fact be one of many in Park Chan-wook’s achingly romantic noir. Tinged with fatalism, the pursuit of love is also one of death and leads inevitably to a kind of haunting from which there is no real escape though you wouldn’t really want one anyway. 

In any case, the detective Park Hae-joon’s (Park Hae-il) sense of reality is already fracturing under the strain of his incurable insomnia. As he tells his partner, it’s not that he can’t sleep because of his obsessive stakeouts, it’s that he goes on stakeouts because he cannot sleep. Unfortunately for him, there have been relatively few murders lately. He wonders if it’s because of the nice weather, as if homicidal rage were being held in check by the gentle art of picnicking which it has to be said has a strange logic to it. Living apart from his wife who is a nuclear engineer in provincial Ipo, Hae-joon prides himself on being a good policeman and is preoccupied by his failure to catch two suspects currently on the run for a vicious murder. When he’s called to the scene of a dead body lying below a cliff, most are ready to rule it a tragic accident or perhaps a suicide but Hae-joon isn’t so sure especially given the unusual behaviour of the man’s much younger widow, Seo-rae (Tang Wei), who appears almost indifferent to her husband’s death and giggles to herself during an interrogation a habit she later claims is born of nervousness and a lack of confidence in her ability to speak Korean having migrated from China. 

Seo-rae’s Korean is perhaps a little better than she makes out, but still we see her repeating lines from romantic dramas on television, lines she later repeats to Hae-joon, while he wonders if her taste for historical romance has lent her Korean its archaic quality. They are each in a way out of time, she remarking that he strikes her as “dignified” to a degree she didn’t expect in a “modern” man while he ironically tells her that he was drawn to her because like him she liked to look at things directly. Yet there’s nothing at all direct about the mysterious Seo-rae whom he suspects of murdering her husband, and though there might be something unspoken directly understood between them their attempts at communication are always frustrated. Not only is there an ever shifting language barrier, but a mediation through text message and voice note or else through the act of being observed at a distance. As they grow closer, Hae-joon allows Seo-rae to listen to his surveillance tapes recorded as he voyeuristically watched her apartment from the rooftop opposite. She immediately deletes them but later does something similar herself, and is finally undone by her inability to delete a potentially incriminating recording because it has come to mean too much to her. 

The pair are in a sense perfectly matched. Hae-joon’s melancholy wife finally exclaims that he needs murder and violence in order to be happy, while Seo-rae admits that she ends up with terrible men like husband because it would take something extreme such as a murder for a good man like Hae-joon to take notice of her. As the couple dance around each other, Park colours their non-romance with shades of the gothic in the repeated motif of the crow feathers each of them find as they work their way towards the apotheosis of their love. As they say every love story is a ghost story and what is love if not an unsolvable mystery? Hae-joon’s sense of reality is forever in flux, Park playfully dressing Hae-joon’s new team and his old team in similar outfits as he segues between fantasy, reality, and memory while trying to parse out an objective truth. Hae-joon’s tragedy may be that he discovers more than he ought to know but not enough to solve the mystery, destined to be haunted by his unresolved cases and the elusive silhouette of lost love lingering silently in the mists of memory. 


Decision to Leave screened as part of this year’s BFI London Film Festival and is now on general release in US & UK cinemas courtesy of MUBI.

International trailer (English subtitles)

Angae (Mist) by Jung Hoon-hee (1967) which is also the title song for Kim Soo-yong’s 1967 film of the same name.

Sinkhole (싱크홀, Kim Ji-hoon, 2021)

Financial security is built on shaky ground in Kim Ji-hoon’s harrowing disaster dramedy Sinkhole (싱크홀) in which one man’s home-owning triumph quite literally crumbles beneath his feet. The latest in a recent series of movies lamenting the sometimes lax safety culture of the Korean construction industry, Sinkhole is also a crushing indictment of a society ruled by house prices in which social status is largely defined by the owning of property while the young in particular struggle to climb out of a deep well of societal despair. 

As the film opens, the Park family is about to move in to their new flat, the first they’ve ever owned albeit with a frighteningly large mortgage, in the middle of a seasonal downpour. Only when they arrive, they discover the movers haven’t even started unloading because their apparently irresponsible neighbour Man-su (Cha Seung-won) has inconsiderately parked his car in front of the entrance and isn’t answering his phone. Patriarch Dong-won (Kim Sung-kyun) ends up in an awkward confrontation with the abrasive apartment dweller which is inconvenient because Man-su apparently works in just about every business in the area which means he continues to run into him just about everywhere he goes. 

Anyway, that’s the the least of his problems because, having made this giant investment, Dong-won can’t help thinking there’s something wrong with his new dream home especially when his adorably polite young son Su-chan points out that his marbles roll across the floor of their own accord. Worried they may have a subsidence problem, Dong-won checks his windows open properly and records evidence of ominous cracks in the pavement outside but struggles to get the other residents to agree to maintenance checks in fear that not getting the answer they want will bring down the value of their property. 

Property prices are apparently everything. Homeownership is an unobtainable dream for many, yet Dong-won already feels insecure in his purchase especially as his colleagues seem relatively unimpressed by the fact his flat is in a recently gentrified area and comparatively modest. Bamboozled into hosting a housewarming, he’s mildly embarrassed to realise the view from his balcony is of nicer, much more expensive luxury flats just across the river which are likely to remain far out of his reach. Nevertheless, his colleague, Seung-hyun (Lee Kwang-soo) declares himself jealous in part because he’s still renting a studio flat and feels that dating let alone marriage is impossible without being in a position to get a multi-room apartment. His colleague Eun-ju (Kim Hye-jun) is in the same predicament but prefers to see it as simply being at a certain stage on the ladder.  

This dream of future security is however quite literally built on shaky ground. There are definitely problems with Dong-won’s new apartment which become increasingly severe from the tilting floors to cracked glass and interruptions with the water supply presumably caused by cost-cutting and shoddy construction practices. When the building collapses into a sinkhole, Dong-won is trapped inside with work colleagues Seung-hyun and Eun-ju along with Man-su and his teenage son Seung-tae (Nam Da-reum). Despite the inherent horror of the situation, Kim keeps the atmosphere light as the small band of survivors attempts to manage as best they can, finding an awkward solidarity while trying to attract the attention of the emergency services and eventually making a daring escape using whatever tools are available to them. 

Even so, as much as the small band of almost strangers bond thanks to their desperate circumstances, there is an uncomfortable conservatism at play especially in the film’s treatment of a working class single mother and her son living in an apartment on the floor below Dong-won’s. That aside, Sinkhole offers a fierce criticism of an increasingly consumerist society in which house prices are all anyone talks about and homeownership is the only badge of social success. 11 years of patient sacrifice is swallowed in an instant, sucked into an abyss of corporate malfeasance, while Dong-won is left to climb out of the hole he’s in on his own. It’s small wonder that some of the survivors decide to drop out of the system altogether, ditching the idea of rooted homeownership for nomadic freedom in buying a small caravan rather than participate in the property market or climb the corporate ladder. “Don’t be happy in 10 years, be happy today!” they enthusiastically chant. The entire society is, it seems, sitting on a sinkhole which might give any minute, what’s the point in investing in a future which could disappear from beneath your feet without reason or warning? 


Sinkhole screened as part of this year’s New York Asian Film Festival.

International trailer (English subtitles)