Thirst
(Bakjwi)
Thirst is, for want of a more edifying expression, a South Korean
take on the vampire genre. Although some aspects of this version are familiar,
most notably the appearance of the Christian religion, the adversarial dynamic is
not made as much of as is sometimes the case. In this regard, we don’t have
priests singeing bloodsuckers with splashes of holy water, or vampires cowed by
a crucifix held aloft. Rather, we have a too-worldly priest maintaining what is
fundamentally an internal struggle to regain control of his body and soul that
have become infected with vampirism. The filmmakers don’t always hit the right
notes in this study of the human will, and in particular the elements of dark
farce that crop up in places are perhaps not best suited to the main themes
which might have been more effectively served with a more deadpan approach.
Alternatively, a higher level of humour might equally have created a better
result.
What begins as quirky dark
humour is sustained throughout, even if the pacing is often too laboured and
the scope too narrow. The quirkiness is reflected in much of the look of the
film, which is quite stylised, and the interiors and clothing are highly
reminiscent of the 1970s in terms of
their design and colour. In contrast to these retro influences, there are some
modern special effects used to show the supernatural powers of the vampires to
good effect. For reasons that are central to the story, blood is obtained by
means other than the traditional neck bite, and the sight and sound of blood
being sucked from hospital patients’ tubes or quoffed from bottles is often
more disgusting than frightening. For all the artistic merits of the
production, in all things to do with the visual side of things, it is perhaps
too glossy, as though it was shot by a fashion photographer, for the subject
matter.
There’s also a problem with our
connection to the lead characters. If the theme is to be about the individual’s
fight to reclaim their humanity, we should know something about the humanity in
question, but the brush strokes are too broad for this to be the case. The male
lead is never a full human being to us, but is principally defined by his
function as a priest. The principal female character is to a large extent
simply unlikeable and, while the role’s trajectory has ostensibly as much
weight as any other, she is ultimately subordinate to the lead male. This
apparent dilution of the plot material, by trying to tell the story of two
individuals, is perhaps why we sense a loss of focus in the latter third. A
sequence dealing with the female vampire’s birthday is clever, and there are
some good ideas throughout. Still, it’s not quite all there, literally or
metaphorically, no more so than when we start exploring the psychological
realm. Overdone.