Decision to Leave

By the description alone, you may walk into Decision to Leave expecting Park Chan-Wook's Basic Instinct, but what you'll get is Park Chan-Wook's In the Mood for Love, an every-frame-a-painting anti-erotic romance between two lovers held together by a messed up situation, while also being a true-to-form noir film with less setup and payoff but more poetic justice than Chinatown, in Park's least horny film to date. The film centers around an unhappily married police detective put to work on a crime he finds himself not wanting to solve, as he investigates the movie's femme fatale for the murder of her husband, while attempting to work out his uncontrollable attraction to her, forcing both of them to ask themselves how romance can survive when hope for a future together depends upon them leaving the past unresolved. It's a mystery that Park unpacks with uncharacteristic restraint, if only because its ultimate payoff is more of a sinking realization than the kind of sudden bombshell often detonated at the end of his earlier films, requires these characters to remain firmly in the real world, where their adult longings will face adult consequences, though toning down the heightened, wildly over-the-top situations and conclusions from a typical Park fare does not change the fact that the storytelling here, both in its writing and visuals, is done with more precision than anything else he's made so far. Beginning at the sensuous first interrogation scene, which is hardly the first time in a film where an interrogation is framed as an act of seduction, it isn't the potential for sex that gets things moving (like Basic Instinct) as their very obvious affair remains unconsummated, but instead, we're given two unhappy people worming themselves into each other's minds, like faint whispers that may help them finally sleep.

From the director of Oldboy & The Handmaiden comes a new crime mystery that's successful in sustaining our interest & investment in the whole outcome by keeping alive its sense of doubts & hints of darkness but it is also too drawn out & long-winded to leave a lasting impression. More a romance disguised as police procedural, Decision to Leave is a story of unrequited love, regret, longing & reminiscence.

Co-written & directed by Park Chan-wook (Joint Security Area & Thirst), the story concerns a police detective who falls for a mysterious widow who happens to be the prime suspect of his latest murder investigation. The plot has multitudes of layers to it and is narrated in ways that requires closer inspection and while the technical mastery is top-notch, the film is surprisingly missing the immersive quality of his best works.

The central romance plays its own tricks amidst all the secrecy & revelations that surface every now n then and a few scenes even manage to stand out but the film's intentions remain shaded despite never losing its intrigue. Tang Wei plays the femme fatale with an enigma & allure that's as captivating as it is compelling and she is finely supported by Park Hae-il who fittingly renders his role of the insomniac cop unsettled by his attraction to her.

Overall, Decision to Leave fascinates & frustrates in equal measure with its confusing narrative, unpredictable characters, discursive detours, tedious pace and a runtime that's severely felt. The drama has a more ruminative flair to it and the two lead performances steer it rather wonderfully. And even though the film as a whole may unravel more on subsequent viewings, it is suffice to say for now that Park Chan-wook's latest is more or less an underwhelming dud.

The early films of Park Chan-wook such as "Joint Security Area" (Gongdong gyeongbi guyeok JSA, 2000) and the so-called "Vengeance trilogy" - "Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance" (Boksuneun naui geot, 2002), "Oldboy" (Oldeuboi, 2003), and "Lady Vengeance" (Chinjeolhan geumjassi, 2005) - brought South-Korean cinema to western awareness and made Park an acclaimed auteur of world cinema. The trademarks of Park's films, which have sometimes seemed to become equivalent with the reputation of South-Korean cinema in general, are shocking violence, the eccentric portrayal of love, and complex narratives that employ surprising twists. The latest film from the director probably will not disappoint the dedicated global audience of such films, but "Decision to Leave" (Heojil kyolshim, 2022) is also something much more.

Hae-jun (Park Hae-il) is a married police officer who suffers from insomnia as he keeps driving between two cities on misty roads. His work is in Busan, but his wife (played by Jung Yi-seo) awaits him in Ipo. When a businessman dies in what seems to be a mountain climbing accident, the police immediately pick up the businessman's Chinese wife Seo-rae (Tang Wei) as a primary suspect. The case seems clear to most, but Hae-jun's feelings for Seo-rae cloud his vision and judgment. In typical Park fashion, the situation quickly turns more complicated, Hae-jun's feelings become obsessive, and soon there seems to be no way out from the mist of emotions.

There is a touch of Masumura's "A Wife Confesses" (1961) and, obviously, Hitchcock's "Vertigo" (1958) in the film's premise, but Park has stated that "Decision to Leave" was in fact inspired by a Korean love song "Angae" (or "Mist") sung by Jung Hoon Hee in the 1960's. In the song, someone, who has lost their lover in the past, gets lost in the fog. We speak of "brain fog" or "clouding of consciousness" when describing the experience of indecisiveness and lack of focus, which are also signs of depression. Hae-jun is not necessarily clinically depressed, though his compassionate if a bit over-caring wife is concerned. After all, Hae-jun, a middle-aged man, belongs to a high-risk group. His wife thinks that Hae-jun needs violence and death in order to be happy, but the cop, who has dedicated a wall in his Busan flat to unsolved cases, does not seem jovial. Hae-jun needs his job or, more specifically, the attempts at solving mysteries to feel a sense of meaning in his life. This is the reason he initially falls for Seo-rae; she would fit perfectly on his wall of unsolved cases. She is a walking enigma.

Alongside Hae-jun, the spectator must constantly guess whether Seo-rae is leading the cop on or not. Some of Seo-rae's behaviours, actions, and decisions may remain a bit unconvincing, which casts a faint shadow of implausibility to the film. On the other hand, the inability to fully grasp the character fits this film like a glove. An additional air of mystery is added to the character for the simple reason that she is Chinese. Since Seo-rae does not speak perfect Korean, she and Hae-jun must occasionally rely on apps on their smart phones for translation. As is well known, of course, things get lost in translation. And the multiple screens between them are not helping. In the end, the spectator is -- just like Hae-jun -- left incapable of having the final verdict on Seo-rae, this ephemeral character in the foggy landscape.

Communication is thus clouded not just between characters but also the film's narration and the spectator. Both Park's style and narration obfuscate the sense of space and time. The complex plot is told in a fast pace, and narration keeps jumping back-and-forth between scenes, many of which have been executed with unprecedented innovation. For just one example, there is a scene where Park is able to combine Hae-jun in bed with his wife, him staring at mold on the corner of their wall, Seo-rae watching a Korean soap opera, and x-ray images related to the crime. Even if Hae-jun and Seo-rae were in different places in different times, Park constantly cuts their looks together. As a result, there is this continuous impression of a gaze that defies dimensions of space and time in the poetic space of the film. By means of editing, Park creates a luring kaleidoscope of ambivalent emotions. At times, this formal approach might make the following of the story a little challenging for the spectator, but the facts of the story do not in the end seem to matter that much. The atmosphere of Park's neo-noir melodrama is clouded by a brain fog in which it is difficult to concentrate and make decisions.

Although "Decision to Leave" treads on familiar terrain for Park, as a film about love and obsession, I must say that I enjoyed it more than any other film from him. Even with his best films, I have always found Park's complicated narratives and his shocking violence somewhat self-deliberate, self-indulgent, and a bit bloated. Here, there are less gimmicks, and the film just feels more earnest, even though it is still a complex story. Given that "Decision to Leave" resembles "Vertigo", some might have presumptions regarding Park's eroticism, which invaded his previous film "The Handmaiden" (Ah-ga-ssi, 2016), but such reservations are unfounded. Curiously, "Decision to Leave" holds back in its portrayal of romance and erotic tension. In the film's most intimate scene, Hae-jun and Seo-rae exchange a bit of lip balm. "Decision to Leave" may not persuade completely, but it is still, to my mind, Park's most intriguing work. Form and content merge into a hazy cloud of fog which one finds difficult to leave behind.

Decision To Leave follows a dangerously obsessive relationship with thrilling, emotional and unpredictable results. Balancing a tender and unusual romance with a genuinely gripping mystery.

Park Hae-il and Tang Wei are both incredible, both subtly restrained and vulnerable at the same time with chemistry that's ridiculously palpable and their game of cat and mouse is effortlessly enthralling as the power dynamic constantly changes.

Park Chan-Wook's direction is superb, the film is constantly visually inventive in a way that enhances the psychological aspects and the cinematography by Kim Ji-Yong is absolutely gorgeous. The music by Cho Young-Wuk is excellent with a sense of suspense and mystery reminiscent of old Hollywood.

As "Decision To Leave" (2022 release from South Korea; 139 min) opens, the body of a mountain climber is found. Was he pushed or did he slip? Detective Hae-Jun leads the investigation of this "unaccountable death without witnesses", and his first target is the surviving wife, Seo-Rae, an emigrant from China without much outward signs of any grief... At this point we are 10 minutes into the movie.

Couple of comments: this is the latest from writer-producer-director. Park Chan-wook, who previously brought us "The Handmaiden" and "Stoker", among others. Here he brings us what at first appears to be a murder mystery, but it isn't long before the movie morphs into something different altogether. The movie is super plot-heavy so the less said about it, the better. Just watch! I will say that the movie's overall tone and atmosphere is transfixing from start to finish. The photography on ___location in Korea (thankfully staying away from the usual suspect Seoul) is outstanding. But in the end it's all about the movie's powerful storytelling, a trademark of many of Park's previous films.

"Decision To Leave" premiered at this year's Cannes film festival to immediate critical acclaim (and Park winning the festival's "Best Director"). The movie is currently rated 94% Certified Fresh on Rotten Tomatoes, and for good reason, I am already going on record that this film without a doubt will get a "Best Foreign Film" Oscar nomination. The movie opened at my local arthouse theater here in Cincinnati this weekend, and I couldn't wait to see it. The early evening screening where I saw this at on the day after Thanksgiving was attended so-so (I counted 10 people including myself). I can only hope that as word of mouth gets around, along with the expected year-end award nominations coming out, this will garner wider attendance. If you are in the mood for a top-notch foreign film that starts out as a murder mystery but evolves into something else altogether, I'd readily suggest you check this out, and draw your own conclusion.