[KAVE=Choi Jae-hyuk Reporter] In the outskirts of Seoul, the noise coming from an old rooftop room is not organised music. Rather, it is closer to the screams of a life lost. The film begins with the lethargic and dry face of a man named 'Ilrok (Baek Seung-hwan)', whose every day is filled with boredom. As he wears down like an unnamed part in his brother-in-law's factory, the word 'tomorrow' is not a hope but merely an extension of the monotonous routine. Life is a grey existence devoid of any expectations. Then one day, a friend from America, 'Yegun (Lee Woong-bin)', unexpectedly, really unexpectedly, comes to visit him. Having ambitiously opened a sandwich shop in Chicago only to fail spectacularly, Yegun, despite having tasted the bitterness of failure, suddenly suggests, "Let's enter a male quartet competition." Ilrok scoffs at the ridiculous idea, but in truth, he has no compelling reason to refuse nor any exciting plans of his own. Thus begins the reckless and aimless challenge of two surplus men.
However, a quartet cannot be performed alone or with just two people. They desperately need a member to harmonise. The first member they find after much searching is a fishmonger named 'Daeyong (Shin Min-jae)'. Living in a corner of the market, soaked in the smell of fish every day, he looks as exhausted as the fish eyes left over after cleaning, but his passion for singing is hotter than anyone else's. Although he suffers from severe stage fright. And the last member, 'Junse (Kim Chung-gil)', joins in. He appears to be the most normal of the lot, but every time he opens his mouth, he strangely goes off track and has zero situational awareness, joining the team with his ponytail swaying. Thus, the four men come together, and their team name is 'Delta Boys'. Passing through alpha, beta, and gamma, they are the ambiguous fourth order, neither first, second, nor even third. To put it metaphorically, they are the most pathetic and loose 'losers' Avengers in the world.
The practice location is the cramped rooftop room of Ilrok. However, their practice is anything but smooth. When it is time to shout "Jericho, Jericho" and match their grand harmonies, they are busy slurping up instant noodles and pouring soju as they blame each other's patheticness. Daeyong is often late for practice due to the necessity of not leaving his fish shop, and Yegun, brimming with baseless confidence, bombards the members with nagging as he suffers from 'leader syndrome'. Junse often sulks after being scolded for trying to eat the lunch his wife lovingly packed for him all by himself. Their practice time is filled with more meaningless chatter than nutritious singing, and the chaos is filled with more shouting and accusations than beautiful harmonies.
The film relentlessly follows their daily lives like a documentary, sometimes resembling an observational reality show. Scenes of four adult men crammed together in a narrow van, bickering like crumpled laundry, moments of them washing each other's backs naked in a bathhouse, and scenes of them huddled together under a flapping plastic tarp on a rainy rooftop drinking makgeolli. In this process, the audience worries less about whether their singing skills will improve enough to win first place in the competition, and more about whether these misfits will get upset over trivial matters and not tear the team apart, allowing them to meet again safely tomorrow.
One day, the date for the preliminary round of the competition approaches, and the team's conflicts reach a peak. The heavy gravity of reality that cannot be resolved with mere romance weighs down on them. Daeyong's desperate situation, where leaving the shop threatens his livelihood, Yegun's unilateral push without any sense of reality, and Ilrok, who cannot find his balance in between. The sharp question, "Do you really want to sing? Is this a joke?" hangs in the air. Each of them, from the bottom of their lives, perhaps for what could be the last time in their lives, gathers again on the rooftop to ignite that passion that no one acknowledges. The crackling accompaniment from an old cassette player fills the air. Can the Delta Boys truly take the stage they dream of and break down the solid walls of 'Jericho'? Will their voices resonate as a single harmony in the world, or at least to each other?
Ultra-low-budget film... The quality of art cannot be bought with money
Director Go Bong-soo's 'Delta Boys' has left a distinct mark in the history of Korean independent cinema simply by the shocking fact that it was filmed with a budget of only a few million won. This work breaks the stereotype that poor production conditions undermine the quality of the work, proving that it is possible to overcome the limitations of capital with ideas and raw energy. This has had a decisive impact on expanding the diversity of production methods and distribution routes in the Korean independent film scene, providing young directors starting with low budgets with strong inspiration that 'I can do it too'. The film boldly discards the commercial film grammar of smooth lighting and sleek editing. What fills that void is the rough breath of handheld shots and the stubbornly long takes. This is partly due to budget constraints, but ultimately it becomes an aesthetic choice that most effectively conveys the pathetic and shabby daily lives of the four characters in Delta Boys, the air of that narrow and suffocating space. The audience feels as if they are squatting in the corner of that cramped rooftop room, watching them.
The greatest virtue and weapon of this work is the overwhelming naturalness of the actors that breaks down the boundary between 'acting' and 'reality'. Their long-winded arguments, which flow without commas or periods, intertwine and flow, creating awkward silences, moments of being at a loss for words, and overlapping lines that evoke a stronger and more instinctive laughter than highly calculated comedy. Their chatter is akin to a mud fight entangled with survival instincts and boredom. The dialogue in 'Delta Boys' is the raw language of the common people around us, bouncing between survival, boredom, and vague hope, and it is an unrefined sincerity.
The film does not obsess over the outcome of 'success'. While typical music films provide catharsis to the audience with a wonderful performance after resolving the members' conflicts, 'Delta Boys' loves and affirms the very disarray of that process. The song they sing at the top of their lungs, 'Joshua Fit the Battle of Jericho', symbolizes strong power, victory, and miracles, yet the Delta Boys singing it are infinitely weak and insignificant. This great irony resonates with the absurd struggle of humanity that French writer Albert Camus spoke of in 'The Myth of Sisyphus'. Like Sisyphus, who endlessly rolls a boulder uphill, they pour meaningless passion into a goal that is bound to collapse. However, the film finds paradoxical sublimity and beauty in that meaninglessness.
In this way, 'Delta Boys' thoroughly rejects the 'melodrama' codes that Korean commercial films necessarily require, inducing laughter and chuckles instead of tears, and maintaining an emotional distance from the audience, opening a new horizon of genuine empathy rather than simple pity. Rather than expecting their song to achieve perfect harmony, the audience feels a strange emotion from their serious expressions and beads of sweat as they sing with fervour. It is a beauty of dissonance created by imperfection, more beautiful for not being perfect.
Moreover, this film proves the cheerful energy that Korean independent films can possess. In a scene where independent films were mainly characterised by heavy and serious themes and critical social perspectives, 'Delta Boys' poses a bold and cheerful question: "What's wrong with just doing what you want? So what if you're not good at it?" Wearing old training clothes with knees out, messy hair, and slurping up unappetising noodles, they joke, "We need at least one trophy," and "We're the best." This baseless optimism is not mere escapism; the film convincingly shows that it is the only driving force that helps endure the grim reality. 'Delta Boys' is a rough yet warm tribute to all adults who are either unfinished youth or still adrift in incompleteness even after their youth has passed.
If you want to see a realistic K-movie
I absolutely do not recommend this film to anyone expecting the glamorous spectacle of a blockbuster with hundreds of millions of won invested or a well-structured twist. For those who desire flashy visuals, sophisticated narratives, or neat conclusions, 'Delta Boys' may come across as a noise nuisance requiring patience or as incoherent drunken ramblings.
However, I strongly recommend this film to the 30-40 generation who feel like they are stuck in a car on a road that is completely blocked, or to those whose lives have become so dry that they cannot even remember the last time they desperately wanted something that made their hearts race. Additionally, for cinephiles who are tired of the artificial emotions or melodrama of polished commercial films and long for raw stories that smell of real people, this film will serve as an excellent antidote.
If you are deeply trapped in lethargy, where even the thought of tomorrow's lunch menu does not excite you, do not hesitate to knock on Ilrok's rooftop room door. The lukewarm paper cup of soju they offer and the offbeat song may help you regain the 'courage to just go for it' and 'passion without reason' that you have long forgotten. After watching this film, you may want to take out that old, tacky training outfit stuffed in your wardrobe and stand in front of the mirror, striking a pose for no reason. Just like the Delta Boys, it's okay to be a little pathetic. So what if you're a bit lacking? We are all living today, bumping into our solid realities, trying to break down those 'Jericho' walls.
