[KAVE=Choi Jae-hyuk Reporter] There is a man who frequently visits the police station while drunk. His name is Oh Dae-su (Choi Min-sik), not exactly a paragon of virtue, nor a villain, but an ordinary man who just lives day by day. One rainy night, just before his daughter's birthday, he suddenly disappears while talking to a friend on the phone. He vanishes as if abducted by aliens, and when he opens his eyes, he finds himself in a tiny room. There are no windows, not even a hint of natural light, just a television and daily deliveries of dumplings, along with a suspicious caretaker, all in this confinement space.
No one tells him who has imprisoned him, why, or how long he must stay there. If he were the protagonist of a Kafka novel, he might reflect on the absurdity of bureaucracy at this point, but all Oh Dae-su has left is the news flowing from the television and an ever-growing rage. Time is marked by a red line drawn on the wall, and he practices escaping by pounding on the concrete, hitting the air instead of a sandbag to build his body. Imagining the day the door will open, he repeatedly thinks of revenge, and his face gradually hardens into something closer to a beast than the 'Count of Monte Cristo.'
Fifteen years later, one day, he is unexpectedly released, as if by someone's whimsical prank. He did not receive a release notice, nor was he rescued by the police. Awakening from anesthesia, he finds himself on a high rooftop, still holding a cigarette and a cellphone, with a cityscape that has subtly changed since his confinement before him. Like the protagonist of 'The Truman Show', he has come out of prison but has stepped onto another vast stage designed by an unknown someone.
Oh Dae-su first follows the clues of the room where he was imprisoned. The process of discovering what happened to his family during those 15 years is rather horrific, like a scene from a horror movie. His face becomes increasingly rough and desperate, and the audience soon realizes that this is not just a simple escape drama but a game played on a meticulously designed board.
Mi-do, Salvation or Bait?
The person he meets during this process is Mi-do (Kang Hye-jung). This young sushi chef, who finds Oh Dae-su collapsed after leaving a post on an internet bulletin board, stays by his side with a strangely solid attitude, albeit somewhat awkward. Mi-do feels compassion, curiosity, and an inexplicable vague attraction towards this man whose life has been entirely stolen, slowly opening her heart.
Together, they trace the traces of the confinement location, narrowing down the suspect based on the taste of the dumplings. They appear to be a pair of lovers playing detective, but there is an inexplicable strange emotion layered over this relationship. Their uneasy companionship continues, unable to be explained by the word 'love', which could either be salvation or another trap.
Then, the one who imprisoned Oh Dae-su finally reveals himself. Lee Woo-jin (Yoo Ji-tae), who has a wealthy and elaborate plan, poses a question to Oh Dae-su, who has been tracking him. "Why do you think I imprisoned you?" At this moment, the pursuer, who has come to uncover the truth, has now fallen from being an investigator to a 'participant in the game'. Lee Woo-jin, not hiding his identity, opens up his luxurious penthouse and suggests that Oh Dae-su find out the reason for his 15 years of confinement.
Oh Dae-su's anger intensifies, but the audience gradually senses a different emotion. This story is not merely a bizarre revenge of one man, but rather a rewind of a tragedy that began long ago, a journey of fate walking towards one's own sins, like the Oedipus of Greek mythology.
The subsequent developments are literally a spiral staircase descending into the abyss. Oh Dae-su recalls that words and actions he considered trivial during his school days may have twisted someone's life at its roots. The process of opening the rooms of memory resembles a 'Sherlock Holmes' mystery, but at the same time, it appears to be a path of repentance facing his own sins.
School, old friends, and long-standing rumors all resurrect as puzzle pieces. As he gets closer to the truth, the violence becomes more brutal, and emotions escalate to extremes. Just before the final door opens, the film leaves the most crucial secret for the audience to discover themselves. The ending of 'Oldboy' is truly fatal, like a boxer's punch, and the bruised spots throb for days.
Asks You About Life with 'Visual Destruction' and 'Shocking Story'
The true power of 'Oldboy' lies in not merely consuming this brutal narrative as a sensational revenge drama, but in delving deep into the weakness of humans who cannot endure memory, guilt, and the gaze of others. Director Park Chan-wook takes the skeleton of the story from a Japanese manga, but the way he fleshes it out with cinematic flesh and blood is on a completely different level.
A representative scene is the famous long-take action in the hallway. Oh Dae-su's fight against dozens of opponents with a hammer is on a different level from the flashy gunplay of 'The Matrix' or the sword dances of 'Kill Bill'. It focuses on his staggering body, gasping breath, and the heavy impact of the blows. Each step he takes forward carries the weight of the 15 years he has endured, pounding on the walls alone. This scene has been homaged by many works from the 'Daredevil' series to 'Kingsman', but it still struggles to surpass the original's weight. Like bands covering Beatles songs, they can mimic the form, but they cannot replicate the desperation contained within.
Colors, music, and set design are also massive pillars supporting the artistic quality of the work. The screen, mixed with dark purple and red, visualizes the characters' desires and sins, while Lee Woo-jin's penthouse reveals his distorted sense of power through coldly organized minimalism. The performances of Choi Min-sik, Yoo Ji-tae, and Kang Hye-jung are the key devices that bring this bizarre world to life.
In particular, Choi Min-sik's Oh Dae-su has an extremely wide emotional spectrum, from the drunken pathetic state in the beginning to the inhuman cries in the latter half, as if scraping the entire range of a violin. Just a close-up of his face makes the audience feel as if they have already heard half of the lines. Yoo Ji-tae's Lee Woo-jin, on the other hand, shows empty despair with restrained expressions and a calm tone. The contrast between the hot and the cold keeps the tension of the film taut until the end.
The 'Universal Fear and Ethical Dilemma' Loved by the Public
The reason for the public's love is surprisingly simple. 'Oldboy' poses a question that anyone has pondered at least once, even in its extremely twisted setting. "If a careless word I threw out became an indelible scar for someone?" This question is even sharper for us living in the age of social media. Who knows how a post made as a joke during school days or a casual remark made at a drinking party might have changed someone's life?
Additionally, the question, "How far can revenge be understood as a human emotion?" follows. The film does not easily take sides. Instead, it allows each audience member to draw their own conclusions based on their experiences and ethics. Thus, this work has generated various interpretations across generations and nationalities. Some call it the 'best revenge drama', while others say it is 'the pinnacle of tragedy reached by Korean cinema'. Quentin Tarantino praised it, it won the Jury Prize at the Cannes Film Festival, and Spike Lee attempted a remake but was overwhelmed by the weight of the original. Regardless of the perspective, the consensus is that it is a film that is hard to forget once seen.
The 'World's Best Revenge Drama' That Exists Nowhere Else
The audience I would like to recommend 'Oldboy' to is surprisingly broad. First, for those who love genre films but are tired of the clichéd hero narratives like 'Iron Man', this film will provide a very unfamiliar catharsis. Whether Oh Dae-su wins or loses is not important. The process of witnessing how the face of a human enduring until the end can be both desperate and beautiful is akin to experiencing a boxing match from ringside.
For audiences who value visual and directorial completeness, 'Oldboy' is a must-see work. Every scene, every shot, and even the actors' gazes are all placed on intentional design, revealing new meanings the more you watch it. Like Hitchcock's 'Vertigo' or Kurosawa's 'Rashomon', this film reveals different layers even after multiple viewings.
However, I would not recommend it to those expecting light entertainment. The questions the film poses are anything but light, and you may feel uneasy for a while after the ending credits roll. It is not a popcorn movie to enjoy while munching, like 'The Avengers', but rather a formal course meal that you must quietly sit with and digest.
If you are willing to bear such a heavy aftertaste, 'Oldboy' will remain one of the few intense experiences in your film life. For those looking for a brutal mirror that makes you reflect on yourself, or for those wanting to see how far Korean cinema can go, this film is still, and will continue to be, a valid choice. More than 20 years have passed since its release in 2003, but the questions posed by 'Oldboy' remain current. Perhaps as the world we live in becomes more complex, this film may endure even longer.