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Film Review: Forgotten (2017) by Jang Hang-jun

After sticking to the medium of television for a decade, director returned to cinema in 2017 with “,” a gripping psychological thriller about the life behind a man named Ji-seok. Released internationally via Netflix after flirting with success at the Korean box office, the film has a well-executed, carefully unraveling plot. Additionally, instead of just providing a broad overview of the protagonist's psyche, the movie incorporates a tangible sense of mystery and confusion into its narrative. More than just a paint-by-numbers glance at how life experiences can completely change a person, this is a gripping flick.

Following a brief dialogue opening delivered over a pitch-black background, we begin in a car, where Ji-seok () wakes up in cold sweat. Afterwards, his family quiz him as to whether he is having one of his “silly dreams” again. They are extremely cheery, almost to a sensationalised degree, but we are told that this is because they are moving into a new home in Seoul. However, Ji-seok fails to be entirely convinced, and is rather faintly disorientated. Standing alongside his older brother Yoo-seok (), he swears he has seen this place before. Moreover, he is shocked further in finding that his adult relative is to be staying in the same room as him, as the previous owner has peculiarly barred entry to the smaller bedroom, stating that he'd remove his belongings in a month.

From here, incidents become suspicious. Strange sounds are introduced from the forbidden section of the house, but only the youngest of the family can hear them. The rest, the unrelentingly harmonious trio of mother, father and older brother, blame it on the ensuing thunder. Nevertheless, Ji-seok is still dubious. This continues for a bit, with the youngest sibling constantly waking up from nightmares, all whilst remaining inquisitive regarding what is truly hiding in that insignificant room. Fortunately, his “hero” older brother, who he had previously described as the only source of pride in his mundane life, takes him on a walk to clear his mind of worries. Unfortunately, when Ji-seok is asked to patiently wait on top of the hill so that Yoo-seok can aid his father, the latter is kidnapped by a group of thugs amid his fleeting walk back. Shaking the anxiety sufferer up, Ji-seok struggles to relay the information to his peaceful family.

Thereupon, nineteen days of detective questioning ensue, before Yoo-seok seamlessly reappears. Yet, he returns without any recollection of what had occurred that rainy night. Accordingly, suspicions are aroused, so Jin-seok one night follows his sibling outside to seek out the truth. After all, his brother had no memory of a traumatic event, had spontaneously lost his aggravated limp, and appeared to have attempted to stab Jin-seok with a sharpened mechanical pencil. This speculative behaviour seems to guide our protagonist to a lead, even if it takes a taxi chase to arrive there. Here, the seemingly perfect brother is exposed as the leader of a mysterious gang, and when confronted the following day, sets his own trap by adding in a detail not yet mentioned by Jin-seok when accusing his younger sibling of having another nightmare. Consequently, despite several early fake outs which included unsettling dreams and cold sweats, the audience believes their suspicions have now been fulfilled, and the film's direction is now clear. The question is, are they correct?

This doubt, ultimately, is what the film lives and dies by. Thus, it would not be uncalled to suggest that if you do not enjoy being bait-and-switched, you will not leave satisfied. On the other hand, if you enjoy being led down one path one minute, only to be thrust down another the next, it is not an exaggeration to believe you may well love this. “Forgotten” is built around a foggy relationship with its audience, and it works. From its opening car sequence you become suspicious of every character, wondering if there are any hidden motives. After all, it is obvious to even somebody watching casually that the group are exasperatingly positive at first, and that nobody behaves in that manner in the real world. Over time, the viewer becomes just as paranoid as the apprehensive protagonist, but for a moment genuinely believes matters are going smoothly. That is until audiences are fooled once more, this time on a much grander level, for a shocking twist regarding who the geeky, studious 21-year-old is, and why he has been taken to the house. 

Therefore, in subtly clouding expectations and motives, the movie brims with shrewdness, content with spending a sizeable chunk of its 109-minute run time piecing together a narrative that is ultimately nothing more than a twisted set-piece. Although frustrating, it is ultimately difficult to deny the sequencing is pulled off competently, even if certain aspects are maddeningly perplexing towards the beginning, such as why the camera lingers extensively on a single calendar page. Obviously, the audience knows this will come back to be of importance, but a more delicate handling of the shot may have led to more shock value when the eventual time-jump moment occurs.

Returning to positives, a key component in “Forgotten” is that the characters are fleshed out stunningly, something helped immensely by the strength of the film's cast. Firstly, Kim Moo-yul nails his performance as Yoo-seok, a troubled man who must live in a facade to find the truth he is seeking. His performance is convincing (a necessary facet given the audience needs to be invested in his ark for the tragic ending to work), and despite not adding the same nuances to his portrayal as his co-stars, he executes his scenes seamlessly, keeping the ship as steady as possible.

With that in mind, it is Kang Ha-neul who stands head and shoulders above all. Enthralling in his depiction of a naive, overtly anxious 21-year-old, Kang's goofiness is charming at first, making himself cheerily investable as a fresh-faced protagonist. Similarly, when the revelation of his actual persona occurs at the apex, the versatile actor quickly adapts to become a desperate, self-loathing human. Even further on, in flashbacks, the viewer perceives him as a vulnerable young man during the IMF crisis of late 1997, following him through an anguished journey towards attempting to save his hospitalised brother. Highlighted by sharp, understated facial expressions which exude affecting emotion, this is a gear-shifting performance which fundamentally guides the script in coming to life.

Continuing, one should not be superlative about this movie without giving a nod to the superb cinematography, of which “Forgotten” is boosted significantly by. Cinematographer Kim Il-yeon chooses careful subtlety for the most part, slowly zooming into faces to punctuate their expressions, loitering delicately for maximum impact. Likewise, through the tool of pathetic fallacy, Kim utilises heavy rain to bolster the vehemence of the hopeless emotion, unafraid to show it viscerally pouring in darkened scenes before eventually marking it as a quintessential aspect, which aids Jang's written narrative. Furthermore, it sets up a stark contrast between the grit of the outside world and warmer palette of the comfortable family home, which is often gifted with light orange hues and much warmer palettes.

To conclude, this is a film which succeeds in striking a near-perfect balance between both revelation and suspense. There may be flaws, such as the score feeling ever so slightly too light and hollow at times, but minor critiques such as those do not belittle what is so evidently an attentive piece of cinema. The true triumphs are in the understated moments; the straining cuts on Ji-seok's battered feet, the supposed straight-edge brother cockily smoking, and the forlorn gazes of suicidal hopelessness in the dismal final scene. Ergo, “Forgotten” is a movie part intriguing, part shocking, but nonetheless a stunningly told thriller which explores just how far one will drive them-self to find answers.

About the author

Nathan Sartain

I’m a freelance journalist interested in Asian cinema and television. I particularly enjoy crime thrillers, and can be followed on Twitter @nathan_sartain.

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