Not a film review: PARASITE by Bong Joon-ho - HITRECORD

Not a film review: PARASITE by Bong Joon-ho

Joe

Nov 14, 2024

Recently I brought up the difference between watching a movie actively vs passively. And I mentioned that perhaps I should do another post diving deeper into this. Here’s what I said:

There’s a difference between watching a movie actively vs passively. Watching a movie actively becomes its own creative process. You’re using every specific thing you observe to form a meta-narrative of your own about what the movie does to you and why. And believe it or not, you can actually do this with either an artful masterpiece or even with formulaic filler. (I should write a post just about this at some point.) Even with the lightest of fare, there’s a fascinatingly rich story you can choose to tell yourself about why you do or don’t find it enjoyable, or what memories are being invoked, or how the feelings you’re feeling fit into your personal psychology, or the world’s collective psychology at the time the movie was made, or right now, or, or, or…there’s any number of directions you can take it. And of course, as you get used to watching movies actively like this, you might also start really appreciating some of those artful masterpieces.

It occurs to me that, earlier this year, I watched Bong Joon-ho’s Parasite. (I know, I’m super behind, I have three young kids, and I don’t watch a lot of movies like I used to, I’m sorry!) And it moved me so much that when it was done, I had to write a journal entry. Which I never shared with anyone. So I’m gonna go back and find that, and maybe spruce it up a bit since I wasn’t originally intending for anyone else to read it. I think it might serve as a decent example of what I mean to actively watch a movie. I definitely watched that one quite actively — it was so good, I couldn’t help myself.

This is not a “film review.” I’m not here to tell you whether the movie is good or bad, or whether it’s worth your time to watch it. This is me feeling so intrigued, seen, indicted, and moved by a movie that it made me want to put my thoughts and feelings into words. I’m sharing these words with you now, NOT because I think you ought to think and feel the same way I do (which seems to be the modus operandi of many “film reviews”). Far from it. Art is subjective, and that’s what makes it art. Every individual has their own unique experience with any given work of art. I’m sharing my experience with this film to serve as an example of how the activity of watching movies can be something more than passive.

To be clear, I wouldn’t say you have to write down your thoughts or feelings to be an active movie watcher. You just have to think and feel actively while watching. But, it so happens that I did write mine down in this case.

One more aside before I dive in — regarding the distinction I made between an “artful masterpiece” vs “formulaic filler.” It’s widely agreed upon that the film I’m talking about here fits into the masterpiece category. But I do stand by my claim that you could do this same exercise with a movie that fits into the other category. In a way, you have to be even more active a watcher to pull that off. Maybe I should try that some time.

And now, Parasite.

On a plane, in business class, feeling fairly sick with myself. Flying home back to my gorgeous house with a gorgeous yard we’ve worked so hard to make gorgeous. And to my lovely life full of beauty, fun, convenience, safety from the elements, people I pay to help with the chores, and oh, creativity, self-actualization, plus the occasional complaint. Am I being too hard on myself? Maybe. But am I not the beneficiary of the caste system the movie indicts? Seems I am.

If you haven’t seen it, I don’t want to give too much away, but there are two families who live in two homes. One family’s home is gorgeous. Not just opulent, but impeccable. It’s hard to say what strikes you first: how beautiful it is or how expensive it is. Yes a dwelling, but more so a work of high art. And the yard! The other family’s home is, subjectively, not gorgeous, and objectively, not expensive. By the end, it is literally flooded with sewer water full of shit.

The owner of the gorgeous home is named Mr Park. I think I’m more proactively grateful for my house than Mr Park is. I don’t think I’m quite as tunnel-visioned as he is. But then again, he doesn’t think he’s tunnel visioned either. And if I were, how would I know it? Maybe I feel grateful, but I’m not nearly grateful enough.

It’s a question I’ve always struggled to answer: is there any way I can feel okay about how lucky I am? Well, let’s be fair, I feel okay quite often. More than okay. And more often than quite often. I feel pretty great most of the time. With, of course, nearly constant but intermittent bouts of useless anxiety and not unfounded self-doubt.

One typical response to this feeling is to pat myself on the back and say I sort of do my best to dedicate some significant amount of energy and time to work that somehow benefits others? But come on, the “good” work I dedicate my time to—trying to protect or encourage society’s spirit of creativity, say, or perhaps advocating for wise and pro-human attitudes towards various technologies, or maybe just providing a bit of good feeling to an audience—all that stuff is totally fun for me. My work rarely/never subjects me to the discomfort of life without luxury.

I suppose I could choose not to live in a gorgeous home with a gorgeous yard and choose not to indulge in the finer pleasures of life. Especially ones that cost money. And then I would be able to give more money to those less fortunate. At the risk of sounding defensive here, I’ll say that I do already donate a fairly substantial portion of my income every year to various charities. But I could donate more. Would I then just be trying to prove something? Maybe. Probably. But it would still be good for whoever received the extra money I gave away.

But I don’t think the point of the movie is to get people to give more money to charity. Not that there’s a point exactly, it’s not a work of activism, it’s a work of art. And it’s gorgeous and hilarious. It’s obviously speaking about the haves and the have-nots. Though perhaps unlike ol' Marxy, it doesn’t exactly cast the “haves” as the oppressors. Everyone seems to be just getting what they can. No one has a moral high ground.

As someone who admittedly prides myself (probably too much) on 'having good taste', I try to make myself fairly aware of this day to day, but the movie really shines a light on it: Coolness, style, beauty itself — are often inextricably linked with material privilege. We artist types feel so high minded in our appreciation of aesthetics, but how different are we from the tasteless braggers in Bentleys?

Gratitude is perhaps the best take-away. At least for a rich boy like me. I try to say thank you a lot. Both to other people as well as to myself, or to the universe, or god, or whatever you want to call that kind of sacred inner thanking. And I emphasize gratitude with my kids every day.

What are you supposed to make of the movie if you’re the one with shitty water flooding your basement apartment?