Persona - One Lee Ji Eun, Four Personas
IU is perhaps better known for her identity as a singer-songwriter rather than an actress, but she has mentioned her love for acting on a number of occasions, explaining that it allows her to assume different identities and express emotions in a manner that she may not be able to in reality.
Persona, a four-part anthology on Netflix that marks actress Lee Ji Eun’s first foray into the world of film-making, allows her to do precisely that: take on the challenge of portraying four characters with completely different personas, displaying a wide range of emotions that fans have hitherto not seen from her. Comprising four short films produced by four critically acclaimed Korean directors, each film is greatly different in terms of style and tone, with no apparent connection to each other - but I think they all tackle the theme of love and passion to some extent, manifested in different forms: jealousy and anger (Love Set); deceit and betrayal (Collector); friendship and revenge (Kiss Burn); as well as separation and loss (Walking at Night).
I’ll be completely honest – as these are essentially indie arthouse films with ambiguous plots and cryptic characters, they are an acquired taste which may not appeal to everyone; being no film expert myself, I’m not sure I understood everything that the filmmakers were trying to convey. But I certainly had great fun watching actress Lee Ji Eun take on four very different personas in each story, and also reading the thoughts of my fellow uaenas who have enthusiastically dissected the films. Let me just share my thoughts on each of the films as well.
(WARNING: Spoilers ahead)
This was the film which I had been looking forward to most before its release, for the premise seemed so intriguing from the trailers: an angsty and jealous IU locking horns with her prospective stepmother (Bae Doona) in a game of tennis with high stakes, where the loser would “end it all” with the man of their shared affections (IU’s dad and Doona’s lover). I was also excited to see how IU would unleash her character’s unbridled fury that seemed to be the key motif of the story, especially since she had mentioned in interviews how challenging it was for her to portray anger in such a manner that was contrary to her personality.
I must confess that I was slightly disappointed when I first watched the film though, for the story didn’t seem to go beyond what we already knew would happen – IU and Doona engaging in a heated battle on the tennis court. A significant amount of time was devoted to slow motion shots of them whacking the tennis ball, and close-ups of their hot, reddened faces of intense agony that was almost painful to watch. I was also somewhat frustrated by the seeming apathy and emotional detachment of the two male characters (IU’s dad and an unnamed Caucasian friend haplessly dragged in to “seduce” Doona) – both sat silent and almost expressionless with their heads turning back and forth rhythmically like puppets following the movement of the tennis ball – a direct contrast to the fury and fierce energy displayed by the women on the courts. I couldn’t quite fathom why IU’s dad seemed indifferent to his daughter’s angry outbursts or suffering, even calmly saying “Out!” when she missed the ball and fell down – did it signify the fact he cared more for his lover and was rooting for her? Why then did he seem emotionless even though Doona was winning?
I did however enjoy observing the dynamics between the women and their contrasting personalities – Doona, the older and more mature of the two, was clearly at the upper hand throughout, remaining level-headed and taking an almost sadistic pleasure in calmly taunting IU; poor IU, on the other hand, was a loser not just in the tennis game but in her complete failure to rein in her emotions, seeming like a complete wreck with her expletive-laden outbursts. Towards the end, however, Doona handed over the tennis ball to IU with a gentle stroke of the thumb in what seemed like a conciliatory gesture, and told IU that she didn’t intend to marry her father, suggesting that she had never been serious about their bet to begin with – and ending off the movie on an almost anti-climactic note.
One thing which struck me was the sexual innuendoes that was evident throughout the story – the suggestive shrieks and panting with each hit of the tennis ball, the sensuous close-up shots of IU’s lips biting a plum, and of the women’s hot, sweaty bare skin – but I didn’t quite comprehend how it quite fit in with the context of the story. One of my fellow uaenas, however, has offered an intriguing explanation: that IU and Doona were actually in a sexual relationship before, with Doona betraying IU by getting together with her dad – which explained IU’s extreme agitation at the entire situation, and at puzzling moments like Doona’s flirtations with the Caucasian. The sexual innuendoes would then be a deliberate hint of the relationship between the two, with the tennis match signifying a lover’s quarrel, and the caressing of IU’s hand at the end a romantic gesture on Doona’s part. I think that’s a fascinating and plausible interpretation of the story, and could possibly also explain the two men’s indifference and insignificance throughout the show – they are mere spectators on the sidelines, observing the relationship that is key to the story: the secret passion between IU and Doona.
Prior to watching the film, Collector left the vaguest impression on me for I wasn’t sure what it was about beyond a love story between a man and a woman; as it turns out, this was the most memorable film, and my favourite of the series for its surreal, eerie plot and rich use of metaphors.
Director Im Pil-Sung has explained that in making this film, he was inspired by IU’s song Jam Jam - which is essentially about a non-committal and superficial relationship between a man and woman, with jam serving as a metaphor for the sugar-coating of lies and pretensions binding them together. And indeed, this idea of deceit in a relationship was evident in the film with the character of Eun portrayed by Ji Eun; while she seemed tender and gently seductive at times towards her entranced lover, there was also clear indifference in her attitude, shown from her boredom with his conversation attempts, and her open flirtations with other men. Her lover, however, was not completely innocent himself, for it seemed that he had betrayed his ex-fiancé by breaking off their engagement to be with Eun. This fact was revealed through an abrupt switch of scenes from his conversation with Eun to an empty white room in a surreal, clinical setting that seemed to represent his subconscious mind. In one particularly gruesome scene, the man’s head was sliced off in his subconscious state, suggesting a blow to his ego after finding out that Eun had gone travelling with two male friends. Notably, his head was fixed back to his neck after he had waxed lyrical to Eun about his pompous theory on the superiority of females, probably representing a restoration of his ego from the self-pleasure of his intellectual discourse.
Nothing however, could rival the shock factor from the bizarre twist towards the end of the story, when the man, egged on by Eun, literally dug out his heart of his body and handed it to her. As he sat motionlessly in tears, now a heartless man, Eun carefully placed her prized possession in a jar, and smilingly declared that she would “salt it to prevent it from rotting”. This, I think, was a chilling but clever reference to the following lines in Jam Jam:
“Tell me that you love me
Say the pretty things smeared on your lips
Sticky sticky, I’ll keep it pickled
So it won’t rot, for a long time”
In the final scene, the man opened up a small box which Eun had handed to him as a gift, only to find a miniature version of himself trapped in the empty white room – which I interpreted as symbolising that her parting gift to him was the gift of conscience, a reminder of his heartlessness for betraying his original lover.
The story left me unnerved and shaken with its gory and disturbing elements, but I loved its use of metaphors, and how it brought a whole new meaning to the lyrics of Jam Jam. What I appreciated most, however, was Ji Eun’s portrayal of the callous and mysterious seductress that Eun was; her acting was nuanced and deliberate, with subtle gestures and expressions that brought her character to life. I can never forget the look of rapt eagerness on Eun’s face, for instance, as she watched the man dig out his heart, and how she gently licked her lips at one point, almost like a predator anticipating a bite of its prey. Watching it gave me the chills, and made me forget that the Eun we saw onscreen was the lovable Lee Ji Eun who has inspired all kinds of emotions in me before, except for fear. In short, I think this film was the most effective in allowing her to take her acting skills at a whole new level, and to experiment with a different persona that viewers have never seen from her before.
Kiss Burn features Ji Eun as Hanna, a spirited school girl who visits the rural home of her good friend Hye Bok to seek her company, only to find her locked in by her authoritative father. Hye Bok’s hair has been shorn off by her father in a drunken fit, possibly as punishment for returning home with kiss marks after making out with a boy at a beach. Annoyed by his unjust behaviour, Hanna vows to exact revenge, and the two girls embark on a series of hilarious attempts at pulling off pranks to punish him.
Compared to the other films, the story is relatively light-hearted, with many comedic moments. However, it takes a slightly dark turn towards the end: while the girls’ deliberate and carefully thought-out pranks fail to achieve their desired outcome, a careless gesture – a flick of a cigarette butt into the chicken coop – eventually sparks off a fire, ironically turning out to be the biggest punishment for Hye Bok’s father, who works as a forest fire lookout.
Interestingly, the director chose to use chickens as a recurring motif to carry the dark humour of the story: in one of the early scenes, Hanna chomps on large chunks of roast chicken, and towards the end, the girls cheerily comment on smelling the aroma of fried chicken, blissfully unaware of the growing blaze presumably spread by a chicken which had gone astray after its tail caught fire in the coop.
In terms of acting, I think the role of Hanna was less of a ground-breaking one for Ji Eun, because it isn’t the first time we’ve seen her portray lively characters like that before. That doesn’t mean, however, that she didn’t do a good job in delivering her role – Hanna was a character with an endearing mix of rebelliousness and naiveté who found her way to my heart. For all her deviousness in conjuring pranks to seek revenge, Hanna still possessed an innocence about her, as evidenced from her curious probing of Hye Bok’s making out session, her amusing attempt at kissing herself to produce a hickey (after insisting wide-eyed to her friend that she knew how it was created), and her eagerness at visiting the beach (which Hye Bok claimed was a good place to “relieve stress” through making out). It was also a pleasure to watch Ji Eun’s chemistry with actress Shin Dal-gi, who played Hye Bok. Ji Eun had mentioned in interviews that director Jeon Go Won had employed unique techniques prior to the start of filming for the actresses to bond with each other, and that camaraderie was indeed evident onscreen, making the friendship between Hanna and Hye Bok a believable and funnily heartwarming one.
Walking at Night appears to be a favourite amongst many uaenas, and I can see why: it is a hauntingly sad but beautiful and poetic piece, which would appeal to the sensibilities of those who gravitate towards IU’s sentimental ballads. I love it myself, and would rank it as my second favourite, after Collector.
Shot entirely in black and white, it tells the story of a man who meets his dead girlfriend in his dream, and together they revisit old haunts, reminisce their time together, and muse about love, life and death. Director Kim Jong Kwan had mentioned that he was inspired by the air of loneliness Ji Eun exudes despite her lively public persona, and indeed, the film delves into the theme of loneliness; mid-way through the show, it is revealed that the girl had killed herself because of her desperate sense of loneliness. Anxious, the man asks if he had caused her to be lonely, and she reassures him that he hadn’t:
“No. You were always there for me. There are people who know me and people who don’t. You were one of those who knew me, and there were others besides you. Those people were the ones who made me feel lonely. There were so many people who knew me other than you, but the way they treated me made me feel lonely. You were always there for me, but I just suffered in vain until I died.”
These poignant lines made my heart ache and struck a chord with me; it is so true that not being alone does not equate to not being lonely, for there have been moments in my life when I am surrounded by people, yet feel overwhelmed by an odd sense of loneliness.
Ji Eun’s words in the final scene are just as beautifully sad, a reminder of the ephemeral nature of our existence, and how we are all but transient visitors on this earth:
“Dreams and death lead to nowhere. They will end up nowhere…and eventually be forgotten. We are here, but no one will remember us. Everything is gone, and only the night remains.”
I’m not sure if I imagined it, but as the camera pans out in one of the final scenes to show the couple embracing, there appears to be a silhouette of a man standing in the distance. I recall shuddering involuntarily when I first noticed it, and even now, I feel an odd mix of fear and intrigue as I ponder who that man could be. Is it the protagonist himself, looking on at himself with his lover, as how we are wont to view ourselves from a third party perspective in dreams? Is he desperately trying to cling on to his memories before they fade? Or is it perhaps an onlooker bearing witness to their existence, proving that Ji Eun’s words may not entirely true – for while death leads us to disappear from this earth, we will still leave traces of ourselves behind, in the memories of those we’ve crossed paths with? I guess the beauty of such films is that there’s no right or wrong answer.
Compared to the other films, Walking at Night has the simplest narrative, with no notable climax; but I think its beauty lies in its simplicity, which allows us to focus on the poetic nature of its dialogue, and ruminate on what it means. In the same vein, Ji Eun’s acting is understated and restrained; there is no need for dramatic expressions, for so much of her emotions is conveyed in subtle ways, like a simple gesture, an inflexion in voice, or the expression in her large, soulful eyes.
Ji Eun’s acting career has been a rocky one, and there will always be people who love to hate her acting. Yet slowly but surely, she has been establishing her credentials as an actress over the years; My Ahjusshi was a breakthrough role which gained her recognition for her acting skills, and with Persona, she has proven once again her remarkable versatility as an actress, and added another notable work under her belt. Persona is probably not a show which will have mainstream appeal, but I believe it is the kind of acting project which will fulfil Ji Eun’s desire for more creative freedom, and I hope she’ll continue to take on such projects that will allow her to find joy in doing what she loves.
