Geography Classes

A lot has been made of the social commentary, the message, of “Parasite,” but I think the picture is effective because the message is not overly blunt and because the structure--largely geographical--supporting it is congruent. Plus, it’s unpredictable genre-mixing entertainment otherwise. That’s not to say the social commentary isn’t obvious, though, and rather nihilistic. There’s ambiguity and complications as to which characters are the “parasites.” While one suspects that our sympathies are supposed to be with the lower-class Kim family, they are the ones conning the upper-class Parks. In one sequence, to deter detection, they even hide, crawl and slither about like the insects that infest their own home. But, then, the Parks often come across as a vacuous family of privilege who tend to hold their employees in contempt. In effect, they’re all parasites--even the former workers that the Kims replace by tricking the Parks into firing them. Every major character tries to exploit or debase others in some way or another. The Kims get others fired, forge their own qualifications and take advantage of the Parks’ trust. Conversely, the Park parents mock the smell of Kim Ki-taek, and they pretend to be slumming it for sex roleplay. Their daughter is more interested in her tutor as a boyfriend instead of as hired help, and even the young son misinterprets a cry for help in Morse code and is a fan for the cultural appropriation of Native Americans.

The only other Bong Joon-ho movie that I’ve seen thus far, “Snowpiercer” (2013) is more heavy-handed in its depiction of class. In it, the rich exploit the poor; it’s as straightforward as the continuously-running train. “Parasite” is more steeply layered. The upstairs-downstairs class stratification is reflected in Seoul’s geography. The Kims live in a semi-basement in a crowded urban area. We only ever see them arrive home by descending stairs, whereas they ascend them to work for the Parks in their luxurious suburban estate with a backyard. While it rains at the Park’s home, that of the Kims is also flooded by sewage, including feces raining on them from the toilet. A drunk urinates outside their window and even tries to literally piss on them at one point. Others of poverty turn out to inhabit spaces even lower--in a hidden bomb shelter below another flight of stairs. This further references the larger line of demarcation separating North and South Korea, which itself mirrors Mr. Park's condemnation of "crossing the line." Even the hope of upward mobility is represented in the landscape--by a stone.

Besides reflecting the message, all of this geography also serves the narrative. What begins as a black comedy and con-artist film, with actors playing actors, turns into a mix of suspense thriller and old-dark-house horror beginning with one stormy night. Characteristic of the haunted-house subgenre, there’s already the aforementioned secret bunker, and there’s also a ghostly, mysterious assailant (and the figure of the youngest Park’s supposed trauma reflected in his artwork). There’s even fantasy in the Kims’ son’s dream of upward mobility and a grand guignol finale. It’s also a well-composed picture, with an exciting score and amusing performances. And, to top off this multi-layered message movie, there’s the Morse-code messaging. Messages inside a message… genres upon genres, actors within actors, characters within characters, haves among the have-nots--all underlined geographically.