“Decision to Leave,” the latest film by South Korean director Park Chan-wook, delivers a different kind of police procedural where the mystery lies more in romance than in murder.
The story follows detective Hae-joon (played by Park Hae-il) as he investigates the mysterious death of a man while growing increasingly attached to and obsessed with the victim’s widow, Seo-rae (played by Tang Wei).
As the investigation continues, Hae-joon becomes infatuated with Seo-rae, constructing this relationship as he watches her during stakeouts and treats her to dinner in the interrogation room. At a certain point in their entanglement, the two are forced to make that decision on whether to walk away from the other.
The film seamlessly blends aspects of a traditional detective flick and a schmaltzy romance reminiscent of Korean love dramas. It is a different take and tone from Park’s usual work, deviating from the grim brutality of works like “Sympathy for Lady Vengeance” and the twisted thrill of “Oldboy.”
Instead, it uses mild comedy and sentimentality to display how the protagonists’ detective-suspect relationship grows into both something more, yet still remains ever-stagnant. Their relationship can be described as intrusive at the start, as the detective’s heavy breathing fills the theater when he watches her.
Repeatedly, a technique is used where two people who are apart physically seem to break space and time while on the phone or using binoculars to stand face-to-face in a room.
At a screening held at the USC School of Cinematic Arts on Monday, Park discussed this through a translator, calling it a “goofy technique,” but also the most “accurate method to express a character’s emotions.”
This sense of closeness is best seen throughout the film’s gorgeous cinematography that utilizes the contrast between the big picture and the little details to show the intense intricacy of police investigations. At times, a wide shot of a beach will portray people on the scale of ants and others, close-ups show ants crawling on a dead man.
Even subtle shifts in camera focus are crucial to the film. In some shots, Seo-rae will be blurred, out of focus, but Hae-joon can be seen clear as day. According to Park, “This was achieved through the use of VFX and the focus basically moves according to who is speaking the truth at the moment.”
This experience is further personalized through the depiction of Hae-joon’s insomnia. The film is riddled with creative transitions, from clearing a table to make room for a new scene to a dead man’s eye morphing into Hae-joon’s. Scenes blend into each other without real distinction and create a question of reality and dreams, which is something seen in films such as “Oldboy.”
Of course, because this film holds a drastically different tone from his gritty classic, the context of these moments are completely different. In one scene, Seo-rae uses her caregiving techniques to help Hae-joon sleep, and the scene dissolves into something taken right out of a K-drama.
It shows the two together at a Buddhist shrine on a rainy day, keeping each other’s company as they share umbrellas and Seo-rae rubs chapstick on Hae-joon’s lips. Such transitions make it so the scene both feels real and also dreamlike at the same time.
This is just one of the ways Park walks the line between police drama and love story. Where it becomes most evident is in the film’s interrogation scenes.
He said that if this was an ordinary detective film, these scenes would be dry with “your typical two chairs, the one fluorescent light on the ceiling in a dark setting and high contrast glow.”
On the other hand, he said if he made it a typical romance film, “maybe the two characters would have been walking along the forest or drinking coffee together at a cafe in Paris.”
Using production design and lighting techniques, Park sought to marry the two ideas into a single, cohesive idea. He said, “It had to be one unified thing: all the stakeouts, all the watching… it all had to be a part of the relationship process.”
Furthermore, Park’s depictions of modern technology on screen, such as smartphones and other devices, strengthens the bonds between characters.
While technological devices are notorious for being tricky to adapt in film, Park was able to find a way to not only portray them creatively, but also make them necessary to the plot. PC cafes, Siri, translation devices and smart-watches are ever present in the film.
Hae-joon constantly texts Seo-rae in the awkward way teenagers try to start text conversations with their crushes throughout the film. In all those moments, his face is reflected behind a loading message, slowly anticipating a response.
Seo-rae, who is originally from China, has to use a translation app to avoid mistranslations such as “only” into “solitary,” while communicating with Hae-joon.
Voice recordings become especially important as a detective watches every detail of his suspect’s life, and ultimately records their most intimate moments.
By the end of it, the romance aspect of the film actually overtakes the detective component. While there’s plenty of murder to go around, these cases eventually reach their end, but the love between protagonists seemingly continues drifting into uncertainty.
“Decision to Leave” is an excellent tale that is not only impressive from a technical standpoint, but impressive because it views those techniques as essential. In capturing the feel and emotions of both types of stories, Park effectively blends two genres into a single film without making either feel like a disposable subplot.
While slow-moving at times, it leaves space for viewers to contemplate and unravel this mystery of relationships themselves.
In the film, Seo-rae asks the question, “In Korea, if the person you love gets married, does the love cease?” The same question can be applied within different contexts.
When the chase ends–even in death–do their feelings and desire for one another end?
“Decision to Leave” will officially release in theaters in the U.S. starting October 14, 2022.