Parasite: From Top to Bottom
The genius of director Bong Joonho’s work is in the fact that his films are so immensely human. With many notable pieces of work under his belt, from Okja (2017), to Snowpiercer (2014), to Mother (2009), and many more, there is an originality to his style, an ability to weave matters of dysfunction and ethicality with sincere performance and rich humor that is undeniably captivating.
It is through Parasite (Korean: Gisaengchung – 기생충) that he cements himself as a major-league filmmaker, transcending the boundaries of “foreign” or “international.” Winner of the Palme d’Or at the 2019 Cannes Film Festival by unanimous vote, and most recently of Best Foreign Language Film at the 77th Golden Globes, Parasite is ruthless, and tells everyone to take a look in the mirror.
(Discussion of the film ahead, but no huge spoilers or reveals present)
From left to right: Kim Kiwoo (Choi Wooshik), Kim Kitaek (Song Kangho), Kim Chungsook (Jang Hyejin), Kim Kijung (Park Sodam), in their semi-basement apartment. Image via
Most of the film takes place in the home of the Park family, which, much to my surprise, is not at all a real house: the set was built entirely from scratch, a tremendous feat by production designer Lee Hajun.
Housekeeper Moongwang (Lee Jungeun) walks through the Park family’s home. Image via
Digital rendering of the Park family’s home by Lee Hajun. Image via
Park Dahye (Jung Jiso) spies on Kijung. Image via
Kitaek observes the sleeping Parks in their home. Image via
It’s through the meticulous delineation of Bong, though, that the vision of Parasite as a whole could come to life. Not only did he create a full storyboard of the film himself (each scene sketched out one by one), he also outlined a detailed floor plan of the Park family’s house, taking into account the blocking elements presented in the script. The set acts as a psychological map, almost, the architecture and spatial connections between the characters suggestive of the secrets each one of them is hiding.
Though the Park family home is luxurious, it’s anything but flashy: sleek, modern, and open, the jewel of the house lies in its beautiful front lawn, green and drenched with sunlight.
The Kims, on the other hand, reside in a dingy semi-basement, windows allowing the family to sneak just a peek above ground. It is with this established that the viewers begin to understand that the class warfare simmering beneath the surface of the film is not only metaphorical. It is physical, and not solely due to the jarring aesthetic differences between the two homes: it’s the spatial disparity, the substantiality of the “upstairs” family and the “downstairs” family that hones in on the Kim family’s desires and aspirations for more.
The use of sunlight and water as motifs in particular key us into this discrepancy. The Kim family’s semi-basement, dense and cluttered, gives them just a taste of what’s up above. Juxtaposed to the floor-to-ceiling windows and glimmering front lawn of the Park family’s home, the airy freedom that wealth yields, we see that there is hope here.
Park Yeonkyo (Cho Yeojeong) looks out the window of her home. Image via
Kitaek looks out the window of his apartment. Image via
Water, usually a common symbol for purification and renewal, is a motif most devastating in this film. Acting as our line of continuity, the water from rainfall flows down, down, down, flooding into the poorer districts, and Kitaek, Kiwoo, and Kijung have no choice but to follow it home. Though it poses no threat to the Parks, it is the impact of something as familiar as water that transforms not only the motives of the Kim family, but their livelihood.
Kiwoo, Kitaek, and Kijung in the rain. Image via
“It’s important that the characters are moving down, but what’s more important is that water is moving with them: Water is flowing from top to bottom, from the rich neighborhoods to the poor ones, and these characters, they have no control over it.”
- Bong Joonho on Parasite. Via Indiewire
Bong claims that one of the greatest parts of cinema is the fact that you can make your audience feel exposed, stripped raw for all they are. The painfully vulnerable nature of the characters, in all of their delusion, selfishness, and naivety, remind us of ourselves. They instill in us an uncanny self-awareness, and yet, he is not preaching to us: he is showing us that the dreadful weight of reality on our shoulders is unshakeable.
Featured image via
