Five Habits of Successful Popular Films
There certainly are reasons for a commercially successful film. However, when filmmakers repeat elements of their previous success in new works, cinema fans eventually have to pay a price: they must endure the rampant self-duplication and standardization.
There is a saying in the Korean film industry: “Ten-millionviewer films are a jackpot from heaven.” Nobody knows which film will be blessed. As such, instead of making forecasts, there has been a deluge of post-hoc analyses, which have identified a set of essential elements behind the successful films.
Inspiring National Sentiment
The first element is a story that inspires national sentiment. The movies that have attracted millions of viewers by stirring the strong national ardor of Koreans include “The Admiral: Roaring Currents” (2014), “Ode to My Father” (2014), and “Taeguki: The Brotherhood of War’ (2004). It could be said that “Avengers: Age of Ultron” (2015) also benefited from this tendency as the Hollywood film made a tidy profit in Korea by shooting some action scenes in Seoul, even out of the dramatic context.
The second ingredient is criticism of the privileged class. Applying this proven success code, “Assassination” (2015) rekindled the latent rage of Koreans against the descendants of pro-Japanese collaborators who have retained their social and economic privileges over seven decades since national liberation; “Veteran” (2015) aroused public resentment against the wrongdoings committed by third-generation conglomerate heirs; “Masquerade” (2012) provoked outrage with politicians for indulging in wasteful partisan struggles in disregard of the public’s welfare; “The Attorney” (2013) stirred antipathy for the then president; and “The Host” (2006) roused public indignation over the environmental pollution caused by the U.S. Forces Korea as well as their privileged status here and the Korean government’s alarming lack of capability to cope with disasters. (The recent “Train to Busan” had a similar approach.)
The third factor is timing. “Frozen” (2014) premiered during the Christmas season; “The Attorney” at a time when the public’s disenchantment with the incumbent government resulted in a nostalgia for the previous administration; “Assassination” just ahead of Liberation Day (with a storyline about one of the most despised pro- Japanese collaborators that alluded to a chaebol family then waging a nasty internal feud); and “Veteran” when news about corruption and immorality among the heirs of business tycoons dismayed the general public.
Inspiring National Sentiment
The first element is a story that inspires national sentiment. The movies that have attracted millions of viewers by stirring the strong national ardor of Koreans include “The Admiral: Roaring Currents” (2014), “Ode to My Father” (2014), and “Taeguki: The Brotherhood of War’ (2004). It could be said that “Avengers: Age of Ultron” (2015) also benefited from this tendency as the Hollywood film made a tidy profit in Korea by shooting some action scenes in Seoul, even out of the dramatic context.
The second ingredient is criticism of the privileged class. Applying this proven success code, “Assassination” (2015) rekindled the latent rage of Koreans against the descendants of pro-Japanese collaborators who have retained their social and economic privileges over seven decades since national liberation; “Veteran” (2015) aroused public resentment against the wrongdoings committed by third-generation conglomerate heirs; “Masquerade” (2012) provoked outrage with politicians for indulging in wasteful partisan struggles in disregard of the public’s welfare; “The Attorney” (2013) stirred antipathy for the then president; and “The Host” (2006) roused public indignation over the environmental pollution caused by the U.S. Forces Korea as well as their privileged status here and the Korean government’s alarming lack of capability to cope with disasters. (The recent “Train to Busan” had a similar approach.)
The third factor is timing. “Frozen” (2014) premiered during the Christmas season; “The Attorney” at a time when the public’s disenchantment with the incumbent government resulted in a nostalgia for the previous administration; “Assassination” just ahead of Liberation Day (with a storyline about one of the most despised pro- Japanese collaborators that alluded to a chaebol family then waging a nasty internal feud); and “Veteran” when news about corruption and immorality among the heirs of business tycoons dismayed the general public.
Quest for Quality
The fourth key element is the Korean audience’s receptiveness to high-quality films with timely themes and engaging stories. In fact, nothing is more hackneyed, and also inaccurate, than the assumption that highly successful films must be essentially banal. This is not true, at least in Korea. To say that is neither flattery nor complacency. All 18 movies that have attracted more than 10 million viewers in Korea testify to the keen discernment of local cinema- goers. Titles like “King and the Clown” (2005), “Interstellar” (2014), “The Thieves” (2012), “Assassination,” “Masquerade,” and “The Host” are well-made even if they may fall short of being “masterpieces.” In addition, “Avatar” (2009), “Veteran,” “The Attorney,” “Silmido” (2003), “Frozen,” “Train to Busan,” and “The Admiral” are also of a quality that makes their popularity convincing, so long as one is not overly critical. Individual differences in evaluation notwithstanding, it is reasonable to say that about 70 percent of the 18 ten-million-viewer movies are better than average.
Relying on Star Actors
As for the fifth element needed to make a mega-hit, the capability, popularity, and reliability of the directors and actors are critical. Directors like Choi Dong-hoon, Bong Joon-ho, Lee Joon-ik, and Christopher Nolan have gained the confidence of Korean audiences with their capacity to satisfy popular tastes while preserving (or seeming to preserve) their interests and originality — that is, their ability to balance movie quality and box-office performance. Youn Je-kyun is another talented director and producer, although his work (like “Tidal Wave” from 2009) has been consistently labeled as “benchmarking of Hollywood blockbusters,” while critical response to his films has varied as well. As for actors, Oh Dal-su has earned the nickname “the ten-million fairy” for his mostly supporting roles in a number of films that exceeded the coveted magic number of ticket sales. But as suggested in the saying, “Baseball is a game of pitchers, and filmmaking of leading actors,” reliable actors like Song Kang-ho, Choi Min-sik, Hwang Jung-min, and Lee Byunghun, who are known for their on-screen aura and performance, are essential for big box-office successes.
Incidentally, global warming could also be counted as a factor, especially this past summer, because it boosted the number of people seeking relief from the sweltering heat in the air-conditioned coolness of the cinema.
The fourth key element is the Korean audience’s receptiveness to high-quality films with timely themes and engaging stories. In fact, nothing is more hackneyed, and also inaccurate, than the assumption that highly successful films must be essentially banal. This is not true, at least in Korea. To say that is neither flattery nor complacency. All 18 movies that have attracted more than 10 million viewers in Korea testify to the keen discernment of local cinema- goers. Titles like “King and the Clown” (2005), “Interstellar” (2014), “The Thieves” (2012), “Assassination,” “Masquerade,” and “The Host” are well-made even if they may fall short of being “masterpieces.” In addition, “Avatar” (2009), “Veteran,” “The Attorney,” “Silmido” (2003), “Frozen,” “Train to Busan,” and “The Admiral” are also of a quality that makes their popularity convincing, so long as one is not overly critical. Individual differences in evaluation notwithstanding, it is reasonable to say that about 70 percent of the 18 ten-million-viewer movies are better than average.
Relying on Star Actors
As for the fifth element needed to make a mega-hit, the capability, popularity, and reliability of the directors and actors are critical. Directors like Choi Dong-hoon, Bong Joon-ho, Lee Joon-ik, and Christopher Nolan have gained the confidence of Korean audiences with their capacity to satisfy popular tastes while preserving (or seeming to preserve) their interests and originality — that is, their ability to balance movie quality and box-office performance. Youn Je-kyun is another talented director and producer, although his work (like “Tidal Wave” from 2009) has been consistently labeled as “benchmarking of Hollywood blockbusters,” while critical response to his films has varied as well. As for actors, Oh Dal-su has earned the nickname “the ten-million fairy” for his mostly supporting roles in a number of films that exceeded the coveted magic number of ticket sales. But as suggested in the saying, “Baseball is a game of pitchers, and filmmaking of leading actors,” reliable actors like Song Kang-ho, Choi Min-sik, Hwang Jung-min, and Lee Byunghun, who are known for their on-screen aura and performance, are essential for big box-office successes.
Incidentally, global warming could also be counted as a factor, especially this past summer, because it boosted the number of people seeking relief from the sweltering heat in the air-conditioned coolness of the cinema.
Soundtracks that are Far Too Kind
At any rate, past success alone is no guarantee that the good fortune will continue. Even so, the key elements that have proved successful in previous films have an undeniable importance for investors. Filmmaking is a high-cost, high-risk, high-reward business, and the ever-increasing costs for production and marketing are raising the stakes even higher. Since investors seek to minimize risk and uncertainty, the abovementioned success factors — especially of the recent mega-hit films — are still likely to wield considerable influence over production.
In today’s Korean film industry, a handful of major distributors dominate the entire process of investment, distribution, and screening under a vertically integrated system. They account for over 90 percent of the market (based on ticket sales), and are extending their grip on new media platforms, such as VOD, IPTV, and DMB. Moreover, the monopoly has gone almost unchecked. Under these circumstances, it is natural for proven elements to remain at the forefront, shaping the quality and style of future films.
One of the most obvious common traits is the way music is applied. Listen to the soundtracks of the so-called Korean blockbusters released in recent years, including those made with relatively large investments and more than two big stars. Most of their scores seem to readily set up the audience for what they should feel during a certain scene. Sad or solemn scenes overflow with adagios that sound as if all the string sections of all the orchestras in the world are playing together. And then, comic scenes providing relief from the dramatic tension are filled with scampering melodies of the double bass and woodwinds interspersed with countless brief rests. This kind of “emotional cuing” goes so far as to dictate a specific emotion, sometimes even in advance. Using predictable scores is an age-old practice in Hollywood, known as “mickey-mousing.” Implying that the audience has no more capacity for concentration and understanding than young children who enjoy Mickey Mouse cartoons, this term is rather insulting to the audience, but also quite fitting.
“Pictures with scores like that are probably not injured by them. Chances are the music is not the only cliché in the movie. It’s probably loaded with them,” said Sidney Lumet, a master Hollywood director. His observation holds true for Korean movies today, especially those with “tear-jerker” endings.
In line with the emotional traits and disposition of Koreans, who like to experience intense catharsis, whether from laughter, rage, or sorrow, the formula of “nine bursts of laughter and one bout of weeping” has been exploited so frequently that it has practically become an industry standard. For this “one bout of weeping,” many recent films have been all too willing to adopt overly contrived situations or an implausible turn of events. Too often, the characters try to squeeze tears from the audience by weeping and wailing themselves, before you can appreciate the sadness. Now, the weeping is prolonged; the acting and directing are excessive; and the orchestra tears your eardrums with tragic melodies. The screen and the speakers are determined to drive the audience to a good cry before letting them out of the theater.
At any rate, past success alone is no guarantee that the good fortune will continue. Even so, the key elements that have proved successful in previous films have an undeniable importance for investors. Filmmaking is a high-cost, high-risk, high-reward business, and the ever-increasing costs for production and marketing are raising the stakes even higher. Since investors seek to minimize risk and uncertainty, the abovementioned success factors — especially of the recent mega-hit films — are still likely to wield considerable influence over production.
In today’s Korean film industry, a handful of major distributors dominate the entire process of investment, distribution, and screening under a vertically integrated system. They account for over 90 percent of the market (based on ticket sales), and are extending their grip on new media platforms, such as VOD, IPTV, and DMB. Moreover, the monopoly has gone almost unchecked. Under these circumstances, it is natural for proven elements to remain at the forefront, shaping the quality and style of future films.
One of the most obvious common traits is the way music is applied. Listen to the soundtracks of the so-called Korean blockbusters released in recent years, including those made with relatively large investments and more than two big stars. Most of their scores seem to readily set up the audience for what they should feel during a certain scene. Sad or solemn scenes overflow with adagios that sound as if all the string sections of all the orchestras in the world are playing together. And then, comic scenes providing relief from the dramatic tension are filled with scampering melodies of the double bass and woodwinds interspersed with countless brief rests. This kind of “emotional cuing” goes so far as to dictate a specific emotion, sometimes even in advance. Using predictable scores is an age-old practice in Hollywood, known as “mickey-mousing.” Implying that the audience has no more capacity for concentration and understanding than young children who enjoy Mickey Mouse cartoons, this term is rather insulting to the audience, but also quite fitting.
“Pictures with scores like that are probably not injured by them. Chances are the music is not the only cliché in the movie. It’s probably loaded with them,” said Sidney Lumet, a master Hollywood director. His observation holds true for Korean movies today, especially those with “tear-jerker” endings.
In line with the emotional traits and disposition of Koreans, who like to experience intense catharsis, whether from laughter, rage, or sorrow, the formula of “nine bursts of laughter and one bout of weeping” has been exploited so frequently that it has practically become an industry standard. For this “one bout of weeping,” many recent films have been all too willing to adopt overly contrived situations or an implausible turn of events. Too often, the characters try to squeeze tears from the audience by weeping and wailing themselves, before you can appreciate the sadness. Now, the weeping is prolonged; the acting and directing are excessive; and the orchestra tears your eardrums with tragic melodies. The screen and the speakers are determined to drive the audience to a good cry before letting them out of the theater.
Repetition of Social Themes
Korean television was once dominated by “makjang (dead-end) dramas,” which sought to attract viewers with increasingly outrageous subplots and characters. As this trend showed, exposure to repeated stimuli will blunt the audience response, calling for more dramatic stimulation to get the same effect.
Perhaps, the most evident indicator of movies caught in the trap of “something stronger” can be seen in the sub-genre called “action noir as social criticism.” Featuring characters in positions of power, such as prosecutors, politicians, journalists, business tycoons, and police officials, these films attempt to portray their underhanded practices and covert strife as realistically as possible. This genre, specific to Korean film, has arisen and grown from the extremes of Korea’s competitive society, institutional absurdity, economic polarization, and lack of political interaction. Most Koreans empathize with the message of these movies, as demonstrated by their box-office results. In these films, audiences can enjoy a temporary escape from the frustrating reality of their society and an indirect way of expressing their opinions.
If the market were structured in a way that three or so customers bought up approximately 90 percent of, say, all the pies baked, the bakers would not go to the trouble of satisfying the variegated tastes of those buying the remaining 10 percent. Naturally, their highest priority would be appeasing the appetites of the three big buyers....
One thing that is overlooked, however, is how these social commentaries seem unable or unwilling to overcome their own cinematic/ aesthetic tautology and self-duplication. Duplication is undoubtedly one of the basic properties of cinema as a genre. But recent Korean productions claiming to be “action noir as social criticism” look too much like identical twins, only packaged with different names and outfits. Every film seems to build characters first by arranging a pack of cards on the table, with each card representing a character type, such as a prosecutor, policeman, business tycoon, journalist, or gangster. Then, selected characters are shuffled together to produce something similar to the signature roles of famous actors. The only variation seems to be the level of criticism and the degree of explicit description in the story.
The idle practice of repeating the successful elements of previous films with little variation, and the consequent standardization of the genre, is not simply about filmmakers’ capabilities and attitudes. And the fact that Korea’s aspiring directors take the “Robert McKee Manual” as their Bible may not be the cause, either. At the root of this self-duplication and standardization is the desire of big capital, through its control of the entire movie-making process, to come up with the next “ten-million-viewer film.”
For instance, if the market were structured in a way that three or so customers bought up approximately 90 percent of, say, all the pies baked, the bakers would not go to the trouble of satisfying the variegated tastes of those buying the remaining 10 percent. Naturally, their highest priority would be appeasing the appetites of the three big buyers, who have the power to provide the ingredients, assistant cooks, ovens, trucks, and even display cases. They thus control the distribution channels to sell the ten-million pies baked. How many cooks would dare to ignore, or defy, such power?
Eventually, it is the viewers who pay the price. Today, most cinema screens are occupied by the films with the strongest profit potential, with stories and styles not much different from those presented not long ago. There are ever fewer screens for small, lowbudget films, if only for brief runs. Furthermore, the big buyers are reaching out to influence the so-called “art house” market as well.
It took only 15 years for Korean cinema to achieve its robust growth of today. Korean film fans have grown not only in numbers but also in discernment, thanks in part to the filmmakers who have struggled to defend their originality in the face of commercial pressures and restraints. In light of what happened in the advanced film industries of Hong Kong and Japan at the time when Korean cinema was still developing, no one can deny that the appearance of similar symptoms in Korea is an unmistakable warning sign.
The article above is courtesy of Korea Foundation (http://www.koreana.or.kr/user/0004/nd47477.do?View&boardNo=00000601&zineInfoNo=0004&pubYear=2016&pubMonth=WINTER&pubLang=English).
Korean television was once dominated by “makjang (dead-end) dramas,” which sought to attract viewers with increasingly outrageous subplots and characters. As this trend showed, exposure to repeated stimuli will blunt the audience response, calling for more dramatic stimulation to get the same effect.
Perhaps, the most evident indicator of movies caught in the trap of “something stronger” can be seen in the sub-genre called “action noir as social criticism.” Featuring characters in positions of power, such as prosecutors, politicians, journalists, business tycoons, and police officials, these films attempt to portray their underhanded practices and covert strife as realistically as possible. This genre, specific to Korean film, has arisen and grown from the extremes of Korea’s competitive society, institutional absurdity, economic polarization, and lack of political interaction. Most Koreans empathize with the message of these movies, as demonstrated by their box-office results. In these films, audiences can enjoy a temporary escape from the frustrating reality of their society and an indirect way of expressing their opinions.
If the market were structured in a way that three or so customers bought up approximately 90 percent of, say, all the pies baked, the bakers would not go to the trouble of satisfying the variegated tastes of those buying the remaining 10 percent. Naturally, their highest priority would be appeasing the appetites of the three big buyers....
One thing that is overlooked, however, is how these social commentaries seem unable or unwilling to overcome their own cinematic/ aesthetic tautology and self-duplication. Duplication is undoubtedly one of the basic properties of cinema as a genre. But recent Korean productions claiming to be “action noir as social criticism” look too much like identical twins, only packaged with different names and outfits. Every film seems to build characters first by arranging a pack of cards on the table, with each card representing a character type, such as a prosecutor, policeman, business tycoon, journalist, or gangster. Then, selected characters are shuffled together to produce something similar to the signature roles of famous actors. The only variation seems to be the level of criticism and the degree of explicit description in the story.
The idle practice of repeating the successful elements of previous films with little variation, and the consequent standardization of the genre, is not simply about filmmakers’ capabilities and attitudes. And the fact that Korea’s aspiring directors take the “Robert McKee Manual” as their Bible may not be the cause, either. At the root of this self-duplication and standardization is the desire of big capital, through its control of the entire movie-making process, to come up with the next “ten-million-viewer film.”
For instance, if the market were structured in a way that three or so customers bought up approximately 90 percent of, say, all the pies baked, the bakers would not go to the trouble of satisfying the variegated tastes of those buying the remaining 10 percent. Naturally, their highest priority would be appeasing the appetites of the three big buyers, who have the power to provide the ingredients, assistant cooks, ovens, trucks, and even display cases. They thus control the distribution channels to sell the ten-million pies baked. How many cooks would dare to ignore, or defy, such power?
Eventually, it is the viewers who pay the price. Today, most cinema screens are occupied by the films with the strongest profit potential, with stories and styles not much different from those presented not long ago. There are ever fewer screens for small, lowbudget films, if only for brief runs. Furthermore, the big buyers are reaching out to influence the so-called “art house” market as well.
It took only 15 years for Korean cinema to achieve its robust growth of today. Korean film fans have grown not only in numbers but also in discernment, thanks in part to the filmmakers who have struggled to defend their originality in the face of commercial pressures and restraints. In light of what happened in the advanced film industries of Hong Kong and Japan at the time when Korean cinema was still developing, no one can deny that the appearance of similar symptoms in Korea is an unmistakable warning sign.
The article above is courtesy of Korea Foundation (http://www.koreana.or.kr/user/0004/nd47477.do?View&boardNo=00000601&zineInfoNo=0004&pubYear=2016&pubMonth=WINTER&pubLang=English).