Fighter in the Wind: Korean Karate to Bust a Gut

Much is made of the difference between laughing with and and laughing at. I, for one, have gotten much pleasure from both. And really, is it so terrible to laugh at when the cause of the laughter is melodramatic acting, ludicrous dialogue, lachrymose gestures, symbolic shadow-play, ridiculously ritualized foreplay, heavy metal hairdos, battling facial expressions and a main character who comes across a science experiment for which a Neanderthal brain was genetically engineered then lodged in the body of a Korean martial artist who got stuck in Japan? Aren't I allowed to laugh at Fighter in the Wind and not feel bad about it? Can't I go so far as to recommend it as an unintentional comedy without coming across as mean?

What's not so funny is that Fighter in the Wind is based on a true story. (Or at least a novel inspired by a true story.) There really was a guy named Choi (Yang Dong-kun) who came to Japan from Korea in order to join the airforce then went on to found one of the leading karate styles in the world. (His book What Is Karate was actually a bestseller in the U.S. in the '60s!) But Fighter in the Wind isn't that interested in sticking to the facts. This version of Choi falls in love with a geisha (Aya Hirayama), not the daughter of his landlady, and trains in the woods Rocky IV-style (with no mention of the Japanese sponsor who made the retreat possible and encouraged him to shave off his eyebrow).

I'm particularly bummed that the bit about the eyebrow didn't make it into the movie. But credit writer-director Yang Yun-ho for setting part of the action in a circus, having a black-clad antagonist (Park Seong-min) with one eye, and a workout buddy (Jung Doo-hong) with a hook for a hand. Historical accuracy isn't the point here. And with easily over a dozen fight sequences, you're unlikely to get bored either. You could call it a Grindhouse Classic.

Address Unknown: Blinded by One Zany Sight After Another

Does Address Unknown mean something to anyone besides its edgy director Kim Ki-duk? I mean, besides a hilariously good time for movie buffs who equate "super weird" with "super wonderful"? Is there a message here amid the escalating madness? Do these symbols symbolize something or are they simply strange images without intended meaning? (Interpret at will!) Is there something deep to be gathered from watching kidnapped dogs get brutalized then sold as stew meat or of from seeing an acid-tripping, half-blind girl (Ban Min-jung) get courted by an unstable American soldier (Mitch Mahlum) who wants to fix her bad eye then carve his name on her chest? Can sociopolitical interpretations be drawn from the mean-spirited story of a half-breed son (Yang Dong-kun) who systematically slices the breast of his unhinged mother (Bang Eun-jin) every time she goes off on her neighbors by shouting insults in English? What can we lean from the behavior of the morose young man (Kim Young-min) who shoots down his enemy after being taught the art of archery by his self-aggrandizing father (Myeong Gye-nam)? For that matter, what are we supposed to make of Address Unknown when the three main characters all end up getting blinded in their right eye or when one of them gets propelled head first off his motorcycle to a muddy slapstick death, buried up to his hips with his legs sticking out in the air? Are we supposed to take that seriously? Seriously? Is it okay to giggle? Because I sure did.

Address Unknown has a portentous tone yet as the movie gets crazier and crazier, you suspect that Kim took some of the LSD pills that the American G.I. is carrying around. Under the influence, he's forgotten to take more care in casting his characters (the American actors are particularly horrible) and crafting the dialogue. It's no relief that Kim chooses to have three largely silent characters instead of one. What we have in place of the silent enigma is a trio of mopey dopes suffering from depression. Which isn't to say that Address Unknown is too depressing! Far from it, it's actually often unintentionally funny. I wouldn't go so far as to call Kim's 2001 film his first comedy. But then again, maybe I should. Watch it, and you tell me!

Monopoly: Neither a Crime of the Century, Nor a Movie for Tonight

Sigh. Why isn't Lee Hang-bae's Monopoly better than it is? Why? It has sections that are pretty interesting. It also periodically suggests complicated back stories for its characters — an attractive trio that's masterminding the biggest swindle in Korean banking history. I'm certainly predisposed to like lead character Kyung Ho (Yang Dong-kun): a gay computer nerd who's all-too-willing to throw his morals out the window for John (Kim Seong-su), the emotionally manipulative, American heartthrob who eventually shows his commitment by running over said tech geek's homophobic co-worker, then backing over the jerk a second time to make sure the job is done. (Since this is a Korean movie, there's no shortage of vomit to prove our hero is sickened by the action even as he's won over by John's devotion.)

I also admit a weakness for the complications that arise once you learn that the aforementioned amoral dreamboat is actually bisexual and married to Elly (Yun Ji-min), a cigarette-puffing vixen who sashays about in form-fitting satin that accents every delectable curve. But these three promising characters never end up being that deep and the performances are a little too one-note. I ended up thinking Kyung Ho should cry less, John should emote more, and Elly should consider learning how to blow smoke rings. Hey, someone's got to lighten up. Because one thing Monopoly lacks is a sense of humor. Lee takes his central crime pretty seriously and truth be told, the outlandish embezzlement he's concocted is little more than Office Space meets The Usual Suspects. Yes, I know that's a spoiler but since Monopoly isn't so great, wouldn't you rather know this movie's pedigree now than sit through 90 minutes and feel like you'd seen it before? Which actually gets me back to my original wish. I feel like Kyung Ho especially could've been a truly original character. It's not often you get to see an effeminate, figurine-collecting office drone break out of his downtrodden status and enact revenge fantasies, even if they fill him with regret. But as played by Yang, Kyung Ho never really sheds the mincing stereotype, except at the very end when he discards his identity completely. If you're angry because I've just dropped another spoiler, I have to ask you: Why did you continue reading after the first one?