There is nothing like a taboo to grab an audience's attention. One can choose to simply throw in some cannibalism or sado-masochism to shock or to titillate in ways extraneous to the plot or one can dare choose to empathize with the partners in a taboo, asking the audience to compare and contrast with what they see on the screen. Kim Yong-gyun has chosen the latter direction in his film Wanee and Junah. Wanee (Kim Hee-sun) and Junah (Joo Jin-mo) are live-in lovers whose relationship becomes emotionally distant as memories of Wanee's past surface. At the same time as Wanee wrestles with her past, Junah struggles to establish himself as a writer without sacrificing the art in his work in order to acquire his first film credit.

 Brief reviews should rarely give away the secret of a film unless it is so obvious as not to be a real secret. In this case, I feel the subtle revelation of the primary taboo is too important to one's engagement with this film to risk revealing. So I will walk around it just as we walk around it in our mutual societies. Furthermore, surrounding the taboo that's name I dare not speak are many other taboos that should equally go unspoken because part of the pleasure in this film is pointing out each of them, either directly noted or merely hinted at. My roommate and I are still arguing about one, and until either of us learns Korean Sign Language, we'll never really know, since the DVD does not translate the deaf character's dialogue beyond her first scene with Wanee. One relationship taboo I can mention, and already have. That is, Wanee and Junah are an unmarried couple living together, something more accepted in Western cultures but still looked at disapprovingly in South Korea. Few of the taboos presented are judged, allowing for us to judge for ourselves how we feel about each. This wealth of transgressions of mythic norms appears to say that each of us at some moment in our lives crosses boundaries we are told to never cross, and it is for each of us to decide what boundaries are best to never cross. Some taboos are clearly wrong, others are more ambiguous, and, with still others, the statement that they are wrong is what's wrong. Rather than hold court, director Kim lets the audience as jury decide.

As much as I enjoy this film, there are moments that don't quite work for me. The direction of the employees of the animation studio where Wanee works results in scenes where their banter comes off way too scripted, their movements way too choreographed. Yes, most every fictional film is a series of set ups, of mise-en-scenes, but the performances are supposed to assist us in suspending our disbelief. (And, apparently, badminton is the official sport of all animation studios, for, just like at Pixar, they play it here.) Yet, other efforts to represent the life of an animator add to the film, such as the physical consequences of the work, signified by employees baring wrist braces and POV shots of Wanee's blurry vision.

Along with the POV shots, Kim Yong-gyun includes other editing elements that add depth to the story. Sounds will intrude a scene that could only logically be associated with the following scene, such as hearing water pouring from a faucet while Wanee and Junah are still in bed and then cutting to Wanee in the kitchen pouring water from the faucet. This technique provides precedence for later scenes when the present blends seamlessly into scenes from the past. An example is when we see Wanee at the dinner table of her adult years and the camera then pans to the living room of her high school years. At times Wanee's phone conversations often appear like apparitions, Junah will walk in without acknowledging who is there because we're actually inside Wanee's head, not really seeing what Junah sees. This is most striking when we first become aware of this, considering how rude it would be for Junah not to greet Wanee's mother. We learn she really isn't there in their living room, but on the phone with Wanee. And the endearing animation sequences which bookend the film, accompanied by a gorgeous score composed by Kim Hong-jib and Kang Min, add to the film while staying syntonic with the story.

Despite its problems in the feel of some scenes, Wanee and Junah is more than your average melodrama. Having taken on the taboo it does, it could have failed poorly in its execution. It could have just been a gratuitous effort to jar us or a redundant moral lecture. Kim Yong-gyun and the cast tastefully took on a difficult task. For the most part, it works, presenting an intriguing tale of letting go of our unhealthy pasts to accept the challenges before us whether we are rewarded for our mature, ethical decisions or not.      (Adam Hartzell)

Credits: www.koreanfilm.org