‘Cobweb (2023)' REVIEW: Art interweaves life
‘Cobweb (2023)’ REVIEW: Art interweaves life
Song Kang-ho in Cobweb (2023).
Preface: There are so many Kims in this review. I will be referring to them by their complete names: Kim Jee-woon (director), Kim Ki-yeol (the film’s character who is also a director), and Kim Ki-young (the film’s main character’s primary inspiration who is also a director).
Curiosity is a desire innate to all humans, with the last man who stepped on the moon, Gene Cernan, remarking that it is the “essence of human existence.” This statement is especially noticeable in the 20th century, when the insatiable thirst for knowledge and discovery shifted from arts and sciences to celebrity and pop culture, with the formation of fandoms and stans. In the realm of film and television, the interest goes beyond the media itself, as evident by the rampant release of behind-the-scenes footage, actor interviews, and PR stunts that are sometimes more memorable than the project it is referring to. From Federico Fellini’s 8 1/2 (1963) depicting the life of a director struggling with creativity and getting his new film off the ground, to Damien Chazelle’s Babylon (2022) portraying the difficulty the silent film stars faced during the silent to sound film transition period of the late 1920s, movies that give a peek behind the curtain of filmmaking had always existed to satiate the demand for such. These “meta-films” provide the people in the industry the ability to reflect on the filmmaking process and delve into the cultural and societal impact of filmmaking while simultaneously delivering a compelling narrative to get their point across.
Most of the films released in this genre focused primarily on Hollywood and its extensive cultural impact on the film industry, and while filmmakers can make countless movies regarding its extensive and rich history, the experience and relatability of the Hollywood culture are not universal and encompassing. Kim Jee-woon (I Saw the Devil, 2010; A Tale of Two Sisters, 2003) attempts to make ground about the topic with an Eastern flare through his recent film release. Set in 1970s South Korea, Cobweb (2023) gives life to Kim Ki-yeol (Song Kang-ho), a Korean filmmaker struggling to make a proper comeback after his initial directorial debut success. Despite completing the shooting aspect of his latest film, Cobweb, Kim Ki-yeol decided to scrap almost everything he had made so far to bring what he hallucinated to reality. Determined to create what he deemed to be a masterpiece from a dream, Kim Ki-yeol informed his cast and crew to allow two (2) additional days for reshoots, with problems exponentially cascading into a tangled web that they have willingly entrapped themselves into.
Creating a divide between fiction and reality is what the film established in its opening sequence, starting with the climax of Kim Ki-yeol’s Cobweb in black-and-white, then immediately transitioning to the director waking up from a dream, colorized. This dichotomy between the world of Cobweb (colorized) and the film Cobweb (black-and-white) creates a necessary distinction, as parts of Cobweb film are scattered throughout the 2-hour runtime. The black-and-white shots enforce the continuity of the Cobweb film within the Cobweb film—which admittedly looks and sounds confusing due to similar titles—even with interruptions. Another film released this year, Nolan’s Oppenheimer also used the same concept but with a different purpose–with him stating that the black-and-white scenes were considered as objective and colorized shots are considered as subjective.
Oh Jung-se and Park Jeong-su in Cobweb (2023).
Despite being a fleeting sequence, the early scene of Kim coincidentally meeting with his critics at a restaurant really stood out to me personally. This interaction is nothing short of spiteful for both parties, as Kim’s detractors’ preconceived biases and Kim’s loose-cannon personality were put at the forefront. The conversation between film critics openly criticizing a film and labeling it as trash without even seeing it is reflective of the current film criticism sphere. One such case is the recent discourse regarding one Twitter user who, despite not having watched and being disinterested in watching the film itself, made a thread proclaiming that Oppenheimer (2023) is a war propaganda film when people who actually watched the 3-hour-long film say that it is actually the opposite. These people who already have a predetermined thought on something they are not well-equipped to give a credible opinion are always the loud minority who maliciously deter their peers from seeking the truth and watching media of concern themselves. It is easy to get behind Kim’s sentiment of critics having it easy as they only create destruction, mostly due to the fact that films have been diminished to reductive reviews for the sake of virality or going against the mainstream. While it is true that film criticism will always be subjective, the ill-natured act of not attempting to at least meet halfway with the film’s intent and message just doesn't sit right with me. (See Gayle Dy’s perspective regarding Goldwin Reviews’ 2023 Cinemalaya lineup).
We can see how the negative comments contributed heavily to Kim Ki-yeol’s mental degradation, which pushed him to stray away from the norm, going as far as disregarding his studio company, South Korea’s censorship authority, and his cast and crew’s safety, just to prove his detractors wrong. Kim’s severe case of impostor syndrome can be traced back to when his antecedent, Director Shin (Jung Woo-sung) succumbed during the making of his last film’s climactic shot involving fire. From Chairwoman Baek (Jang Young-nam) and her studio crew’s lack of confidence and nonchalance in his vision, to how his critics and audience viewed him as a one-trick director who peaked during his directorial debut, Kim’s self-induced frustration is the primary motivation of the film’s 2-day reshoot, whether he admits it himself or not. His insecure ego cannot accept his current reputation but he is willing to believe that changing the ending and reshooting most of the film will finally enable him to move past his predecessor’s shadow. And it is no coincidence that his film’s climactic sequence attempted what Director Shin failed to accomplish—which Director Kim did successfully, although with a lot of hiccups, I might add.
Song Kang-ho in Cobweb (2023).
Another aspect that I have noticed throughout the film, but most felt during the ending, is how overdramatic the aspect of filmmaking is. A lot of talking points can be constructed just from the film’s creative process, most especially the following: infidelity, scheduling issues, film censorship, actor attitude and professionalism, the art and difficulty of acting, set and studio production issues, limitations of 1970s cinema, and the film’s kafkaesque ending.
What has piqued my curiosity the most is the long sequence shot that is continuously poked fun at by multiple characters throughout the film. Before the quota system and the Motion Picture Law of 1962, South Korea experienced its golden age of cinema where hundreds of films were released during the late 1950s and early 1960s. This fast-paced film output was possible mainly due to the lack of camera movement and Kim Ki-yeol’s real-life model, Kim Ki-young, was one of the pioneers of mise-en-scène in South Korean cinema. The black-and-white long sequence shown at the start of the film is heavily inspired by Kim Ki-young’s The Housemaid (1960) mixed with the staple South Korean cliche plots of the time (e.g., half-sister, infidelity, everyone is connected reveal). What sets Kim Ki-yeol’s Cobweb ending apart from its 1970s film counterparts is its surreal ending that is straight out of Kafka’s Metamorphosis. Despite its bizarre conclusion, Kim Ki-yeol’s ending still abides by the common tropes of the time, specifically the death and interconnectedness of the main characters. This makes me realize that not only the film’s title is about the web that connects the cast and crew to the film’s plot, but also the literal sense of a cobweb encasing every main character during their death.
While Cobweb’s black comedy and film-within-a-film aspect were highlighted, director Kim Jee-won hopes that future filmmakers who watched this film learn one thing from seeing the character of Kim Ki-yeol: self-conviction. During his interview at the 2023 Sydney Film Festival, Kim Jee-won admitted that being a director is “a lonely job,” and that last-minute decisions are for them to make, even without knowing if it’s the correct move to do. But just like what Kim Ki-yeol did in the film, you just need to have a vision and do all you can (hopefully through legal and moral means) to make that a reality.
Kim Jee-woon’s “Cobweb” is now showing in Philippine cinemas since October 04, Wednesday.
