With his latest film, Dream (sometimes translated as Sad Dream), Kim Ki-Duk is able to skirt the inevitable criticism his heavy symbolism and loose-ended surrealism often garners—because, hey, it’s about dreams. It doesn’t have to be rational, or even add up to an obvious conclusion. At first this works very much against the film; it’s so silly and unabashedly convoluted that it took me a couple sittings to get through. I like many of his films, and have avoided the ones that have less than stellar reputations. So, here I am thinking I’m finally seeing one of the crappy ones. I was exceedingly wrong. If you do make it past the half hour mark, and leave your cynicism temporarily at the door, you’ll be rewarded.
Dream stars Japanese actor Joe Odagiri, whom I gather is quite a big, and beloved star, but this is the first I’ve seen of him. He plays Jin, a character who speaks Japanese and is understood perfectly by his Korean-speaking fellow citizens (and vice versa) without explanation. He makes calligraphy adorned stamps and pines for his ex girlfriend. One night, a night which happens to occur at the very beginning of the film, he has a vivid dream which is acted out by a sleep walking woman in the same city (Ran, played by Na-yeong Lee). Together they take preventative measures—sleeping in shifts and later handcuffing themselves together—to stop these incidents. But they never seem to question how ridiculously insane the phenomenon is. This, and a straight-faced scene involving a therapist advising the two to fall in love with each other if they hope to be cured, may just have you rolling your eyes and checking your watch.
Somewhere along the way, almost as suddenly as waking up, Kim Ki-Duk injects the story with humor and charm long enough to regain attention and make the characters feel more or less human. And true to the auteur’s style, things become both stunningly, poetically beautiful, and (just as you’re starting to like, and care about everyone) horrific. The conclusion is, of course, a breathtaking head scratcher. As I mentioned before, some of Dream’s mysteries may be best left unlocked and allowed off the hook—for anything goes in the human subconscious, and who knows what’s what? Then again, these mysteries and contemplating them are more than half the fun. Why does Jin have no trouble understanding or being understood as a foreigner by everyone he encounters? Why do we never see the two characters with any friends or family, save for their respective exes? Is one, or both, of them a ghost or figment? What’s with the butterflies?
I don’t know, exactly, but I’d be willing to delve into this movie again. And I may even enjoy that prickly first half this time. Kim Ki-Duk seems to be getting increasingly romantic and tragic with his work (where it used to be mainly the latter), and his aesthetic suites it impeccably. What he’ll do next is once again something I will look forward to, with the same curiosity and eagerness I have for my favorite filmmakers.