Freud to a crisp
al visual Buddhist poem ( Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter . . . and Spring) and mournful biographical documentary ( Arirang), his most ground-breaking work has trolled heteronormality and bourgeois family values. In Kim’s crazy-town borough of the movieverse, freedom is beating someone to death with their own golf club ( 3-Iron) and love is feeding your fake monstrous mother a piece of flesh from your own thigh ( Pieta).
Even by Kim’s extreme standards, Moebius maintains such a pitbull hold on its straight-world targets that it enters a shadowy realm of post-subversion. Picture, if you will, a vicious parody of Kim Ki-duk’s most vicious parodies. There are, accordingly, several blackly comic sequences that put one in mind of the South Park episode Eek, a Penis!.
A profoundly visual storyteller who never uses a word where a pungent image will suffice, Kim’s 18th feature dispenses with dialogue altogether. Its characters are nameless: we assign their familial roles according to spatial relations and the roof over their heads. The queasily close camerawork is an appropriate showcase for incestuous shenanigans. The performances see-saw between regimental stillness and explosive violence. Consanguinity has seldom looked bloodier.