Tuesday, August 12, 2014

Watching A Most Wanted Man at the Seoul Cinema

I saw Philip Seymour Hoffman's last movie, A Most Wanted Man, at the Seoul Cinema on Friday night. I thought I had been to the Seoul Cinema (서울극장) before, but I realized that I hadn't, mostly because there are about a half dozen other theatres within a mile of it. The Seoul Cinema, located at Jongno-3-ga station, was built in 1964 as the Century Theatre and changed to its present name in 1978. When I got there, I couldn't believe that I'd never been there before, but I realized that I'd been confusing it with the older Daehan Cinema at Chungmuro, which was built in 1955. Admittedly, the two do look somewhat similar in that they look jarringly dissimilar from the major cinema chains.

If you broadly look at A Most Wanted Man as a spy movie set in Germany, you'll remember that the Jason Bourne franchise is also a spy movie set in Germany, at least in part, and you'll realize that A Most Wanted Man manages to be much better without a fraction of the action and the information overload. If anything, this movie thrives in the absence of information, loud noises and action. In retrospect, the perpetual panic and long-winded stories of the Bourne franchise now seem like a bad story told by someone who's obviously lying.

For its minimalism and ability to create importance through quiet and the absence of information rather than overwhelming information, A Most Wanted Man fits Seoul Cinema as well as the Bourne supremacy fits any chain theatre with its massive lobbies, crowds, trailers with loud explosions on perpetual loop (there was a time around last summer or fall that theatres in Korea played this 20-second beer commercial featuring Psy and the tune from Garden of Eden every minute or so), shiny interior and staff with machine-like efficiency.

The Seoul Cinema has none of it. The entrance is in an alley off of the main street, with small crowds even on a Friday night, a concessions stand that takes forever to deal with customers, gives you something other than what you ordered and has popcorn servings that probably haven't changed since 1978, this last fact being probably a good thing for everyone involved. There didn't seem to be anyone checking tickets in the basement theatre I went to, which wasn't all that well laid-out or marked. I almost stumbled on a step in the theatre, which has no lighting at the doors.

A Most Wanted Man ends somewhat abruptly and in silence. There's no Matt Damon on a Greek beach, no predictable, almost-expected plot twist that serves as a sort-of-happy-ending, no bridge to a sequel. The movie ends suddenly like a football game in overtime that's won by the visiting team, and the home crowd processes the loss while walking out. This is perhaps where the Seoul Cinema best suits this movie.

Most movie theatres in Korea have a very predictable location. If you can think of a mid-sized Korean city, there's a good chance that there's a train and/or subway station bearing its name. There's also a good chance that there's a movie theatre between six or nine floors above that station, with a department store or mall in between. This is true, for example, of Suwon, Uijeongbu, Bucheon, and Guri, as well as (Dong) Incheon, Daegu, as well as major train stations in Seoul with the exception of Seoul Station, such as Yongsan, Youngdeungpo and Cheongnyangni.

The Seoul Cinema, by contrast, is right on the street. There's no long corridor to take you back to the lobby and no shopping mall or department escalators. You walk out the way you came, go up the stairs and you're on the street within a minute. Within another minute, before I could really process what I had just seen, I was at Jongno-3-ga station.

Both the cinema and the movie are not without their weaknesses. First, A Most Wanted Man relies on the spy movie cliche of oblique references to both a previous job and an incident that happened there with the name of the city, such as "I thought they'd have fired you after what happened in Ouagadougou" or "you didn't forgive him for Bydgoszcz, did you?". I concede that actual spies might well talk this way, but somehow I doubt it.

Second, everyone in the movie, with a few exceptions, is somehow either an American or a German who sounds like one. The English ability of Europeans is superb, but at the very least, the tremendous privilege of the English language makes it reasonably credible, i.e. not ridiculous, for Germans, to speak not a single word of their own language, Turks to speak a few, and Arabs to speak lots, since speaking Arabic is how you convey that something or someone is suspicious.

Finally, Hoffman's job in this movie is an extra-legal position just a step above the murky, made-up world of Treadstone or CTU. It's not enough to be a normal spy, you have to be a spy among spies, apparently, otherwise the movie apparently falls apart.

As for the Seoul Cinema, its problems are mostly problems of service and design, the latter probably due to the fact that they simply don't get enough people in there for the confusing, counter-intuitive layout and lack of signage to be an issue. The interior is a little bit run down, to be honest, though I found the seats, at least where I sat, to have an impressive amount of leg room. On the whole, the experience is more human and less mechanistic than it is at chains, but it comes at the cost of comfort, convenience, as well as money. The selection of movies and times, as well as the discounts, rewards and free tickets at Lotte and CGV make it hard to turn them down.

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