Reviews

kang ha-neul looked fiineee

Honestly, I think the movie was really good and super interesting. The fact that everything was streamed by the ml added such a unique aspect to it, and Kang Ha-neul’s acting was absolutely top-tier (added to the fact that he looked extra fine).

However after finishing it I found myself quite confused, and I don’t know if that was due to the fact that I had a poor watching experience since the subtitles were terrible (they literally gave me a headache) or because the movie itself gets quite confusing towards the end.

Overall, the movie holds a strong message about the reality of media, and I think they portrayed it in a really creative and interesting way.

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Simple, Sweet, and Just the Right Amount of Crazy

I’ve really missed seeing Yoona in movies and dramas, so Pretty Crazy was such a nice treat. It’s funny, light, and gives that fluttery “crush” feeling, nothing groundbreaking, but charming in its own way.

Story-wise, it follows the familiar rom-com formula. It’s not exactly predictable, but it does feel a little short on depth, like it could’ve explored more. Still, it’s touching in small moments and doesn’t try to be more than what it is which is a fun, feel-good watch.

📌 Watch this if you want a short, funny, and easy-to-enjoy rom-com sprinkled with Yoona’s charm that’ll leave you smiling, even if just a little.

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Moving message but lackluster execution

I came across The Closet while doing some digging up in Kim Namjoon Gil's filmography. When I read the blurb and saw that Han Jung Woo, another actor who has caught my interest, was in it, I became interested. I am a big fan of horror movies, especially if they involve children and familial relationships so I naturally decided to give it a try.

I liked the setting and the gloom atmosphere that was established from early on. The cold and dark color palette gave me the impression that I was watching a horror film made in late 2000s-early 2010s. The cinematography was overall good, especially during the exorcism and ritual scenes. The soundtrack that accompanied the scenes added a more dramatic tone while in some cases, it highlighted the emotional impact of the story, especially towards the ending.

The story, albeit not groundbreaking, hold my attention forthe most part. The first half focused more on Sang Won's troubled relationship with his daughter, I Na and the events that occurred in their new house before I Na's disappearance. The writers tried to immerse us in their new life and while preparing the ground for the supernatural elements, the film wanted to highlight the father-daughter dynamic and how it contributed to I Na's disappearance.

The relationship between Sang Won and I Na was very complex to say the least and it was one of the aspects I was the most curious about. After the death of his wife, Sang Won and I Na were clearly traumatized and they were still grieving her. Due to his hectic work schedule, Sang Won wasn't able to spend too much time with I Na, leaving his wife looking after her for the most part. As a result, I Na had formed a close bond with her mother, a bond that came to an end after her passing. Due to their limited time together, the father and the daughter are unable to communicate with each other. Sang Won continued to prioritize his work and he tried to win over I Na by gifting her dolls. But even though his intentions were good, it was clear that he wasn't doing enough.

I must say that even though I came for the horror element, I didn't expect the movie to dive deeper into some themes regarding parenthood and child abuse. The second half was heavy in that aspect, especially towards the ending. There was a scene with a montage of the mistreatment some of the dead children had endured from their families that put some tears in my eyes. The mere thought of defenseless creatures like them being abused by the people who are supposed to care for them made my blood boil. While I was obviously rooting for Sang Won to save I Na, I began questioning the motives of the ghosts and I felt for them once the story progressed more.

As much as I overall liked the movie, I must say that compared to what was promised, it was underwhelming and poorly developed. First and foremost, the horror was little to nonexistent. Yes, the atmosphere was there and there were some jumpscares here and there but overall, I wouldn't say that I felt particularly scared. Granted, not every horror movie will be able to cause fear but I expect it to elicit some type of reaction. For the most part, I was quite indifferent. Moreover, I don't mean to insult the filmmakers by saying this but the usage of CGI in order to create the ghosts was...questionable to say the least. It would have been better if they had relied on something more simple because for me, the effects did nothing.

The story and the writing in general felt lackluster. The intentions of the writers were clear but the execution left much to be desired. I appreciate the attempt to add more depth in the story instead of making it a mere horror movie but the film's length didn't leave much room for proper development. The events were rushed and Sang Won's tainted relationship with his daughter was handled in a superficial way. I wish we had seen more of them trying to deal with their trauma and emotional distance. If the film had highlighted more their relationship, the second act would have been more impactful.

The characterisation was also quite poor. Sang Won's character had so much potential but the movie didn't utilize him. It was interesting to see how guilty he felt for his wife's death and how it impacted him but the story didn't elaborate any further. Additionally, as much as I appreciated Han Jung Woo as an actor, I couldn't help but feel that something felt off with his acting in this film. In his previous film, Hijack 1971, he delivered a powerful and emotional performance but in The Closet, his portrayal felt rather flat. Sang Won barely expressed any strong emotions, even when I Na got missing, I barely got the impression that he was worried. I think that the director is mostly at fault for this but nevertheless, Sang Won's character felt shallow for the most part.

I had a blast watching Kim Namjoon Gil as Kyung Hoon, the enigmatic and eccentric exorcist who assisted Sang Won in his search for his daughter. His character immediately caught my attention after his introduction but alas, I'm afraid that like the rest of the movie, the writing fell short pretty quickly. I expected more from this character, especially regarding his connection with the ghost but the movie didn't delve deeper into that part. As for his relationship with Sang Won, while their interactions were fun to watch, their dynamic was criminally underutilized. I wish we had gotten to see more of them bonding and working as a team, there was so much wasted potential.

As for the child actors, I enjoyed both Heo Yool as I Na and Kim Shi Ah as Myung Jin. I was already familiar with the latter one after having watched her in Kill Bok Soon and Walking On Thin Ice but her acting in The Closet impressed me. She pulled off her role very well and her performance in the final act deeply moved me and made me connect with the character more. As for Heo Yool, she was phenomenal. She perfectly portrayed I Na's complex feelings and she switched her emotions once I Na got possessed masterfully!

All in all, The Closet was by no means a bad movie. It just was lackluster due to its short length and poor writing. I would recommend it to someone who's looking for a simple horror movie but do not expect a lot.

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Cast = stars. Story = rushed.

I haven't read the book or comics or whatever this is from. I'm not an upset Jisoo stan or purest. I enjoyed the movie for what it was. A solid B+.

I feel like it could've been a mini series. I was only invested in the characters because they are famous actors. I enjoyed the idea of the story, just wish it was told better and given more space to grow. I'm definitely going to watch again because movies and shows aren't good right now. If this came out last year it'd be a low B to a C+.

Great acting as you'd expect from this type of A list cast. Highly recommend if you are a fan of fantasy type movies.

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For the Itazura na Kiss fans

I feel like this movie is definitely more so for people that are already Itazura na Kiss fans, or for people that want to watch an adaptation of it without committing to a drama series.

I have been a big fan of Ita Kiss for 11+ years at this point, and even now as I am ending my 20s / about to enter my 30s, I still love this story, faults and all. I have watched majority of the film, drama and even anime adaptations they’ve made for this manga from Japan, Taiwan and Korea. I think this movie might be my new favorite “shorter” version—for when I want to rewatch the story without actually sitting through 16+ episodes.

One of the things I unfortunately disliked from this movie was actually the mom’s character. I found her a bit more childish and cringey than in other adaptations. That being said, even though Reina and Sato weren’t perfect, I do think they were pretty good fits for their roles. I like that they weren’t as exaggerated as in other adaptations either (even though I still like some of those other actors better).

I did feel like this version’s Kinn-chan was not very memorable, either. A side note but I also liked the settings and fashion quite a bit.

All in all I think this was a very solid adaptation and I would probably rewatch it whenever I feel like consuming my comfort story (Ita Kiss), and I also can’t wait to check out the next 2 movie parts.

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When the Past Calls, No One Is Safe

The Call is a masterpiece of suspense and psychological tension. From the very first scene, it pulls you in with its eerie atmosphere and never lets go. The story — about two women connected across time through a mysterious phone — is one of the most clever and original thrillers I’ve seen in a long while. The writing is razor-sharp, and every twist feels perfectly placed. Nothing is random here; everything comes together with shocking precision.

What truly elevates this film is Jeon Jong-seo’s phenomenal performance. She doesn’t just play Young-sook — she *becomes* her. Her transformation from lonely and misunderstood to terrifyingly unhinged is absolutely magnetic. Every expression, every shift in her voice, makes her both fascinating and horrifying to watch. She carries so much raw energy that she practically steals every scene she’s in.

Park Shin-hye also delivers a strong, grounded performance that balances the chaos perfectly, but Jeon Jong-seo is the heart (and darkness) of this film. She’s unpredictable, complex, and unforgettable — easily one of the best acting performances I’ve seen in a Korean thriller.

With its smart writing, flawless pacing, and chilling ending, *The Call* proves how powerful great storytelling and acting can be. A film that will stay with you long after the credits roll.

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Brutal but heart-warming

The only people I would NOT recommend this to are those who can’t handle bloody fights.
But for everyone else I highly recommend it!!

The story is simple, yes, but it brought out all kinds of emotions, frustration, worry, sadness, hope, excitement, relief and content. There wasn’t a boring moment.

The only reason I don’t want to give it 10 points is because it was just too short. I wish we could have seen more. Not of the fights or training, but of the boys bonding. Them laughing, crying, working and surviving together. It all went by too fast.

Other than that I really don’t have anything to complain about. The acting was great, the music was good and the camerawork was equally as great.

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I don't Know.

First Viewing

There are evenings when I have nothing to do. Or rather, there are things I could do, but inspiration is somewhere else — on a lunch break, maybe asleep somewhere — so I stay awake fighting insomnia, looking for something to keep me company. I usually end up watching movies: it’s an old habit, almost a reflex. When I can’t write, I watch; when I can’t feel, I look for someone else who can feel for me.

That night, while scrolling absent-mindedly through the streaming apps I use, I came across Midnight Playground. The title intrigued me, as did the cover image — dark, undefined, yet strangely magnetic. I read the brief, vague synopsis, and that was enough to make me click play. I had the feeling it would be something unusual, maybe difficult, but I thought at least I would be able to follow its meaning.

It didn’t turn out that way. I watched it once and didn’t understand it, then a second and a third time, still lost in the same confusion. The film left something behind, but I couldn’t translate it. It was as if it were telling me something I hadn’t yet learned how to hear. Refusing to give up, I started looking for information. I wanted to understand what the director meant, because what I had read in the synopsis didn’t match what I had seen. I wanted to learn to watch it the way he had imagined it — to recognize the hidden meanings behind a narrative that seemed to move like a dream.

!!!! SPOILER !!!

Midnight Playground is built like a temporal short-circuit. The two periods — 1954 and 2022 — are never clearly marked on screen with captions or color changes; instead, they overlap. That’s what makes it so disorienting. The only way to know which era you’re in is by paying attention to visual and sound details, because the film scatters them subtly, like crumbs.

In 2022, the background noises belong to a modern city: traffic, engines, distant voices, the glow of neon lights. The shots are smoother, sometimes brighter, and there’s a sense of freer movement.
In 1954, everything is quieter. The old-style streetlamps, the rougher image grain, and the feeling of tighter, more secretive space stand out. The clothes are stiffer, the tones more muted. These aren’t drastic contrasts, but small shifts that alternate and blur, creating that constant question: where am I now?

The film never names the characters in the contemporary part, but in 1954 we learn that the man is Huang Liang-sheng — the historical figure, a young gay man living in a time when he couldn’t exist openly. The other man — the one in 2022 — isn’t his descendant or reincarnation; he’s more like an echo. Both live the same experience in different moments, without ever meeting. The park is the same physical place, but it also acts as a point of contact between two lives, two solitudes.

To understand the film, you have to abandon the idea of a linear story. Midnight Playground doesn’t narrate “a” story; it shows a repetition. What happens in the present is what happened in the past, and the rain — constant in both timelines — signals that the two dimensions are speaking to each other. When the camera moves as though you were the one walking, it’s no longer clear whether you’re watching or remembering. You exist inside both eras at once.

The key to orienting yourself lies in noticing how sound, light, and distance change between people.

- In the present, distance is physical but not social: you can look, but not touch.
- In the past, it’s the opposite: closeness is forbidden, the contact fleeting and risky.

These two worlds keep mirroring each other until they fuse, and at that point the film stops asking you to understand when you are — it asks you to understand who you are in that moment.

Midnight Playground is deliberately ambiguous. It offers no answers, but builds a language of correspondences. If you stop looking for narrative logic, you begin to see that each era is just another way of telling the same loneliness.

The ending of Midnight Playground leaves many questions open. After a long sequence of hesitant movements and uncertain gazes, something sudden happens: one of the two men approaches the other aggressively, as if trying both to push him away and to hold him back. It’s a difficult moment to interpret because it’s not clear whether it comes from anger, fear, or desire.

There’s no clear indication of what’s really happening, and the film doesn’t offer explanations. Everything focuses on that tension — a contact that feels more like a confrontation than an encounter, a gesture that could be rejection just as easily as an attempt to affirm something. From that point on, the distinction between the two eras seems to dissolve. It’s no longer clear whether we’re in the present or the past, or which of the two men is acting. All that remains is the sense that something has broken and can’t be repaired.

It’s an ending that leaves you suspended. It can be read in many ways: as a reaction of fear toward something one can’t accept, as an eruption of desire that’s been repressed for too long, or as an attempt to destroy something before it becomes real. There’s no single interpretation, only multiple possibilities that make the scene both unsettling and necessary.

What remains afterward is silence. The rain keeps falling, the park returns to emptiness, and the viewer is left with the feeling that the film hasn’t really ended — that something remains suspended somewhere, like a thought that can’t quite find its words.

After watching Midnight Playground several times, I’m still left with the same feeling of uncertainty. Even now that I can distinguish the time periods, the gestures, the silences, the film never fully reveals itself. It’s as if understanding only takes you so far, and beyond that point lies something unreachable — a thought that refuses to be translated.

Perhaps that’s how it’s meant to work: not to tell, but to remain. Each viewing brings me back to the same place, only with a deeper awareness. I realize that what stays with me isn’t the story, but the way I’ve moved through it — the breathing, the rain, the fear, the need to understand, and the surrender that follows.

Midnight Playground isn’t a film to “like” or to “understand”; it’s a film to experience. The more you observe it, the clearer it becomes that its power lies in how fragile it allows itself to be — the same fragility that belongs to anyone who tries, in the dark, to exist even for a moment.

In the end, there’s no message left behind, only a presence. Something that keeps watching you even after the screen goes dark, like a memory that doesn’t belong to you, but that — for some reason — you can’t quite forget.

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Park Chan Wook's most entertaining movie yet. Maybe one that finally earns him his Oscar nom?

No Other Choice is one of those rare films that made me laugh, squirm, and quietly question how far I'd go if pushed into a corner. It's darkly funny, beautifully made, and a little too close to home--a story about pride, desperation, and what’s left of us when survival becomes the only goal. The title insists there's "no other choice", but that's the cruel irony, there are always other choices, just not the kind that let you keep everything you've built your pride on.

The setup hits hard. Man Su (played by Lee Byung Hun) loses his job and starts to unravel, and the fear isn't just about money but also identity, about what is left when the work that defined your worth disappears. In a capitalist world obsessed with efficiency and cost-cutting, and how human labor can be easily replaced by robots/AI, that anxiety feels sharper than ever. [Ironically, Park Chan Wook was expelled from the WGA just two months ago for continuing work as an editor during the 2023 WGA strike, which protested the use of AI to replace writers. Timing doesn’t get sharper than that.]

No Other Choice treats unemployment as transformation, but for the people living it, it still feels like failure. The job competitors Man Su meets along the way mirror parts of himself, and the less time we spend with them, the less human he seems to become. Even his toothache, throbbing whenever guilt creeps in and ending in its removal, quietly tracks how far he is willing to go.

The movie walks a fine line between empathy and irony, treating the absurd premise of "eliminating" job competitors with the dry rhythm of office bureaucracy. The humor doesn't come from punchlines, it comes from restraint--the awkward gestures, the small silences, the moments that feel too human to laugh at without guilt.

Park Chan Wook lets those moments breathe. He stretches time just enough for the absurdity to hit, so you end up laughing and immediately wondering if you should have. It's darkly comic in that uncomfortable, Park Chan Wook way.

There's one scene I keep thinking about: a tense confrontation that should've been horrifying but somehow becomes comedic. The music swells until it drowns out all dialogue, leaving only gestures and anxious movement. It's one of those moments where you're half-laughing, half-holding your breath, wondering if you even want him to succeed. It's the movie's tonal centerpiece, the best example of how Park folds comedy and dread into one perfect beat.

Visually, No Other Choice is stunning. It's a full cinematic experience. Every frame feels intentional, even when no one’s speaking. The cinematography is so deliberate that the images often carry the story themselves. The direction is precise almost to a fault. Every camera move, cut, frame and screen transition suggests control, even as the story unravels underneath.

Light becomes its own character. The film starts in warm sunlight, matching Man Su's illusion of stability, and slowly fades into gray and artificial tones as his humanity erodes and his world turns mechanical. Even in the opening barbecue, when clouds slide over his smiling family, the coming darkness is already there. The autumn palette--all muted golds and dying reds--turns beauty into warning. Everything glows because it’s decaying.

The camera placement is equally purposeful. It doesn't follow Man Su, it watches him. It's like we're standing behind a window or bushes or trees, quietly complicit, as he prunes away his conscience, just like the bonsai in his greenhouse.

Characters are often shot through glass or metal reflections, showing not who they are but who they pretend to be. One shot splits the frame with rocks: on one side, a storm rages; on the other, Man Su carries out his plan. It's a simple composition, but it captures everything the film is about, the inner storm of a man convincing himself he has "no other choice".

If the direction is the engine, then Lee Byung Hun is the heartbeat. His performance is all about the quiet breakdowns and small, painful attempts to stay composed. The guilt shows in his eyes, in the smile that never quite fits, in every hesitation. Even his comedy comes from that restraint, until he suddenly breaks it with an awkward dance or clumsy movement.

Son Ye Jin doesn't need big gestures to leave a mark. You can see her thoughts shift across her face as she processes everything quietly falling apart around her. Her smile tightens scene by scene, her wardrobe fades from bright to muted, and that subtle change says everything about what she’s holding in.

Yeom Hye Ran is the scene stealer for me. I've always loved her in everything, and this is no exception. I'm used to seeing her in more ordinary ahjumma roles, so it caught me off guard how elegant and beautiful she looks here. She brings a sharp, unpredictable energy, switching from tense to funny in a heartbeat, and she makes every darkly comic moment land without ever breaking tone.

The rest of the cast fits perfectly around them. Lee Sung Min’s quiet desperation made me feel for him, Cha Seung Won brings a worn out melancholy, and Park Hee Soon adds just the right amount of smugness. Together, they make the movie feel deeply human. It's not about heroes or villains, just people trying to survive and losing small pieces of themselves along the way.

Compared to the operatic violence of Oldboy, the seductive chaos of The Handmaiden, or the quiet yearning of Decision to Leave, No Other Choice feels like a more grounded Park Chan Wook, more deliberate, and less interested in shock than precision. The violence here is quieter but hits closer to home.

In some ways, it reminded me of Parasite: that same perfect balance between arthouse and crowd-pleaser. It might even be Park Chan Wook's most accessible film, and honestly, his funniest. And really, if anyone deserves an Oscar nomination at this point, it's him. This could finally be the one.

On a cerebral level, there's almost nothing to fault about the movie. Maybe the third act stretches a bit long, or the final twist feels a bit tacked on, but those are minor personal quibbles. What stuck with me most was that slight sense of detachment while watching this move. It's fascinating, funny, and beautifully made, but I never felt fully immersed in its world the way I did with Parasite.

That said, just like Parasite, you don't have to catch every symbol or metaphor to enjoy the movie. It's engaging, darkly funny, and sharply observed in a way that lingers. I'm giving the rewatch value a 10, because I'm sure seeing it again would reveal more, the small visual cues, the quiet ironies, the things I only notice when I already know how it ends.

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What else did we expect?

I'm surprised by the abundance of bad reviews but also understandable. I am not caught up with the webtoon but I have seen every scene the movie adapted. It's always difficult to translate a webtoon into a live action. There will be some things left out, it will feel choppy and unorganized, but that's inevitable. I actually think I enjoyed it as much as I did because I read the webtoon. For viewers who never read ORV, I feel like everything would be really confusing. I was able to keep up because of all the details from the webtoon. It was exciting because I knew what was coming up. The movie was a nice visual presentation of the world. It was fine, I enjoyed it.

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At first glance Demeking aka Demeking: The Sea Monster appeared to be a low budget kaiju flick. At second glance it was actually more of a slice of life with a possible kaiju as audience bait.

Hachiya Koichi works at the amusement park’s Squid Shack. He’s secretly training for the arrival of an outer space monster due to arrive in 2019. The local Exploration Group led by Kameoka stumbles across his boat carrying his kaiju fighting equipment. Middle schooler, Kame, and his three younger friends are looking for an adventure. Hachiya sends them on a scavenger hunt after he leaves town and the boys are sure they’ve been pranked. At least mostly sure.

First of all, the setup was a bit strange. The story was set in 1970 so Hachiya would be a very old man by the time the creature arrived in 2019. There was no time jump, so you do the math regarding a kaiju actually appearing. Most of the story focused on Kame and his young friends riding their bikes and hanging out. Kame was bullied at school and looking for belonging and meaning in his life. But believing a kaiju was going to destroy his town nearly 50 years in the future was too much for even his imagination.

As a slice of boys’ life I’d rate the film a 7.0 given its low budget. There was some nice cinematography and the friendships were realistic. As a kaiju film it would receive a 3.0. Around the hour mark there was a possible sighting for a few minutes. The filmmaker couldn’t quite make up his mind what kind of film he wanted it to be. Most of the screen time was spent on Kame and the Exploration Group. Given how little Hachiya was shown it was hard to tell if the film was playing it straight about the asteroid or if the pending disaster was all in his head. Perhaps if the extraterrestrial threat looming wasn’t 50 years in the future, there would have been more urgency to the story whether it was for real or the object of a disturbed mind.

10 October 2025

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Bizarre, reminds you of 'Midsommar'

Watched during our scary movies month, the acting in this is great. I hope to see the FL in many more!!
The filming and scenes are well done, I loved that old house and the fields. Well-done and recommend watching and leans towards how Midsommar left me feeling. Twists are good, very weird! /posi

The audio is also pretty decent for the gore sounds, you can see the care put into it which is refreshing in this genre. Some things were disturbing, some made us laugh, the ending makes sense and I don't want to spoil anything and let everyone go in with fresh eyes if possible.

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