Why the Film World Needs Bong Joon-ho

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Bong Joon-ho and crew on the set of Parasite.

Oscar winner. Palme d’Or winner. Golden Globe winner. And the list goes on. Parasite, from the mastermind of cinematic storytelling Bong Joon-ho, bears a historically monumental value in the world and history of cinema. And that value goes well beyond the merits and acclaim the film has gained. As Parasite toured the world for awards, its director also carried a torch of inspiration for filmmakers to spark their own creative passions and cultivate their awareness for what it means to be an artist.

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When Parasite won the Golden Globe for Best Foreign Film, Bong Joon-ho started his award acceptance speech with a profoundly impactful statement about foreign cinema. “Once you overcome the 1-inch tall barrier of subtitles, you will be introduced to so many more amazing films.” The importance of travel and getting to know different cultures is similar to the importance of experiencing art from different parts of the world. Great stories with great lessons from different points of view of life are out there for our enjoyment as well as the furthering of our awareness of our own selves and our interconnectedness to the world and life. Moreover, great films are out there as great inspirational resources for filmmakers. How would John Sturges’ The Magnificent Seven, Sergio Leone’s A Fistful of Dollars, and George Lucas’ Star Wars exist without the works of Akira Kurosawa? These films exist because of the cultural cross-pollination of the arts. By immersing yourself in films from beyond your national borders, you open a whole new world of great experiences.

Bong ends his Golden Globe speech with an important note for filmmakers and audiences: “We use only just one language: cinema.” Storytelling is a universally human endeavor. Of the many ways storytelling in art is able to communicate, cinema does so best by purely visual means. Cinematic storytelling is best exemplified when a film effectively utilizes the language of pure cinema—that is, a focus on the elemental characteristics of filmmaking that create an experience formed through devices that distinguish cinema from other art forms, such as the motion picture camera and its stillness and movement in compositions, the relationship between sound and image, and the rhythm of the edit. Cinematic storytelling through the means of pure cinema is what Alfred Hitchcock meant when he declared his mission as a filmmaker was to communicate through pictures, to emphasize the image over dialogue, “to give the audience something that only the movies can give you.” It’s not a big surprise why Parasite so effectively communicates with a worldwide audience. In addition to the film’s story shedding light on the worldwide issues of income inequality and the polarization of the rich and the poor, Bong Joon-ho approaches Parasite’s visual narrative with a keenly artistic awareness for the language of film. It takes a visionary filmmaker to draw upon the origins of filmmaking to exemplify the power and subtlety of the purely cinematic. Parasite’s storytelling effectiveness highlights Bong Joon-ho as this sort of visionary filmmaker.

When Bong Joon-ho won the Best Director Oscar for Parasite, he again presented a memorable speech. “When I was young and studying cinema, there was a saying that I carved deep into my heart, which is: ‘The most personal is the most creative.’ That quote was from our great Martin Scorsese. When I was in school, I studied Martin Scorsese’s films. Just to be nominated was a huge honor. I never thought I would win. When people in the U.S. were not familiar with my film, Quentin always put my films on his lists. He’s here. Thank you so much. Quentin, I love you.” In addition to the admiration, love, and appreciation Bong shows his fellow filmmakers before a public audience, he offers various inspiring insights for artists and filmmakers in this speech.

“The most personal is the most creative.” While all art endeavors to reach an audience, the key to connecting with an audience is for the artist to be true to the work and to oneself. When we see a Color Field painting, we know it is by Mark Rothko without having to see the signature on the canvas. We know these imagery-filled verses are by Pablo Neruda when we read the lines “Quiero hacer contigo/ lo que la primavera hace con los cerezos. (I want to do with you/ what spring does with the cherry trees.)” There are details that mark the nature and presence of the artist in his or her work. The most personal is the most creative and, as a result, the most unique. For all artists: be true to your style, be true to you.

Bong also hints at one of the most valuable ways of enriching your artistic style when he honors Martin Scorsese in this speech. In mentioning his studies of Martin Scorsese’s films, Bong brings to mind Scorsese’s memorable advice to young filmmakers: “I’m often asked by younger filmmakers, ‘Why do I need to look at old movies?’ I’ve made a number of pictures in the past twenty years. And the response I find that I have to give them is that I still consider myself a student. The more pictures I’ve made in the past twenty years the more I realize I really don’t know. And I’m always looking for something to, something or someone that I could learn from. I tell them, I tell the younger filmmakers and the young students that I do it like painters used to do, or painters do: study the old masters, enrich your palette, expand your canvas. There’s always so much more to learn.” In studying the old masters, you nourish your evolution as an artist and further your understanding of who you are as an artist. You also discover that the details, ideas, and habits that resonate from others and their works are often reflections of your own artistic voice.

“If I have seen further it is by standing on the shoulders of giants,” said Isaac Newton. “The dwarf sees farther than the giant, when he has the giant’s shoulder to mount on,” wrote Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Study the old masters in order to enrich your palette and in order to go further than you could all by yourself. As Jim Jarmusch shares in his Golden Rules to Filmmaking: “Nothing is original. Steal from anywhere that resonates with inspiration or fuels your imagination. Devour old films, new films, music, books, paintings, photographs, poems, dreams, random conversations, architecture, bridges, street signs, trees, clouds, bodies of water, light and shadows. Select only things to steal from that speak directly to your soul. If you do this, your work (and theft) will be authentic. Authenticity is invaluable; originality is nonexistent. And don’t bother concealing your thievery—celebrate it if you feel like it. In any case, always remember what Jean-Luc Godard said: ‘It’s not where you take things from—it’s where you take them to.’”

After Bong Joon-ho salutes Martin Scorsese, he mentions the support he has received from fellow filmmaker Quentin Tarantino and shows appreciation and gratitude for his endorsement. Here Bong highlights the importance of community, of building your tribe and supporting your fellow artists. Together, we grow stronger. Together, we blossom because we nourish one another. A tribe of artists cultivates creative energy for the use of all. In a world where everyone is fighting to make their mark, the true fight is won by helping each other to make their mark. Thus, it is invaluable to find your tribe, the people who nourish you in your career and work.

Bong Joon-ho has presented the world a 21st Century masterpiece of cinema with Parasite, which enters a filmography of unique, thrilling, and deeply layered films. He proves that a film can be both entertainment and art, or rather that a film that is made out of meaningful and genuine artistic expression can engage audiences around the world. It was magnificent to witness Parasite win award after award, especially in a system that often disengages with the perspective of those who love the art of cinema. Truly, the film world needs Bong Joon-ho.

Jim Jarmusch's Golden Rules to Filmmaking

“Jim Jarmusch” by Patrick Swirc.

A monumental figure of the independent filmmaking world, Jim Jarmusch offers 5 invaluable golden rules to filmmaking that will inspire and fuel filmmakers of all experience levels. At the heart of these rules is an understanding for mindfulness and self-awareness in the making of films, and though Jarmusch offers his insights in the form of rules, it is important to note the director’s very first words: There are no rules. This key declaration expresses the simple truth that each filmmaker has his or her own personal journey to take through the world of cinema. Get inspired by Jim Jarmusch and his golden rules to filmmaking.

Rule #1

There are no rules. There are as many ways to make a film as there are potential filmmakers. It’s an open form. Anyway, I would personally never presume to tell anyone else what to do or how to do anything. To me that’s like telling someone else what their religious beliefs should be. Fuck that. That’s against my personal philosophy—more of a code than a set of “rules.” Therefore, disregard the “rules” you are presently reading, and instead consider them to be merely notes to myself. One should make one’s own “notes” because there is no one way to do anything. If anyone tells you there is only one way, their way, get as far away from them as possible, both physically and philosophically.

Rule #2

Don’t let the fuckers get ya. They can either help you, or not help you, but they can’t stop you. People who finance films, distribute films, promote films and exhibit films are not filmmakers. They are not interested in letting filmmakers define and dictate the way they do their business, so filmmakers should have no interest in allowing them to dictate the way a film is made. Carry a gun if necessary.

Also, avoid sycophants at all costs. There are always people around who only want to be involved in filmmaking to get rich, get famous, or get laid. Generally, they know as much about filmmaking as George W. Bush knows about hand-to-hand combat.

Rule #3

The production is there to serve the film. The film is not there to serve the production. Unfortunately, in the world of filmmaking this is almost universally backwards. The film is not being made to serve the budget, the schedule, or the resumes of those involved. Filmmakers who don’t understand this should be hung from their ankles and asked why the sky appears to be upside down.

Rule #4

Filmmaking is a collaborative process. You get the chance to work with others whose minds and ideas may be stronger than your own. Make sure they remain focused on their own function and not someone else’s job, or you’ll have a big mess. But treat all collaborators as equals and with respect. A production assistant who is holding back traffic so the crew can get a shot is no less important than the actors in the scene, the director of photography, the production designer or the director. Hierarchy is for those whose egos are inflated or out of control, or for people in the military. Those with whom you choose to collaborate, if you make good choices, can elevate the quality and content of your film to a much higher plane than any one mind could imagine on its own. If you don’t want to work with other people, go paint a painting or write a book. (And if you want to be a fucking dictator, I guess these days you just have to go into politics…).

Rule #5

Nothing is original. Steal from anywhere that resonates with inspiration or fuels your imagination. Devour old films, new films, music, books, paintings, photographs, poems, dreams, random conversations, architecture, bridges, street signs, trees, clouds, bodies of water, light and shadows. Select only things to steal from that speak directly to your soul. If you do this, your work (and theft) will be authentic. Authenticity is invaluable; originality is nonexistent. And don’t bother concealing your thievery—celebrate it if you feel like it. In any case, always remember what Jean-Luc Godard said: “It’s not where you take things from—it’s where you take them to.”

Essential Film Literature: Notes on the Cinematograph by Robert Bresson

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[Robert Bresson’s words] shine like stars, showing us the simple, troublesome way to perfection. - J. M. G. Le Clézio

Robert Bresson’s book on filmmaking Notes on the Cinematograph, known in other publications as Notes on Cinematography as well as Notes on the Cinematographer, is both a must-read and must-have for filmmakers and film lovers alike. As Donato Totaro writes in his article “Notes” on Notes on the Cinematographer:

“What is striking and unique about Bresson is how his writing is so much like his filmmaking: the elliptical style, the epigrammatic prose, the obtuse meanings, the material rigidity, the conciseness, the frugality of means. It is all there in both his work and his words. Andrei Tarkovsky, whose own work of film philosophy Sculpting in Time is among one of the finest written by a filmmaker, admitted that not all of the aesthetic and theoretical ideals he writes about were consummated in his film work. The only filmmaker whom he felt did match up with his theoretical ideal was Bresson. This is another indication of the uncanny similarity between Bresson’s writing and film style.”

A Man Escaped, directed by Robert Bresson.

In his films, Bresson emphasizes the functional and the economy of meaning. Precision and necessity are key elements to his cinematic style. As Susan Sontag says, “The power of Bresson’s films lies in the fact that his purity and fastidiousness are at the same time an idea about life, about what Cocteau called ‘inner style,’ about the most serious way of being human.” For him, art is about having everything in its right place. Therefore, Bresson prioritizes with deep intention and ambition the only elements that distinguish cinema from all other art forms: moving images and sound; he then focuses on using these elements in a utilitarian way.

A Man Escaped is a jailbreak thriller trimmed to its essentials in such a manner that Roger Ebert claims, “Watching a film like A Man Escaped is like a lesson in the cinema…I can’t think of a single unnecessary shot in A Man Escaped.” Au Hasard Balthazar is centered on a donkey and his Christ-like journey, of which Jean-Luc Godard describes as “the world in an hour and a half.” Although the films differ in story and theme, Bresson’s cinematic style is fully present in each: precision and necessity guided by the functional and the economy of meaning. This style is also felt throughout Notes on the Cinematograph, in what he highlights about the art of cinema and in how he presents his ideas (the original French version of the book is titled Notes sur le cinématographe). The following are excerpts:

Master precision. Be a precision instrument myself.

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Two types of film: those that employ the resources of the theater (actors, direction, etc.) and use the camera in order to reproduce; those that employ the resources of cinematography and use the camera to create.

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CINEMATOGRAPHY* IS A WRITING WITH IMAGES IN MOVEMENT AND WITH SOUNDS.

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Cinematographic film where expression is obtained by relations of images and of sounds, and not by mimicry, of gestures and intonations of voice (whether of actors or of non-actors). One that does not analyze nor explain. One that recomposes.

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Cinematographic film, where the images, like the words in a dictionary, have no power and value except through their position and relation.

*As will become clear, “cinematography” for Bresson has the special meaning of creative filmmaking which thoroughly exploits the nature of film as such. It should not be confused with the work of a cameraman.

Au Hasard Balthazar, directed by Robert Bresson.

Robert Bresson is a monumental figure in film history. As another great filmmaker, Andrei Tarkovsky, says, “Bresson has always astonished me and attracted me with his ascetics. It seems to me that he is the only director in the world that has achieved absolute simplicity in cinema. As it was achieved in music by Bach, in art by Leonardo. Tolstoy achieved it as a writer…Therefore, for me, he’s always been an example of ingenious simplicity.” That quality is also present in this pocket-sized bible on filmmaking and priceless look into the mind of an artist whose insights are captivating in their simplicity and depth. Pearls of filmmaking wisdom abound the book, which also contains lessons that apply to all art forms. Cinema is an experiential art, and Notes on the Cinematograph is an experiential read for those fascinated in Bresson’s set of principles and approach to film language, intrigued by the potential of filmmaking as an art form, and absorbed in their own cinematic style.

Be inspired by the additional excerpts present below, and immerse yourself in the world of Robert Bresson through the following link: Notes on the Cinematograph.

Metteur en scène or director. The point is not to direct someone, but to direct oneself.

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An image must be transformed by contact with other images, as is a color by contact with other colors. A blue is not the same blue beside a green, a yellow, a red. No art without transformation.

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Flatten my images (as if ironing them), without attenuating them.

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Who said: “A single look lets loose a passion, a murder, a war”?

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Two persons, looking each other in the eye, see not their eyes but their looks. (The reason why we get the color of a person's eyes wrong?)

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Of two deaths and three births.

My film is born first in my head, dies on paper; is resuscitated by the living persons and real objects I use, which are killed on film but, placed in a certain order and projected on a screen, come to life again like flowers in water.

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Shooting. To put oneself in a state of intense ignorance and curiosity, and yet to see things beforehand.

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CINEMA draws on a common fund. The cinematographer is making a voyage of discovery on an unknown planet.

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Let it be the intimate union of the images that charges them with emotion.

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A too expected image (cliché) will never seem right, even if it is.

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A sigh, a silence, a word, a sentence, a din, a hand, the whole of your model, his face, in repose, in movement, in profile, full face, an immense view, a restricted space…Each thing exactly in its place: your only resources.

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Don't run after poetry. It penetrates unaided through the joins (ellipses).

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Let it be the feelings that bring about the events. Not the other way.

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Cinematography: new way of writing, therefore of feeling.

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Someone who can work with the minimum can work with the most. One who can with the most cannot, inevitably, with the minimum.

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Hide the ideas, but so that people find them. The most important will be the most hidden.

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Not to shoot a film in order to illustrate a thesis, or to display men and women confined to their external aspect, but to discover the matter they are made of. To attain that “heart of the heart” which does not let itself be caught either by poetry, or by philosophy, or by drama.

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Images and sounds like people who make acquaintance on a journey and afterwards can not separate.

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A single word, a single movement that is not right or is merely in the wrong place gets in the way of all the rest.

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Don't think of your film apart from the resources you have made for yourself.

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When a sound can replace an image, cut the image or neutralize it. The ear goes more toward the within, the eye toward the outside.

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If a sound is the obligatory complement of an image, give preponderance either to the sound, or to the image. If equal, they damage or kill each other, as we say of colors.

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Your film will have the beauty, or the sadness, or what have you, that one finds in a town, in a countryside, in a house, and not the beauty, sadness, etc. that one finds in the photograph of a town, of a countryside, or a house.

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To TRANSLATE the invisible wind by the water it sculpts in passing.

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The eye (in general) superficial, the ear profound and inventive. The whistle of a locomotive imprints in us a vision of the whole station.

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Make visible what, without you, might never have been seen.

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It is in its pure form that an art hits hard.

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Not beautiful photography, not beautiful images, but necessary images, and photography.

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Your film is not made for a stroll with the eyes, but for going right into, for being totally absorbed in.

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Empty the pond to get the fish.

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Cinematography films: emotional, not representational.

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It is with something clean and precise that you will force the attention of inattentive eyes and ears.

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Your public is not the public for books, stage shows, exhibitions, or concerts. Taste in literature, in theater, in painting, or in music is not what you have to satisfy.

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From the clash and sequence of images and sounds, a harmony of relationships must be born.

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The most ordinary word, when put into place, suddenly acquires brilliance. That is the brilliance with which your images must shine.

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What I reject as too simple is the things that is important and that one must dig into. Stupid mistrust of the simple things.

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The beauty of your film will not be in the images (postcardism) but in the ineffable that they will emit.

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ECONOMY. Racine (to his son Louis): I know your handwriting well enough, without your having to sign your name.

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The future of cinematography is to a new race of young solitaries who will shoot films by putting their last cent into it and without letting themselves be owned by the material routines of the trade.

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Is it for singing always the same song that the nightingale is so admired?

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Proust says that Dostoevsky is original in composition above all. It is an extraordinarily complex and close-meshed whole, purely inward, with currents and counter-currents like those of the sea, a thing that is found also in Proust (in other ways so different) and whose equivalent would go well with a film.

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A great non-virtuoso pianist, of the Lipatti kind, strikes notes that are rigorously equal: minims, each the same length, same intensity; quavers, semiquavers, etc., likewise. He does not slap emotion onto the keys. He waits for it. It comes, and fills his fingers, the piano, him, the audience.

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Bach at the organ, admired by a pupil, answered: “It's a matter of striking the notes at exactly the right moment.”

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The pistol-shot of the painter’s eye dislocates the real. Then the painter puts it up again and organizes it in that same eye, according to his taste, his methods, his Ideal Beauty.

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Equality of all things. Cézanne painting with the same eye and the same soul a fruit dish, his son, the Montagne Sainte-Victoire.

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Cézanne: “At each touch I risk my life.”

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