Mash Ville

The mash referenced by the title of this film, one assumes, is that left over after the brewing of the bootleg licquor for which the small Korean town in which it is set is famed. It could, however, just as easily describe the film itself, which is comprised of mashed-together elements of the western genre. The result is not as intoxicating as might have been hoped.

No matter how many decades of experience as a critic one has, there are times when one watches a film that has won prizes at the likes of the Fantasia International Film Festival and comes away feeling like a complete beginner, because one simply cannot see what the fuss is about. It is a blessed relief to discover, in such circumstances, that one is not entirely alone. Is it about a difference in sense of humour? Is there some subtle aspect of the plot that we have failed to discern? Perhaps – but when the humour is so scattershot and the narrative so convoluted, that would seem to be, at least in part, a problem with the film.

Handsomely framed and possessed of a strong sense of style, Mash Ville is superficially beguiling. One can see why people might support it, if only because there’s very little of its kind being made in South Korea. This could go some way towards accounting for its overcrowded structure – it’s a thematically experimental piece, a testing ground for ideas which might be more successfully addressed in future works. Derivative imagery in this context is excusable – it’s building on iconic tropes and developing its own versions thereof – and director Hwang Wook surrounds that with unlikely ideas of his own. It’s the surfeit of the latter from which the deeper problem stems.

Two assassins – members of a cult, who dress in old-fashioned, brightly coloured hanbok and make no particular attempt at secrecy – are stalking the aforementioned small town, aiming to kill one person born in each calendar month in order to complete a poorly defined religious ritual designed to save the world from eternal darkness. The initial sequence, in which they claim this first victim, is by far the strongest part of the film, and Hwang keeps us going thereafter with occasional flourishes of a similar kind, whilst much of the rest feels like padding. In and around the assassins’ journey winds the journey made by the three brothers responsible for brewing the bootleg licquor, as they struggle to recall a batch of it which has turned out to be deadly. There is also a film production going on, of which we see little directly, instead focusing on a stressed out prop department manager; and there is a woman who seems to be some kind of vampire, who at one point crawls into the boot of the said manager’s car in an attempt to escape the sun. These and assorted peripheral characters drift through the film without having a great deal to do with one another, creating a lot of loose ends which Hwang doesn’t bother to tie up.

“This world has fallen into chaos,” somebody complains, and it’s hard to disagree. Although the acting is mostly decent, some of the characters are inconsistent to the point of distraction, and we don’t get to know many of them well enough to care about their fates. There are a couple of stand-offs where the film springs to life, but mostly it just meanders, and the intermittently evocative landscape shots are too often overwhelmed by the incessant use of yellow filters, as if Hwang were trying to turn Korea into Arizona rather than bring out its own character.

Doubtless the industry will learn lessons from this. One might hope to see elements of it resurrected in more effective ways. In the meantime, well, perhaps you will uncover a hidden secret within it and find yourself in with the in crowd, but for myself I cannot honestly recommend it.