A slim book, that covers the basics of Kim Ki-Duk’s vision. The biographical notes provided lots of insight. I had no idea he never went to college, tA slim book, that covers the basics of Kim Ki-Duk’s vision. The biographical notes provided lots of insight. I had no idea he never went to college, that his background is working class, that he doesn’t read Western fiction or watch that many films. His inspiration is the life around him. There are many quotes, which are bound to inspire budding artists. I wouldn’t recommend the book to someone who’s researched KKD before- but it was perfect for me. I’ve seen almost all his oeuvre and never bothered to actually look into the guy’s personal life.
One chapter I liked deals with women’s reactions to his films. I could understand why feminists get all bothered over them (some depicting rape and murder), but to infer that by capturing cruelty on film, the director himself is cruel, shows a mind that is closed and shallow, that does not ponder enough on meaning, and takes everything literally... It would not be absurd to say Ki-Duk is a feminist in his own right (at times), and at others he exposes women’s inner world with so much acute understanding and awareness- it might be unbearable for some.
It’s worth getting the book just because of that first quote, in Ki-Duk’s handwriting (also featured in the film Bi-mong): “Black and white are the same colour.”...more
I don't know if I was upset at myself or Bergman for being so disappointed with this memoir. I expected to read more about his actual artistic output,I don't know if I was upset at myself or Bergman for being so disappointed with this memoir. I expected to read more about his actual artistic output, a la Tarkovsky's Sculpting in Time. What's most infuriating I realise now after having finished the book: he wants to seem very honest and open in his writing, making reference to this childhood ordeal or that crumbling personal relationship, but I perceive no such openness as a reader, only an attempt at it. It could be the translation. Then again, it might just be that I have to forget most of what I've read about his personal life and get on with it, watch his films without the background that I never really wanted.
I'm not against neurotic people who have been deprived of parental love. But Bergman's failures in life might have been from living his true life in film, and that's where you ought to go looking for his memoirs. He was a bastard to lots of people in his life, swinging between his own issues: self-loathing and self-congratulating. But he was wonderful to audiences everywhere. But what you capture with light cannot, for the most part, be done with a pen (Tarkovsky somehow managed both).
The good parts in the book are when he doesn't focus on himself: the bit about his girlfriend's piano teacher, and her terrible wartime experience; also one of the last chapters, revolving around his father. I'd have been better off re-reading Sculpting in Time....more