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 The
early part of the 20th century saw cultural change all around
the world. In Love, Lies, we are given a glimpse into the modernisation
of Korea in the 1930s and 40s, when North and South were still one and
the Japanese occupation tightened their grip on the subjected Korean
people.
One
remaining holdover of the Joseon dynasty is the existence of the gisaeng;
the female entertainer most closely compared to the Japanese geisha.
These ‘flowers that can speak’ are young women cultivated for their
beauty and talent in the arts, who occasionally came under the patronage
– connubial and otherwise – of wealthy and important sponsors. Like
many traditions of the past, the multitudes of gisaeng in Korea are
fading.
In one
of the last gwonbeon; houses dedicated to boarding and training
prospective gisaeng, we meet So-yul. As the daughter of a prominent and
popular gisaeng, So-yul takes her place as the heir to the long
tradition very seriously. Being held in such high regard and burdened
with such a heavy responsibility, keeps her at arm’s length from the
other young girls around her; so the misfortune of another child somehow
works in So-yul’s favour. Poor and motherless, Yeon-hee has been sold
to the gwonbeon to pay her father’s debts. So-yul immediately takes to
the miserable little girl, happy to have a real friend, and Yeon-hee
quickly falls under the spell of So-yul’s sunniness and caring. As the
inseparable pair grow into teenagers, the girls feel the same devotion
to the work of the gwonbong, while sharing a love of the new, popular
tunes sneered at by practitioners of the classic arts. They cheer for
glamourous singers and learn those fun, modern songs, whilst retaining
the strict lessons of the classics. Seeing this new genre becoming the
wave of the future, Yoon-woo, an ambitious songwriter and longtime beau
of So-yul, means to bring his music to the masses, if only he could find
the perfect voice to carry his songs to the nation.
Love,
Lies is ultimately a classic romantic triangle drenched in betrayal,
jealousy, revenge and regret. We watch the close bond between So-yul
and Yeon-hee shred as their proximity to the determined, persuasive
Yoon-woo grows closer. We see So-yul, trapped in her talent for
rendering the antique traditional songs, fall behind Yeon-hee’s capacity
for modern vocals, and with it ends So-yul’s dream of musical greatness
and the promise of Yoon-woo’s love. It’s Yeon-hee’s aptitude for pop
excellence that sweeps the young, penniless girl to instant stardom and
the opportunity to have for herself the things she’s always seen come so
easily to So-yul. Cruelly pushed aside in every way that mattered to
her, So-yul fights back the only way she can, by taking everything away
from Yeon-hee, including the faithless Yoon-woo. So-yul’s methods
might’ve been a little much, but you know what they say about a woman
scorned.
One of
Love, Lies’ issues is that it’s awfully hard to feel much sympathy for
Yeon-hee and Yoon-woo. Let’s face it, they’re pretty terrible people.
They are the ones closest to So-yul’s heart, with Yeon-hee more than a
sister and Yoon-woo her fiancé, and they betray her completely. Their
attraction also seems to be based less on some whirlwind depth of
feeling than an almost sleazy greed: Yoon-woo sees Yeon-hee less as a
woman than as his muse and vehicle to get his songs heard, while
Yeon-hee seems to be motivated by and relish in the fact that this man
who loved So-yul enough to propose marriage is now suddenly lusting
after her. Besides carrying on an affair behind her back, neither one
of them are decent or honest enough to admit the change in feelings to
the person who brought them together and loved them both. While I don’t
advocate many of So-yul’s subsequent spiteful actions, I can’t fault her
rage. She’s a better man than I to care about either one of the
backstabbers after they … somehow… fall afoul of the Japanese soldiers.
If outrage at So-yul’s revenge was meant to provide the crux of the
emotional drama, this is where Love, Lies misfires. It is a tribute to
the fine performances by the actresses Han Hyo-joo, Chun Woo-hee and
actor Yoon Yeon-seok, that they make us feel anything for the
post-betrayal relationship at all.
There’s also a shorthand or sketchy editing that makes the film feel
patched together at parts. I’m not sure if it’s because I’m viewing as
someone who does not have an in-depth knowledge of Korean history, but
my sense as a viewer was that the terrors of the Japanese occupation had
been stifled in this film more than in others I’ve seen take place
during this time period. Perhaps that was done in the interest of this
film’s likely appeal to a female demographic, or as a date movie, but a
lot of the tension of life under the watch of the Japanese does not come
across, even when Yoon-woo is sentenced to prison. For all the rushing
around to get him out, there isn’t a feeling of impending peril.
Speaking of Yoon-woo, I couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to
his story, as he pretty much pops in out of thin air after the girls are
grown from childhood. There’s precious little exposition of his
previous relationship with So-yul; they seem to have known each other
and been close for a very long time. It was a facet that should’ve been
filled in as we’re supposed to believe he is the great love of So-yul’s
life and was one of several aspects in the film that felt rushed or not
fully fleshed.
What
makes up for the iniquities of Love, Lies, are its stunning production
values; which immerse us in this era of Korean history. Every visual
detail is dreamy and gorgeous; from the scenery of the idyllic,
flowering trees surrounding the gwonbong and picturesque landscapes of
the small city shops, to the stark change in tone after the Japanese
begin to flex their muscle and terrorise the Koreans under their
control. While still lush, the colours are muted and washed out, giving
a sense of despondence. The stunning costuming really shows the effect
of the old world giving way to the new; the clean lines and
wholesomeness of the traditional hanbok gowns and long, untouched hair,
being left behind for the daring modernity of slinky, form-fitting
dresses and short, Marcel-waved ‘dos. In his flashy roadster and
tailored suits, Yoo Yeon-seok perfectly captures the suave handsomeness
and the go-getter spirit that made Yoon-woo very much a child of his
era, including his callow heedlessness to the devastation he causes So-yul.
As
it’s a story of two singers, music is a big feature of Love, Lies.
Actresses Han Hyo-joo as the classicist So-yul, and Chun Woo-hee as
thoroughly modern Yeon-hee, perform their vocals so admirably as to make
it possible for someone new to this music to understand the differences
in style and delivery. Shown for the most part as the lesser of the two
vocalists, our film’s climax comes with a heart-stopping rendition of a
song custom made for So-yul’s talents and captures the dichotomy of not
only what she is going through in her internal upheaval, but also
conveys the feelings of the changing nation.
While
not perfect, Love, Lies is a worthy discovery of a time and culture in
Korean history not often seen on western screens. Its fine acting,
heady romance and truly gorgeous visuals make it a pleasure to watch.
~ The
Lady Miz Diva
May 3rd,
2016
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