"Thirst" (2009)

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As of late, the vampire genre has become over-polluted by trendy subpar entries, in television and film, which lamely attempt to introduce new twists or allegorical perspectives on the subject. One that comes to mind is the Twilight series, another of those abruptly lucrative franchises for which no criterion involved with posterity can explain the success of, and the True Blood television series, which appears, superficially anyway, to be as glib and gross and congested as the gleefully amoral Dexter series (which treats of the public's fascination with serial killers). Vampires continue to be hyper-eroticised beings, as they have always been, but the new fictions already mentioned tend to devolve into legitimizing them as perfectly functional, sociable beings, while neglecting the spiritual torments that have legendarily displaced the vampire out of the daylight of a hum-drum social life. If they are not beings capable of enjoying pure and platonic love with human organisms, then they are, of course, evil fantastical creatures that speak in their own elvin language and conspire in gothic castles to bring about the fall of mankind, the sort of depiction that fits in with Tolkien's romances. The more 'hip' versions deck out the vampire as an attractive goth who, though he or she manages to enjoy as many diurnal comforts as the night can simulate - such as partying with unperceptive humans or falling in love at midnight - is more concerned with fitting into secret societies or dealing with werewolves, than with dealing with the metaphysical stress that the thought of eternal damnation eventually means in the neverending end; that there isn't any sense nor hint of what damnation might feel like is what's lacking in so potentially pathetic a character. The modern day vampire, in sum, is past the gloom and doom of the 19th century. On the one hand, an advanced eros remains the natural (and positive) inclination for those creatures who are doomed to live forever, or blessed (as some might take it) to persist in and enjoy the fruits of skulking in the same undying and unblemished flesh; and on the other hand, there may grow in the night-creature a perverse longing for the sun, for mortality, for weakness even; the latter is infinitely more interesting...
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One film that has contributed enough to the vampire mythos that it has become a modern-day classic of the genre is the swedish film Let the Right One In. In the light (or dark) of that remarkable film, the feat of producing a thoroughgoing original in the genre has certainly narrowed. Here was a film that did not have to recreate the genre because it smartly illumined the oft-neglected parasitic/symbiotic nature of the vampire creature. The film used middle-aged children for its protagonists, and in so doing was able to enlarge upon the themes of the bittersweet (and sometimes violent) loss of innocence, the burgeoning of infatuation that arrives with puberty, and the disarming childishness inherent in the paradoxical aged-agelessness of vampires. (On this note, we can promiscuously surmise that Peter Pan may have been a vampire himself, seducing children to live immortally as they are, unchanging yet thriving on the mystic stuff of dreams and desires, that he may prolong his own pubescence in the company of those like himself.)

Other vampire films compared to Let the Right One In appear trite or fatigued of ideas; but Thirst is a notable film - directed by a notable director - that has respectfully carved out its own lair in the tradition of vampire films.

The actual title of this film in corean is bak-jwi, which translates to "bat", but Thirst is understandably a better replacement. Park Chan-Wook's latest film is an improvement over his last 2 films - Sympathy for Lady Vengeance and I'm a Cyborg, But That's Okay - not so much in stylisation - a technological glee contained in all his films - but in sharper thematic focus. Often a director's technical prowess will stifle his capacity for producing a concentrated work, a fault that has been coincidentally Park Chan-Wook's principal asset: his enthusiasm for the latest camera techniques, for glossy state-of-the-art cinematography, and for hyperactive edits and pacing may often induce advanced types of cognitive dissonance. If he is a preeminent master of creating atmospherics of frenzy and morbid hilarity, Park Chan-Wook does so without a care if it suits our moral distaste or elation, a strength that largely depends on the relevancy of the mayhem to the storyline.

Thirst introduces 2 offbeat twists to the genre: it advances the idea that vampirism is as much a potentially terminal disease as cancer, in that it requires constant treatment to offset, or else the 'vampire' dies; and it plays with the notion that the femme fatale is as vampiric and seductive as any vampire could be, so that a perfectly benign-looking young woman can reverse the table and end up preying on the moral and sexual inhibitions of a guilt-stricken vampire (especially on one who is - or was - a catholic priest). The 3rd twist would be that the central vampire in the film (as played by Corea's most versatile actor right now, Song Kang-Ho) happens to be that catholic priest, seduced by his own shattered inhibitions broken free by the 'disease' of vampirism. That this disease entails regret, reawakened eros, and the perennial concomitant dosage of catholic guilt, is part of the film's structural power. In any case, the idea of a catholic priest becoming a vampire would not be so intriguing if there hadn't already been a film about a priest who becomes a werewolf: to Park Chan-Wook's credit, the idea is greatly improved upon.

Thirst also boasts having quite the effective erotic sequence, in which we learn that vampires can perfectly fornicate just like humans do, and perhaps with greater relish. The young femme fatale, who initially comes across as a repressed young virgin, is played very well by Kim Ok-Vin; her transformation in the film, from innocent to predatory, carries weight and conviction. In fact, her out-and-out exultation toward the end of the film accommodates the resignation (and resolution) of the priest toward the end of the film, causing a reversal of roles and also of attitude. Their enjoyment of their illicit sexual affair (she is engaged to be married to a dolt by her controlling family, all of whom she resents deeply) is made all the more richer by the priest's secret that he is a vampire; in fact, that he is even a vampire only incidentally plays into their guilt. Since the film downplays the explicit vampirism, and emphasizes the psychological, implicit vampirism at play between the two doomed lovers (and also in their relationship to the slightly deranged, soju-swilling, card-playing family), the film captures a piece of originality in its clever genre-baiting.

The film is quite long, at least longer than what is expected from a genre-film, because its concerns are advanced and its aims are long-term, resonant. If it meanders, though it does so without losing our interest, it never fails to catch us off-guard. The ending of the film evinces once and for all Park Chan-Wook's terrific editorial capacity - on the level of the best hollywood directors - to direct a meticulous, high-brand denouement, full of pathos, sincerity, and stellar timing.
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