If Asian Horror were a man, I’d marry it.

(originally posted March 9, 2008 on Writingscape V1.0)

I’ve been having a love affair with Asian horror (Korean, Japanese, and Thai, in particular) for nigh on a year now. Why, you wonder? Let me count the ways.

No one is a ghost just for the sake of being a ghost. Plots are woven around subtle issues, and controversies in the culture, and avenging spirits come from that. (One issue I’ve enjoyed seeing played out is the Parents/Traditional/Old School versus the Children/New Age/New School power struggle that’s been going on for some years in real life. In a culture where a guy moving in with the wrong girl can affect the stock prices of a billion-dollar corporation, you can do a lot with that.) It’s not that someone was done wrong. They weren’t just treated badly and died, or accidentally killed. They were done wrong in so many intricate, interlocking ways, that they were forced into becoming the avenging creatures we see, almost against their own will. Which makes for awesome ending twists.

It’s an excellent study for tightening up my own writing. All stories, whether vignette, hour long, or movie length, are tightly woven when it comes to plot and completely cohesive, with no room for the extraneous. Nothing ever seems put in for the sake of the special effect; rather, they find an effect for the scene. Unlike the Hollywood mentality, which works the exact opposite. “Awesome new FX! Where can we stick it?” (Would you really like to know?  

That goes for the dialogue, too. It is every bit as tight as the plot.  No on-the-nose talk.  No monologues of explanation. Which makes the subtext (the stuff you read between the lines) just exquisite. From Ryeong (The Ghost, 2004, South Korea), with my subtext in red:

Doctor:  “Does swimming help?”
Girl:  “Yes, it’s so soothing. Like my mother’s arms.” I miss Mom’s hugs. Why does she hate me?
Doctor:  “Is she still the same?” So. She’s still treating you like crap.
(girl nods)
Doctor:  “I’m sorry this is the last time I eat cookies with you.” This long, trying relationship is finally ending.
Girl:  “Not relieved? I know I stained your career.” You tried to fix me, but you failed. And everyone watched it happen.
Doctor:  “It breaks my heart to hear that.” You have been a pain, but I care a lot about you anyway. “Your brain waves are normal, but the heart could relapse. Don’t forget to take your medicine.” Girl hasn’t been good at doing what she’s told up to this point—a pain. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. As time goes by, your memory might come back.”
Girl:  “It’s okay. I’ll consider it as an umbrella I forgot on the bus.” I hope my memory doesn’t come back—though I’m not sure why. Uh-oh…!

Ear and eye candy. They do wonders with less incidental music and more silence. And with unusual sounds that you can’t identify until they’re upon you. And ordinary sounds that you just don’t identify with horror. Until. (I thought they were signaling me that something bad was about to happen. It was only a subway train.) Inventive shots and angles—many different ways of shooting the same thing. Sometimes you’re looking at a ghost and you don’t even know it. Until. Last but not least—their ghosts are always doing things I haven’t seen ghosts do before. And that’s the ticket.

Incidentally, I see a new Shutter (2008) is being released to American audiences. I’m pretty sure I won’t be seeing it. The one that spawned it from 2004, the Thai release of the same name, happens to be the most outstanding Asian horror film I’ve seen to date. No way will this one outshine it. (The trailer shows one of the original devices used in 2004—fantastic—but it also shows that this version is indeed polluted with overused Hollywood junk. A shame.)

To people in Asia, and hardcore fans, Asian horror is probably mundane. Seen one, you’ve seen them all. Nothing special. But to an American so jaded on predictable American horror that she could puke, it is scary and sweet. I’ll be on board for a while yet.