Thirst: Review

The vampire is enjoying something of a renaissance of late. One was beginning to feel sorry for this once terrifying figure of the night, made safe and rendered harmless through parody and misrepresentation. Where once aristocratic counts stalked the night in search of virgin blood, now our vampires come in jeans, smoking cigarettes and wearing shades. They’re borderline camp.

But having endured such indignities, it would seem that Nosferatu is rediscovering his bite. Thirst is the latest in a welcome spate of reimaginings that update the vampire concept with contemporary social evils. A new generation of vampire fictions has emerged, with film of the year contender Let the Right One In doing much to dispel the notion of vampirism as something cool, attractive or anything but a deeply horrible, lonely experience. Thirst is very much in this tradition, exploring not outward expressions of violence but internal conflicts.

As such, it is a film of some considerable modesty. Director Park Chan-wook (Old Boy, Sympathy for Lady Vengeance, I’m A Cyborg But That’s OK) has crafted a complex exploration of the self, using the vampire as a foil with which to question certain moralities. The film is loosely based on Emile Zola’s novel Therese Raquin, and our protagonist here is Sang Hyun, played by Song Kang-ho (Sympathy for Lady Vengeance, The Host) – a revered priest and a man of immaculate moral standing who becomes infected while doing the Lord’s work (volunteering in medical trials). Who better to corrupt than a man of God?

Thirst enjoys the ambiguity of its opening half hour. Vampires are never mentioned by name, and when it is finally out in the open, the priest’s conversion has already occurred. It’s a retrospective diagnosis that allows the audience to connect emotionally with him before he can be labelled. As the only one in 500 to survive the medical trials, Sang Hyun develops a reputation for miracles and his church is mobbed by encamped devotees.

But he falls from grace into sin, allowing for a discussion of religiosity that doesn’t employ the traditional iconography: there are no references to holy water, fear of the cross, or other conventions of the genre popular in Western films. Korean horror has long operated along more imaginative, psychological arcs. Dismissing certain aspects of vampire mythology allows for a successful reconstruction of what makes this figure so terrifying and yet alluring.

As Sang Hyun retreats into nihilism and an affair with unappreciated housewife Tae Ju (Kim Ok-vin of Desapo Naughty Girls fame and the very image of temptation) his choices are understandable and his internal conflicts unquestionably real. The casting of Kim Ok-Vin is excellent, subverting the image of an actress who made her name winning a beauty pagaent. Chan-wook gives her a feisty role, which she performs with a maturity that never allows her character merely to play second fiddle to the protagonist’s descent into lust and depravity. Both characters undergo transformations of sorts and both speak convincingly of the human condition. Plot and character are evoked intricately, and the film mirrors this level of detail in its composition. An initial palette of pastels gives way, as the plot unfurls, to stark contrasts and bright colours in a move which mirrors the protagonist’s darkening existence.

Despite the odd nod to the gothic, and a generous smattering of crimson towards the film’s end, Thirst is hardly a horror film at all. Conventional scares are few and far between, but raising the hairs on the back of your neck was never this film’s intention: the overriding tone is light and it’s frequently funny.

Thirst is a typically accomplished film from a director and production team from whom we should expect nothing less. Going a long way towards undoing the damage wrought by the pop culture vamps that America so readily churns out, Thirst is an intelligent and imaginative addition to the canon of vampire films that refuses to descend into parody.

First published in Sound Screen.