If one had to pick a film that inspired the cycle of films known as Korean Noir, it would be John Woo’s A Better Tomorrow (1986).
When it was first released in Korea in 1987, it didn’t attract much attention from viewers or critics. Following a lackluster opening, the film was relegated to second-run theaters in areas populated by factory workers and students. There, in these modest theaters with leaky toilets and a constant smell of urine, the film rose to legendary status. Those who paid half the normal admission to watch it repeatedly devoured the film. It remains a mystery how it captured viewers’ hearts—perhaps the brilliant actors, the balletically crafted action scenes, and the captivating story of the Hong Kong underworld played a role. Ultimately, the film’s portrayal of the acute predicament of modern men and their wounded egos won praise, despite criticisms of it being overly sentimental, violent, and depicting criminals as men of true colors.
A brief plot summary might help illuminate its charm. Kit, played by Leslie Cheung, is a policeman unaware that his brother Song runs a crime organization that prints counterfeit US dollars with his business partner and blood brother, Mark. Kit sees red when he discovers that his ailing father dies in a gangland crossfire, during which his brother is ambushed by his own henchman. Kit then goes on the warpath against his brother. Consequently, Song is kicked out of the organization, and Mark is demoted to washing his new boss’s car. The film climaxes with Song and Mark seeking revenge on the traitor, while Kit aims to bring justice to the underworld. A dramatic gunplay ensues, driven by the three characters’ desire to return to a happy and normal life.
The central theme of the plot is loss: the death of a father, a brotherly bond turned into hatred, and trusted allies’ betrayal. The film bleeds with mournful sorrow, showcasing anguish and despair. Flashbacks of happier times exacerbate their pain. Some critics noted that this sensitivity regarding loss and despair reflects the uncertainty that befell Hong Kong before its return to China.
In 1997, Green Fish mirrored A Better Tomorrow‘s structure of lost ideals and emotional anguish.
A series of similar films followed, dominating early 2000s Korean cinema. Titles like Die Bad (2000), Friend (2001), A Bittersweet Life (2005), A Dirty Carnival (2006), The Show Must Go On (2007), Fate (2008), Open City (2008), and The Unjust (2010) epitomize this trend. Traditionally, emotionally charged male characters were considered weak and relegated to minor roles. However, Korean Noir protagonists broke this mold, displaying intense emotions and often blurring the line between vulnerability and machismo.
The protagonists in Korean Noir films of the early 2000s challenged traditional notions of masculinity by being emotionally expressive and self-aware. Their style, from fashion to ironically self-deprecating humor, set them apart from the typical macho men, although they shared similar violent methods to achieve their goals. Byung-du in A Dirty Carnival exemplifies this blend. Played by Zo In-sung, Byung-du dons slim-fit suits and mingles with a filmmaker friend. Yet, he is painfully aware that he is fighting a losing battle against traitors, fraudsters, and ambitious subordinates.
The Korean Noir trend peaked with the 2010 remake of A Better Tomorrow. In this version, the characters are North Korean defectors, but the film maintains the original’s focus on camaraderie and emotional turmoil. It pays homage to the original while showcasing what Korean Noir had collectively achieved in gangster films. Inspired by the Hong Kong import, Korean crime thrillers had evolved significantly.
This trend of gangster films, also affectionately known as men’s melodrama, culminated with Nameless Gangster: Rules of the Time (2012). While stylistically similar to its predecessors, however, it diverged by providing a social context. The villain is not just an evil crime boss but a product of his environment, allowing for a deeper understanding of his wrongdoings. This shift from personal to societal power relations marked a new way to define men’s relationships in gangster films, emphasizing class over blood ties.
