Female actors in contemporary Korean cinema have entered a new era, one in which their roles are no longer confined to familiar archetypes such as mothers, sisters, or lovers. Nicknames like “the nation’s mother,” “the nation’s little sister,” or “the nation’s sweetheart” no longer represent the pinnacle of public acclaim. But are those conventions truly behind us?

The Old Woman with the Knife opened in cinemas across Korea, generating notable buzz. Cinema attendance has been in steady decline since the COVID-19 pandemic, a trend further exacerbated by the audience’s migration to OTT platforms, which offer cinematic experiences tailored to the viewer’s temporal and spatial convenience. Rising ticket prices have also played a significant role in discouraging cinema-going. In the first quarter of 2025, only a handful of titles—Mickey 17, Hitman 2, and The Match—have managed to sustain interest among cinephiles.

Premiering at the 75th Berlin International Film Festival earlier this year, The Old Woman with the Knife tells the story of a female assassin in her 60s, adapted from a bestselling novel. With Lee Hye-young, an actor known for both her glamour and serious acting credentials, cast in the lead role, and the film presented in a stylized noir aesthetic, it appears well-positioned to draw audiences back to theaters. However, its radical departure from conventional representations—portraying an elderly woman not as a benign grandmother but as a lethal operative—may alienate some viewers. Alternatively, this very subversion might prove to be the film’s most resonant appeal to contemporary audiences.

Killer Instincts and Emotional Burdens

Female killers have historically been uncommon in Korean cinema. A notable turning point came with The Villainess (2017), the first film in recent memory to center on a female assassin. Inspired by the stylized thriller tradition of La Femme Nikita (1990), The Villainess ventures into a genre space where women are trained to become cold, calculated, and highly efficient killers. Among them is Sook-hee, portrayed by Kim Ok-vin, who brought emotional depth to a character navigating desperate circumstances in such films as Park Chan-wook’s Thirst (2009). Sook-hee becomes an archetype for subsequent female killers in Korean cinema, blending lethal instinct with emotional trauma rooted in familial loss and the smoldering rage of revenge. Her transformation into a merciless assassin is catalyzed by the tragic death of her husband, fueling her relentless pursuit of vengeance and leaving a trail of violence in her wake.

This trend continued with Kill Boksoon (2023) and Ballerina (2023). In Kill Boksoon, Jeon Do-yeon—who won Best Actress at the 2007 Cannes Film Festival for Secret Sunshine—plays Bok-soon, a legendary contract killer nearing the end of her career. The film juxtaposes her professional prowess with her personal life as a single mother raising a teenage daughter unaware of her true identity. In Ballerina, Jeon Jong-seo plays Ok-joo, a professional bodyguard who embarks on a revenge mission following the suspicious death of her close friend. Consistent with the revenge motif that often underpins female killer narratives, Ok-joo’s pursuit leads to a violent confrontation with those responsible, culminating in a form of retributive justice.

Granny or an Assassin?

Hornclaw, the sixty-something female assassin in The Old Woman with the Knife, appears initially removed from the emotional entanglements that have characterized earlier portrayals of female killers in Korean cinema. Orphaned at a young age and taken in by a father-figure who trains her in the art of killing, Hornclaw boasts a flawless track record as a professional hitwoman. For decades, she has executed her assignments with ruthless efficiency, seemingly unencumbered by personal ties. She is neither mother, sister, nor wife—roles that in other narratives often serve as both emotional anchors and sources of vulnerability. It is perhaps this absence of familial attachments that has enabled her exceptional proficiency as a killer.

However, this emotional detachment begins to erode when she develops what can be described as a protective instinct, which resembles maternal care, toward a young veterinarian who treats her work-related injuries. The narrative becomes further complicated with the introduction of a new recruit: a young man who not only joins her organization but also targets the veterinarian as his next kill. Hornclaw suddenly finds herself in a precarious and emotionally charged position, compelled to protect the very person who has stirred something dormant within her. Whether this attachment stems from maternal instinct or romantic affection remains ambiguous. Yet, as she confronts the young killer whose own volatile emotions bring an additional layer of complexity, Hornclaw becomes entangled in an affective struggle that challenges the very foundation of her identity as an emotionless professional.

Dearest Mommy Assassin

Hornclaw follows a reversed trajectory compared to many female assassins in Korean cinema: she begins as a cold, professional killer and gradually becomes entangled in emotion. From a detached assassin, she transforms into a maternal—or perhaps even romantic—figure. While she remains a killer, her motives shift. She no longer kills for its own sake or for professional obligation, but in the service of someone else’s well-being. This echoes the maternal logic in Bong Joon-ho’s Mother (2009), in which the titular character commits murder to protect her son and assert his innocence. Both characters reveal the darker potential of maternal care, wherein nurturing impulses become entangled with obsession, infatuation, and violence.

Yet Hornclaw differs crucially from Bong’s mother figure. While the mother’s violence may be read as a perversion or degeneration of idealized maternal love, Hornclaw’s killing represents an emergence—a belated discovery of emotional depth. She begins with a void of affect, and thus her turn toward protective care, however entangled with violence, appears almost redemptive. In The Old Woman with the Knife, maternal love and killer instinct occupy the same terrain, pushing the boundaries of the female killer genre into new territory where femininity and violence, often seen as antithetical, are rendered mutually constitutive. However, whether this shift will resonate with audiences remains to be seen.