A working-class young man who makes a living doing odd jobs for a variety of people in order to compensate for his father’s impending imprisonment, a woman from his past forcing herself into his future in her own search for a deeper meaning, and a mysterious man she meets on her travels with a sinister pastime are the three central characters in Lee Chang-dong’s masterful psychological thriller, Burning (Korean: Beoning or 버닝), perhaps best described as being a contemporary South Korean mystery film blended with the layered characterization of a great Shakespearean tragedy, and a subversion of the traditional mystery narrative. With this film, Lee has made something exceptional – a riveting crime film that is not only thrilling in how it presents its central mystery but also imbuing it with deep psychological complexity, intricate philosophical storytelling and fascinating character development, keeping with the spirit of Haruki Murakami’s astounding short story, “Barn Burning” from which Lee adapted this film. It is a meticulous, carefully-paced film that is visually stunning and narratively engrossing, with the director crafting a new classic of mystery filmmaking, one with great performances and a certain sinister underpinning that makes Burning amongst the year’s best films.

Lee Jong-su (Yoo Ah-in) is a young man in contemporary South Korea. He makes a living performing a variety of small jobs around the country. His father, a farmer, is put on trial for misbehaviour and a plethora of other crimes and is set to be sent to prison, which requires his son to return to the now-abandoned farm and take care of it. Along the way, someone from his past re-enters into his life in a way that could be considered somewhat fateful. Her name is Hae-mi (Jeon Jong-seo), a childhood friend of Jong-su who is instantly enamoured with her old classmate, convincing him to take care of her cat while she is away on a trip of self-realization in Southern Africa. Upon her return, she has made a new acquaintance during her travels, the enigmatic Ben (Steven Yeun) whose background, including his career and how he amassed such extreme wealth, remain ambigious (Jong-su even remarks how he is akin to the Korean version of the titular character in The Great Gatsby – a comparison that proves to be far more inert than it appears). When Hae-mi has her life slowly taken over by Ben, Jong-su starts to realize that this man is far less accommodating than he initially appears and that he engages in a very sinister hobby that Jong-su initially doesn’t believe – but when Hae-mi mysteriously disappears, he is thrust into a quest to find her – and the key to this mystery is found within Ben’s interests, with Jong-su looking to have his burning questions answered, and soon.

Burning is essentially a film composed of three central performances, with all other characters, while pivotal, being otherwise only elements to progress the plot, not being particularly important. Lee assembled a trio of exceptional performers to play these roles, each one giving a spirited portrayal of their individual character, crafting a memorable and entirely authentic representation of the younger generations of Korea. Yoo Ah-in leads the film brilliantly as the well-meaning Jong-su, who is forced into a relationship he was reluctant to enter, as well as being a passive witness to the sinister games of a truly malicious individual. It is a beautifully introspective performance from Yoo, who finds a certain balance between being an observer to the story, and a participant in it. He profoundly understands where the limits of his involvement are, with the story revolving around him and his own existential quandaries, yet being about his relationship with the other two characters that form the basis of the film. A performance like this is all too often seen as being an audience surrogate, a way for us to experience the story through the eyes of a character that is pivotal to the film, but otherwise just a tabula rasa upon which the narrative can reflect, without much being done in terms of his own character development – and while it does often appear like Burning is taking its protagonist in this direction, it deftly defies these expectations and allows him to flourish into a fully-realized character of his own – perhaps Jong-su doesn’t have the exuberance of Hae-mi, or the dastardly charisma of Ben, but he is certainly a fascinating character, and the film gives him ample opportunity to be developed not only as a participant in the central conflict but as a fully-realized character with a number of complexities.

Jeon Jong-seo gives a terrific performance as the beguiling Hae-mi, who is far too trusting of the world, and intent on exploring it with a certain reckless innocence that comes when someone hasn’t seen the darker side of humanity. She is the catalyst for much of the film – from the opening scene where we are introduced to her, to her disappearance halfway through the film, she is a memorable presence, whether on-screen or off, and while her performance may appear to be somewhat one-dimensional, there is a deeper complexity to her performance, as seen in her various monologues, where her insecurities and desires to find meaning in the world are made clear. Finally, Steven Yeun (who is rapidly establishing himself as an actor of great contemporary significance in a range of performances that span medium, genre and nation) gives the film’s most fascinating performance – as the antagonist of the film, Yeun has a herculean task – he needs to imbue his character with extreme villainy, while still retaining the aloof realism of the film. Charming and sinister in equal measure, Yeun is quite simply a revelation – it is always a refreshing experience when an actor known for more likeable roles plays a character so despicable, and while it often doesn’t create the stark effect normally intended in these situations, Yeun’s performance is definitely one of the year’s most noteworthy, with his malice being a remarkable change of pace for Yeun, who is destined to continue ascending as an actor, as demonstrated by his incredible performance here.

There is something so unconventional about Burning, despite it being quite a traditional crime film, at least in its underlying theme. There are a number of ways the film subverts the conventions of the genre, even though it perhaps more lucid and coherent than its influences and contemporaries. Perhaps its the length – a mystery film running 150 minutes is almost unheard of, especially one that isn’t weighed down by an overly-convoluted story (more on this below). Arguably a film more about exploring themes than it does story, we can’t neglect that while the metaphysical concepts do linger on much longer than the more tangible elements of the film, Burning has a well-crafted mystery at its core, and it remains intent on its central narrative, never wavering from its dedication to being a well-made crime thriller – and it will certainly keep audiences captivated. It is a film that has a substantial amount of time to tell its story, and it uses each moment perfectly. Each scene is carefully-constructed, each moment of foreshadowing perfectly selected to instill a sense of dread in the viewer, as well as finding the balance between allowing us to realize that something is amiss (perhaps even before our protagonist realizes it), and still surprising us with some bold conclusions, truly horrifying twists and turns that we can sense through the foreboding malevolence, but still are suitably shaken by. In no uncertain terms, even if one doesn’t find the more abstract ideas in Burning particularly riveting, we can’t deny that the storyline is endlessly captivating, with anyone who gives this film a chance being witness to one of the current century’s most audacious mystery films.

Burning is a contradiction of a film – it is so rare to find a film so complex in its thematic concept being executed with such flawless simplicity. In fact, the manner in which this film was presented, stark and straightforward, helped massively in creating the foreboding sense of unease, creating a more sinister atmosphere. Admittedly, we all tend to take the role of detective in these kinds of films, using our own knowledge of the prior events to piece everything together and try and come to some conclusion as to the resolution of the mystery. Burning seems to understand this, and instead of inundating the film with a panoply of complex clues, unnecessary red herrings and twists, it keeps everything quite simple – there is a single coherent story, told in absolute sincerity without any form of cinematic or narrative duplicity, which forces the viewer into reconsidering the more mundane of details in lieu of more traditional clues.  Lee is masterful in presenting this story, and even though we start to realize the answers eventually, we are still profoundly surprised – not that we are necessarily wrong, but rather our interpretation, while mainly correct, was still missing some pivotal clue. Lee is an economical filmmaker, and as I mentioned before, absolutely everything in Burning has its purpose – every moment means something, every small detail plays a part, and even when this film is at its most seemingly banal, there is a deeper purpose here. Burning is truly one of the finest postmodern mystery films of this era, because it respects the audience enough to not deceive us, but still allowing us to be engrossed in this thrilling, complex mystery that is filled with enigmatic turns that ultimately results in something quite enthralling.

Yet, above everything else, Burning thrives on more abstract concepts in its endeavour to be a singular experience. There are deeply philosophical and psychological underpinnings to this film, and it extends further than simply being a straightforward crime film. The film soars the highest when it takes its relatively unfurnished mystery narrative and imbues it with a certain aloof philosophical undercurrent, which makes it resonate for more than had it just been a film that followed the conventional structure of a mystery film. Burning is essentially about three characters undergoing their own existential quandaries, albeit reacting to the uncertainty of life in very different ways. Jong-su is a working-class man who just wants to live an ordinary life but is constantly drawn into these situations that force him to reevaluate his own understanding of the world around him. Hae-mi is a woman who wants to find her own place in the world, far from her current position as an anonymous promoter, longing to experience the sensation of having her hunger for meaning satisfied. Ben, the film’s most enigmatic character, isn’t without his own moments of introspective thought, with his actions, while not explored in detail, demonstrating that despite his wealth and confidence, there is still some insecurity towards his own life – why else would a serial killer intend to act in this way if not to prove something to the world about himself? Burning makes for a fascinating psychological analysis, with each of the three characters being intricately designed to be representations of different facets of society, while still being unique and fully-formed characters in their own right. The comparisons to The Great Gatsby are not merely skin-deep – there is a certain complexity to how Lee portrays these characters as being individuals separated by socio-economic status but united by the search for a deeper meaning. In essence, each of these characters is looking to have their “Great Hunter” (mirroring the broken promises of the American Dream in Fitzgerald’s novel) satiated by any means necessary – and whether that requires feeding an unseen cat, travelling across the world or killing innocent people, they presumably come close to reaching that elusive meaning.

Finally, it would be amiss if we didn’t briefly talk about how this film is executed – Lee has always had an eye for detail in his films, extending beyond the story and entering into the realm of the visual and auditory, with Burning being amongst the year’s most beautifully-made films. The cinematography may not be initially noteworthy – it begins with the appearance of gritty realism, with the story being foregrounded. However, as the film progresses, so does it aesthetic beauty – moments of remarkable pulchritude are scattered throughout the film, such as Hae-mi’s dance in the twilight (set to the sound Miles Davis’ extraordinary score from the similarly-complex philosophical drama Elevator to the Gallows), to Ben’s contemplative isolation on the bank of a river, to Jong-su’s frequent voyages into the countryside. Every moment in Burning is gorgeous, both visually and narratively, and the score is often complicit in evoking a plethora of emotions that all serve to make it a singularly unforgettable experience, and a film that is certainly gorgeous in a number of aspects.

Burning is a terrific film. Lee Chang-dong really made something exceptional here, a film with a duality of purpose – it is a tense, enthralling thriller, one with a central conflict that captivates the audience and leads us through a deceptive, complex mystery, albeit one that is not convoluted. It is also a beautifully-constructed philosophical film, a manifesto on contemporary psychology, where we are increasingly in search of not only the carnal and the material but of broader, metaphysical satisfaction, hoping to find meaning in the banality of life. It is a carefully-paced film, one that may run a bit longer than most would be comfortable with, but Lee is a director who knows how to imbue absolutely every moment with both narrative complexity, meticulous detail and endless visual beauty, making Burning amongst the year’s most audacious achievements, and undoubtedly one of its finest achievements. Burning is a rewarding experience, and something that should certainly be sought out by anyone who enjoys well-made mysteries, or has even the smallest interest in powerful, evocative and meaningful world cinema – Burning is a great film, and will most likely become an influential work, both in terms of being a film, and a psychoanalytical masterpiece. Breaktakingingly beautiful, narratively profound and extremely powerful in both its form and content, Burning is an extraordinary film.