The Unapologetic Broker of Evil: Analyzing the Complex Protagonist of Lady Vengeance
Park Chan-wook’s 3rd tour-de-force of visual storytelling, symbolic systems, and morally ambiguous characters is a haunting and thematically rich example of the Korean Vengeance film genre.
Taken outside the context of the Korean Vengeance film genre, a character who expertly projects a gentle demeanor and angelic appearance in order to conceal her murderous agenda might seem like an unpalatable choice for a protagonist. But Park Chan-wook’s Lady Vengeance gives us the sweet and nurturing Geum-ja, whose trauma is not merely internalized, but weaponized as rage and manifested as retribution. We witness her transformation from self-mortifying victimhood to avenging angel. We gawk first at her willingness to embrace punishment she doesn’t deserve, and later at her chilling administration of grisly revenge.
To those who idolize strong female leads, Lady Vengeance’s Geum-ja is a compelling but puzzling gift. Those who feel victimized will savor the potency of her venom. Those who have been silenced will revel in the quietness of her rage. But those who have wronged her will helplessly suffer their slow, gruesome penance even as they blindly rely on her care. Such is Lee Young-ae’s stunning portrayal of our morally ambiguous anti-hero in the third installment of Park Chan-wook’s genre-defining Vengeance Trilogy.
The story is one of Lee Geum-ja (Lee Young-ae), a vulnerable pregnant teen who is trafficked by her teacher. She is coerced into confessing to the murder of a child which she witnessed him commit. She is subsequently forced to abandon her own baby and spend 13 years in prison for the crime. But we gradually piece together that she doesn’t wait for her release to begin exacting revenge. Rather, her model behavior and religious conversion are part of her quest for retribution. Throughout the movie, we are presented with moments that force us to ask: At which point did she decide to devote her life to vengeance? Is this a story of a vulnerable protagonist’s transformation from victimhood to empowerment? Or a story of one depraved soul paying evil to others?
One of the most remarkable sequences in Lady Vengeance is Geum-ja’s slow and agonizing revenge on Ma-nyeo. In stark contrast to the gratuitous bloodshed that is a trademark of this genre, these scenes are sickeningly anti-climactic, featuring slow and insidious murder where we might have expected explosive violence. What makes this sequence particularly memorable is that Geum-ja continues poisoning her victim for three long years, all the while maintaining the façade of a nurturing caretaker. Her unwavering devotion to dragging this task out far longer than necessary is all the proof we need that Guem-ja is not out for justice, but for vengeance. At one point we see Ma-nyeo distraught as clumps of her hair fall out, and we are reminded that sometimes, we can’t help but sympathize with evil.
In another haunting scene, Geum-ja buries her face into the white frosting of her daughter’s birthday cake. With a backdrop of a snowstorm, this scene is simultaneously humorous, bizarre, and chilling. As she pulls her face back out of the cake, she looks at Jenny with a wide-eyed, maniacal grin. At first, it seems like a moment of levity and playfulness, a brief respite from the intense themes of vengeance and trauma that dominate the rest of the movie. But as Geum-ja cackles menacingly, we realize that something is not right. The scene underscores the duality of Geum-ja’s character, and takes on a sinister tone as we’re reminded that she is not just a devoted mother, but also a calculating and dangerous murderer with a talent for deception. The cake scene is a masterful example of how Park Chan-wook subverts our expectations with visually arresting imagery.
Park imbues meaning into every element of the film by blending conceptual symbolism with visual storytelling techniques. In Lady Vengeance, symbolism is not merely an element fitted into production by the filmmakers, but a tool actively wielded by the characters. For example, we see the color red appearing as a motif in the cinematography, but we also see Geum-ja actively using the color red to manipulate the emotions and vulnerabilities of her abusers, who eventually become her victims. We know that her red eye shadow is a plot element (i.e., it is Geum-ja’s strategy as a character) rather than an element of the filmmaker’s cinematographic vision, because she cunningly exploits it to stunning effect.
That she wore a red coat for the occasion of torturing Mr. Baek to death is no accident either, when considered in light of her release from prison. That occasion was ritualized against her will by a Christian preacher who forced her to wear white while ceremoniously presenting to her a giant block of white tofu. “It’s a tradition to eat tofu on release, so that you’ll live white and never sin again.”
When Geum-ja slaps the tofu to the ground and hisses, “Go fuck yourself”, the preacher and his congregation are shocked, but the viewer shouldn’t be: the religious conversion and spiritual growth she advertised while incarcerated was, after all, a calculated deception.
Lady Vengeance embodies the hallmarks of the Korean Vengeance film genre exploring themes like impossibility of redemption, vitriolic quest for retribution, abandonment of justice, and morally ambiguous protagonists.
The impossibility of redemption is a central theme in Lady Vengeance. On the surface, Geum-ja’s character seems to fit the “Avenging Angel” archetype. But a closer analysis suggests a deeper and darker complexity. Consumed by past traumas, Geum-ja has already come to terms with the fact that redemption is simply not in the cards. She has no hope for redemption, and therefore she does not seek justice; rather, she is driven to pay evil unto evil. When we realize that our protagonist is an unapologetic broker of evil, her maniacal cackling makes more sense.
On the other hand, Mr. Baek embodies both the Manipulative Bastard and the Corruptor of Innocence archetypes. He presents himself as a boring school teacher with a disarmingly nerdy appearance, but this is a calculated facade. His appearance and profession are the red herrings that distract his victims as he corrupts them, preying on their vulnerabilities and exploiting their fears.
In this way, Geum-ja and Mr. Baek are mirrors of each other: both masters of patient deception and manipulative facades. They each mask their true natures behind a veneer of respectability: Geum-ja’s nurturing sweetness, and Mr. Baek’s charming professionalism.
The recurring theme of cynical, arbitrary imprisonment in Park Chan-wook’s films has cultural and historical significance in Korea. A long history of authoritarian rule, political repression, human rights abuses, arbitrary detention, torture, and forced confessions are not just a cinematic trope, but a real issue that has affected many Koreans. Park Chan-wook has used his films to shed light on this issue. In Oldboy, the protagonist is wrongfully imprisoned for 15 years and seeks revenge against his captors. In Lady Vengeance, the protagonist is falsely accused of a crime and spends 13 years in prison. These movies show how imprisonment can destroy a person’s life and negate the possibility of redemption. Park succeeds in illustrating how one might come to laugh maniacally at the concept of justice, and seek retribution instead.
In this way, Park weaves cultural influences into his films. For example, into the narrative of Lady Vengeance, Park integrates a traditional Korean folklore tale, The Tiger & The Bear. This fable, passed down for generations, features a tiger and a bear who each pray to Hwangung to become human beings. Hwangung tells them they must first spend 100 days in a cave, eating only garlic and mugwort, without seeing the sun. The tiger gives up after only a few days, while the bear perseveres and successfully becomes a human female. The bear is said to be the ancestor of the Korean people, and the story is often used to teach the values of perseverance and determination.
The fable functions as a cultural template for Park’s exploration of themes such as transformation, suffering, imprisonment, and perseverance. It also serves as a commentary on Korean society and its emphasis on achieving a certain standard of perfection and purity, as the bear is only able to transform by adhering to strict rules and self-discipline.
In Lady Vengeance, Park Chan-wook once again weaves powerful cultural references together with haunting thematic elements, and brings them to life with compelling narrative tropes and morbidly fascinating characters. It is Park’s mastery of symbolic systems and visual storytelling techniques that make Lady Vengeance a complex story that is both thematically rich and visually stunning.
Sometimes, the most compelling stories are the ones that make us uncomfortable. Lady Vengeance is a film that does just that, forcing us to question our own moral compass and ask, “Where is the line?”
Korean Vengeance films are predicated on narratives that trap our protagonists on the wrong side of it. Yet somehow, we empathize with characters like Gu-nam and Geum-ja. But would we empathize with a character who took it to the next level? How far is too far? The answer may lie in, “I Saw The Devil” (2010). With mesmerizing performances and shocking twists, this film pushes the limits of morality, challenging the viewer to question their own sense of right and wrong. Hold onto your achilles tendons, because “I Saw The Devil” is an intense, blood-soaked journey that will leave you reeling long after the credits roll.