"Don't walk behind me; I may not lead. Don't walk in front of me; I may not follow. Just walk beside me and be my friend." (Albert Camus)
The review is divided into 3 parts:
Review Part 1: Tale of Nokdu
It has been a while since a tv series engaged me this
much on every level. And I mean worldwide made series, not specifically Korean.
It came at the right moment when everything felt as too overwhelming and too
pressuring, so a space for breathing was all that was needed and nothing more.
And I admit, reading the synopsis made me feel as if this could be a disaster –
after all, we had projects in which women pretended to be men, but the reversal
of it is almost always cringe-worthy (and I stand by this opinion, maybe Some
Like It Hot was the best incarnation of the motif and that’s it, not Tootsie,
not horrendous for me Mrs. Doubtifre). I also was hesitant seeing Kim
Sohyeon’s haircut, thinking about fusion sageuk and the bizarre entourage it
usually brings along, but a kind soul (Issy) explained it made sense in the
story. Therefore, I gave up my suspicions and fears and reservations about the
slapstick. Thankfully, it was not the case here and I’m glad I gave in and
tried. The fan dance also helped. Up until that I only finished The Crowned
Clown and Kingdom earlier in the course of the year. I’m seeing now
a pattern emerging – both were sageuks.
Eons have passed since I wrote a review of something
that I enjoyed this much, that is why I’m anxiously but finally turning all
those random thoughts only a month after the series aired its finale. Writing
anything in the heat of the moment is fun, but after few weeks I can say with
certainty that my objectivity and calm researcher nature has finally settled
in. I hope this part can be comprehensible and I am sure some of my thoughts
will be forgotten while composing it. Also, I may not mention some things
others may feel they should be mentioned but – it is my review, or rather a
flow of thoughts, more or less organized. And with this lengthy introduction
about the personal background I am done with my exhibitionist’s needs for the
moment.
The series spans few months in its main course and the
last episode jumps nine years into the future with two different endings for
two different men whose clash unspun the web of lies, deceits and suffering. In
the second part of this review I will focus more on the construction of the
narrative that mirrors the mythos of a hero, but it is worth noticing now that
the series ends exactly where it started – on an island[1]. Many
heroic tales end that way – the hero comes back to the place where it all
started, but most often than not the hero is either not understood, remembered
or shunned. Sometimes he is revered – therefore a cultural hero is born,
although some of them fell victim or suffer for their transgression like
Prometheus. Sometimes the hero falls apart into ash and bone or turns into an
old person the moment he touches the familiar land (a taboo regarding the coming
back to the wrong time from the forbidden land that does not mix with human
world). Just like in the story of Oisín who came back to Ireland against
Niamh’s warning. The moment he touched the ground he became the withered old man
never to return to Tír na nÓg, as three centuries has passed since his
departure and all of his loved ones have now been long dead. Here the story
twists the ending – it’s not the main hero of the tale who falls apart or
becomes misunderstood or lonely – but his foe. A man who, like a patient
spider, weaved his web and waited for a perfect moment for years. Not every
attack of an animal ends up with success, and here we had its great example.
The first coup attempt ended with failure and Yulmu (Prince Neungyang) had to
wait nine years before a new chance presented itself. He snatched the throne he
coveted so much that he sacrificed his conscience and everyone to reach for it.
And this is where his final ruin started. He wanted power, and as the famous saying
goes: “power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely”[2]; he
regarded other people only as tools – the moment they stopped being useful, he
discarded them with no second thought. I still want to believe, though, that
the affection he had for Dongju was genuine, at least at the beginning of the
story – that means for years leading to the events in the series. But at the
same time there is this prickly thought at the back of my head hissing that it
could all be an act. A long play to get what he wanted, what he thought was his
to reach for since he saw the vacuum around Gwanghaegun. He employed her in a
way, after all, so affection be damned – she was a tool. He couldn’t bear the
thought of losing Dongju because he thought of her as his property. And he
perceived her relationship with Nokdu not as a real relationship but as the
latter stealing her from him. Which actually beautifully mirrors that trial
during which Widow Kim was tasked to steal the elephant. Both the elephant and
Dongju were treated as precious possessions. And yet, despite both men holding
what they thought as their property as close as they could – both were lost to them. The
history of Yi dynasty has also taught Yulmu this – if a person has had enough
power and people to back them up – they could achieve their goal. This is how
Prince Suyang came to power. Hell, this is how Prince Bangwon got the throne at
the very beginning – by drowning the world in blood. Yulmu might have succeeded
with his desire to sit on the throne of gold and lacquer, but it was Nokdu who was
sitting on a throne made of golden beach sand and grass with someone to share
his life with. I found both scenes wonderfully contrasting especially that at
one point both of them shared the common goal – to remove Gwanghaegun from the
throne. But here, with the throne as the omphalos of the whole story,
the same goal bifurcated – Yulmu wanted it for himself and Nokdu did not want
it at all.
The throne was probably one of the main characters
here in the series, because it was one thing that Gwanghaegun first wanted more
than anything, then he wanted to keep it at all costs, and Yulmu wanted it for
himself more than life itself. Ironically, both of them were not entirely
eligible for the throne but the only person who was – did not want it. This
reminds me of the stories of people who refused to take up power, most of them
were persuaded, but some were not. I think it was easier for Nokdu to gave up
because he never even had a taste of it. You can’t actually miss what you don’t
know.
And Macbethian Yulmu achieved what he wanted but what
we, the viewers, know is that the Broceliande forest will be moving soon a’
knocking, and his rule will bring ruin. While analyzing his whole journey to
power, one thing started to be more and more glaringly obvious – he never once
mentioned himself as the just and honorable king in spe. He wanted to
depose Gwanghaegun because the King was becoming more and more unstable,
erratic and violent, but he did not declare he would be his opposite, that he
would become a benevolent father to all of his subjects. Maybe he did not want
to contradict himself, after all he started his movement by ordering the
slaying of Prince Yeongchang, a latter King’s 8-yo kid[3], then
he personally killed one of Heo Yun’s supporters when he crashed their secret
meeting (the “secret” is treated here loosely because Nokdu managed to sneak in
and witness Yulmu’s shedding of his chrysalis) and to close it with a fiery,
bloody coda – he ordered the Widow’s Village to be destroyed and all of
Muwoldan ladies to be killed. He probably knew that other women, widows and
refugees, would be killed as well because he sent some scum to do it, murderers
and thieves with no sense of honor. He must have sensed that after such a bloody
beginning, no declaration would be taken seriously. Well, at least his
judgement was right. Max Weber said that the person “who seeks salvation of the
soul, of his own and of others, should not seek it along the avenue of
politics, for the quite different tasks of politics can only be solved by
violence” [4]. It
is particularly true for Yulmu, especially that latter part. Violence solves a
lot of problems. One may argue that a good nature is not necessarily what a
good king makes and there is a truth in it. Sometimes a bad ruler has good
advisers and vice versa. And sometimes not even good advisers can change
the outcome of having an unstable King falling into madness. It is easy to see
him as the Machiavellian prince who stops at nothing to get what he wants, and
Korean history knows quite a few such figures that would make the Florentine
guy reconsider taking Cesare as his model.
He was consistent throughout the course of the series, which is admirable. His every move and every lie were calculated to get him closer to his goal, and what is even more worth mentioning, is that he wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty. Granted, he had blindly faithful Danho as his henchman and employed many seedy elements to do his bidding, but he didn’t refrain from killing. He wasn’t very much against lying either, but it is probably something that is nearly a pillar of every stratagem leading to a successful coup d’état. His first attempt wasn’t successful, but it wasn’t a complete failure either – he managed to enrage Gwanghaegun to the point of him passing a death sentence onto Nokdu, which led the latter to flee the palace and Han-yang.
Worth noticing is also the lack of any squeamishness
in all of the main characters regarding the killing. Nokdu was a great
swordsman, without much practice that is true, but he did not feel the hesitation
over killing those who wanted to kill either him or his family. He wasn’t even
that surprised the assassins who attacked them on the island were women. They
were just that – assassins – and he had no problem picking up a sword against
them later on. He nearly killed Yulmu in the serene bamboo grove and if it
wasn’t for Danho, who knows how the history could have been. That little stab
with a dagger was a cherry on top of this nicely choreographed fight scene. And an honorable mention goes to that one scene
when he threw a spear just to shut the officer who was about to finish an order
when all hell broke loose at the palace. Yulmu could wield a knife, he was a
gifted dessert making, and he could kill with impunity and without any remorse,
just for show, just to make a point. And Dongju… oh, what a marvel! Dongju
wasn’t a frightened little girl but she could shoot, and she proved how well
she could do that. To escape she managed to trick her guard and shot him almost
point blank the moment he stepped into the room; the guy’s brain probably
didn’t even have the time to register what killed him. During the bloody fight
at the palace she saved Nokdu with her arrows. And she didn’t even flinch at
the sight of blood or a dead body. I guess spending long hours at the common
grave does that to a person. I can also appreciate the blades having blood on
them. And I guess sageuk has a different set of rules because all of the blades
here, be it knives, daggers, swords, spears or arrows were not blurred. If it
looks like I’m stabbing (nomen omen) at OCN – it’s because I am.
Dongju was passive most of her life after burying that
horrible event so deep down that it numbed her to anything that was around her.
Her life revolved around one thing and one thing only – revenge. I would
venture and say that even the prospect of becoming a gisaeng did not worry her.
First, this way she could be closer to men with power, she could listen and
plan her future moves. Second, she was so dissociated from anything life could
bring, that I could already see her cutting out emotionally in intimate scenes.
I think this is what that first kiss showed and how she behaved during it, she
wanted it but she could not break her own walls she has put up through so many
years, so she was just sitting, counting on the situation to pass. She closed
off all other emotions except for anger that fueled her need for revenge. This
is why she agreed to carry her plans along Yulmu’s, completely indifferent
about the feelings he had for her. Or rather – she was aware of them, but they
made her uncomfortable enough, so she blocked them and did not pay much
attention to them. She wanted to avenge her parents, and especially Mother
whose dead body protected Dongju in the roadside “grave”, never counting on surviving
the assassination of the King. She lived only for that purpose and had
absolutely no idea how her life could look like after that – in case she
survived. I don’t think she even cared whether she would survive or not. And
here comes the reason why I think the series did its absolute best at reversing
the usual stereotypes used in stories. Usually, be it a movie, series, book or
any other narrative it’s the woman who is the “safe heaven”, it is the woman
who triggers the change in a male character prompting him to be more
considerate and overall – a good person. Here the situation was turned. Nokdu
did not change profoundly during the course of his adventure, but it was him
who changed everyone around – especially Dongju. Him and the steadiness of his feelings
were her haven. It took her a while to get there but in this slow and
excruciating process, during which she pushed Nokdu away few times, she came to
see and understand her feelings rationally, no matter how absurd that may seem.
When, after that final bloody confrontation, wounded Nokdu was slipping through
her fingers, she admitted since when she started to have feelings for him, and
she regretted she kept herself from fully embracing those feelings. Her need to
avenge her family nearly destroyed her. She realized that during this talk with
Gwanghaegun on the cliff – that he was not worth it, and she pushed Nokdu away
for nothing. She realized that the best revenge on those who wish you harm – is
to be happy. Simple, but it took her years to understand that.
She was a shell, an empty amphora once filled with
anger and need for revenge that thickly coated her inner walls. She lived but
wasn’t entirely alive, she was in some kind of a stupor, a state I sometimes
refer to as a “glass cage” – she could see and hear everything but did not feel
anything. And Nokdu, as fearless as he was, broke it. Dongju got hurt in the
process, true, but it was the first time she felt anything – it was that moment
she broke down in tears apologizing to her Mother’s memory that she did not
want to leave him and that egoistical need was what changed her. For the first
time she wanted to live – something that also appeared in Nokdu’s declaration
that he had no intention of dying and wanted to live. This is yet another
reversal of the trope, seen in a historical fiction – of a noble sacrifice for
a greater cause or for another person. That does not mean they did not take a risk
for each other – ever since Dongju discovered that Nokdu is not necessary of
the same gender as her (quite a painful discovery for him) she covered it up
and protected his disguise even though that could mean she’d be expelled from the
Village. And Nokdu rescued her from harm few times but he never crossed the
line between bravery and bravado, and with his risk assessment always done, he
never put himself in a mortal danger while doing so. Even with the frantic
search for her and the rescue when the Village was massacred – he never took
the unnecessary risk. Also, that scene proved something that was mentioned few
times throughout the series – that Nokdu was a good swordsman, something he
even bragged about but, honestly, he had the reason to. Even that
swoon-inducing fan dance lesson was actually a proof of how dangerous Nokdu could
be[5] –
because he learned quickly and could copy movements he saw only once. There was
also one moment quite chilling during that bloodbath scene when Nokdu threw the
axe. He did it in such a way as if he was throwing an apple and the
axe got buried in the man’s chest. It looked like he barely registered what he
had done not even giving it one look back. It was just like brushing aside any
speck of dirt that landed on your shoulder. This whole ax scene was quite terrifying, to be honest. My first thought went to berserkers
because his behavior in that precise moment was barely human. Even his scowl
was nearly animalistic. Plus, he cut off the arm choking Dongju and to cut
through flesh and bone one needs to have speed, skill and a nice blade[6].
Dongju confronted her own trauma first at the swing
and later, when she was about to shoot Gwanghaegun – and vanquished it. She
came to the realization she wasted all of her years and she was about to ruin
the future not only hers, but someone else’s as well and in that profound
moment of a sudden epiphany – she was healed. The moment she let go of her
hatred and her self-destructive ride to the revenge, was probably one of the
most pivotal moments of the story. That self-realization she had when she saw that
Gwanghaegun is not worth all of her effort, was – for me – a chilling
experience. I realized this is what is keeping me myself in a glass cage as
well because I am so fixated on things I can’t let go and it’s not healthy. I know
it’s bad, but suddenly seeing a girl lifting up all of her trauma and all of
her suffering – and then letting it fall down the cliff to crash into the waves
– spoke volumes to me. For Dongju, meeting Nokdu was something that saved her
life and made her whole – she started to feel, to care, to forgive and let go. Not
executing the revenge proved how incredibly strong she was. She didn’t let her
anger consume her and turn her into a charred, cracked vase. And after such a
powerful moment of a katharsis, she could see the world as it was, for the
first time, not blinded by her need for revenge. She could finally start
fulfilling her Mother’s wish so that she could live, and she welcomed that
sunshine of a feeling that thawed her inner walls. And it was high time because
soon the world around her would be crumbling following that one lie the Queen
had to say to save her son.
The parallels.
Creating parallel scenes was something that quickly
became a trademark of the narrative here. They were twofold – either a scene
was repeated but in different circumstances or an action of one person was
mirrored by another. And one scene that I can’t exactly classify as the
parallel appeared – twice Nokdu was positioned higher than Gwanghaegun. The
reason why I can’t do that is simple – while it works wonderfully from the
cinematic point of view, I am not convinced if it was deliberately done. And
parallels are always done on purpose.
They start as early as the first episode – some scenes
from it have their image transported to later episodes. Here comes the
visual part of the review. I chose only those I found the most
representative.
The jail vs. the island
 |  |
He cared for a then stranger who was
having a hard time sleeping the same way he cared for Dongju later.
The cliff
 |  |
Two
very important moments. First, it was when Nokdu’s life was spared and a decision
was made that ended in blood and death. The other – katharsis for Dongju and
her life-long quest to kill the King. What saved the baby in the first scene was his cry. Who knows, maybe if Heo Yun didn't hear him, he would have slain both of them, and the voice suddenly made him realized that inside the bundle there is a tiny human. In the second scene Dongju was saved in two ways - she saved herself, her conscience and her soul when she realized how pointless her quest to kill a worthless man was, and she was literally saved by Nokdu when she slipped after a futile attempt to help Ghwanghaegun from falling. I think this is why I am so fond of this scene.
Widow Kim fight vs. Nokdu fight
 |  |
A seemingly effortless fight, and there was
one fun scene when he “accidentally” parried that hit from behind, yes, yes,
just a pure luck for a clumsy lil’ Widow Kim… The other one - I find it very fitting that it was Ssuk who dealt a fatal blow to Danho.
The care
 |  |
 |  |
Both
scenes below took place after Dongju was in danger, with clear difference in executing the care – emotional
Nokdu and composed, self-restrained Dongju.
The comforting
 |  |
Dongju,
as rational and distant as she sometimes was, could offer some comfort even
though she knew by then who he really was.
The light
 |  |
Given the taboo regarding having a
light when the shaman procession was going through the village, Nokdu did not disregard
it as some kind of a silly superstition but dealt with it in a slightly
subversive way and let the light be still on. Because he knew Dongju was afraid
of the dark.
The hand kiss
 |  |
One of the most potent and beautiful
scenes, as for me. The respect, care and love all in one small gesture.
The night
The night
 |  |
The night in jail also qualifies, but I chose this.
The throne
The throne
 |  |
At the first glance these two scenes look nothing alike. But they are both rulers. Yulmu achieved what he always wanted – a royal seat made of gold
from which he would rule all over the land. Nokdu has his tiny kingdom surrounded
by the sea. Yet, only one of them is truly happy.
The water.
The water, and especially rain, came here in pivotal
moments. When Dongju thought Nokdu was drowning and she jumped into the river
to save him just to be presented with a fresh dinner[7].
Which can be juxtaposed to him jumping into that swelling well to save her. It’s
both the parallel and the water motif. The water appears at the very beginning
– sea surrounding an island, serving as the border between two worlds that
would soon collide.
At first, we had a rainy night when Jeong Yunjeo was
supposed to kill and bury the King’s newborn son and Heo Yun decided to let
them go and let the boy live – and a decision of these two men changed their
lives forever, straining their relationship until it finally broke. The act of
kindness shown by Heo Yun led him to under the Gwanghaegun’s sword twenty years
later.
Then we had mountain pools and Dano festival[8],
during which women washed their hair to gain beauty (originally in the water
boiled with changpo, Acorus calamus). The pools were the place where the
friendship between Widow Kim and Three Musketeer Widows was cemented (because
nothing bonds womenfolk as strongly as the deficit in boobies department[9]), and
where Dongju saved Nokdu from being discovered later.
We had the rain after Dongju rode a swing. It was the
first moment when she decided to confront her trauma (after a light, and literal,
push from ever active Nokdu on Duracell batteries). For her a swing was one of
the last happy memories she had of her whole family, so obviously she did not
dare using it. I found the whole wordless scene beautifully made – a smooth
transition from her family gathered around the swing and their disappearance to
only one person remaining and being happy with her happiness. It was a simple bridge
between the past and the present. The wind Dongju felt on her face, was
something that dispersed the thick boggy fog she has been slogging through for past
few years.
A rainy night was when Gwanghaegun visited the Queen and tried to mend their relationship so thwarted after he ordered to kill their newborn son.
A rainy night was when Gwanghaegun visited the Queen and tried to mend their relationship so thwarted after he ordered to kill their newborn son.
And we had that kiss in the rain that could put to
shame some modern couples. A kiss especially important because Dongju stopped
being the recipient of Nokdu’s affection and actually she herself went for what
she wanted and actively took it.
And after that, we had the cliffs from which
Gwanghaegun fell, but sadly not to his cold, watery grave. However, the water
enclosing him might feel like a harbinger of things to come. The water,
especially the running water, purifies but also serves as a both physical and
spiritual barrier, an obstacle. It keeps ghosts from emerging, trapping them
inside forever[10]
– just like the next historians did with Gwanghaegun; after all his royal name
was scrapped from history and we know him only under his prince name. They
trapped him in his own rule, never allowing him to be seen outside. It’s as if
it wasn’t him who fell into Lethe, but the whole world drowned in it. He did
not emerge purified. Au contraire – he came back hell bent on pulverizing
his own son. The brush with his own mortality changed him but for worse. Maybe
at that moment when he submerged, he died, at least the tiny part of his soul that
sparkled with humanity inside that encroaching, turbulent darkness of his own
insanity.
And lastly, we had a very serene scene at the end of
the last episode (no, not the wedding, that was a hilarious disaster) when nine
years passed, with Nokdu and Dongju walking on the beach to the shore to greet
the exiled Queen. The series started with these shores and sea – and it ended
right there as well.
There is also very distinct way of how Nokdu treated
Dongju when he was a) pretending to be Widow Kim and b) out of his womanly
disguise. There was a sense of close, if somewhat rough, friendship mixed with
attention when he was Widow Kim, which completely disappeared when the chima
and jeogori disappeared also. Then we had the attentive tenderness,
respect and care, mixed with relaxed bickering. He was also incredibly patient,
because Dongju was not gentle at all with the way she handled him. Part of his
gentleness became hers, I guess. I also pointed out how in many circumstances
both of them were not very shy of physical contact – Nokdu was always seeking
Dongju’s hand, as a means of comfort and reassurance. They slept cuddled
together with Dongju not throwing a fit about any improper behavior, but just
allowing it. I mentioned earlier she was emotionally disconnected, and it took
her a long way to fully embrace all of the feelings she was receiving, so for
her there was nothing wrong with sharing the same space. This also comforted
her, and she needed it. This level of simple and effortless intimacy is also
one of the things that make the series (and a sageuk to that) so special.
He has found oceans of empathy inside him and was
reaching to it freely. He even tried to make up excuses for Gwanghaegun – right
up until he heard about how the King hated, feared and wanted to kill him. Then
something broke. Here the emotionally wounded boy made a mistake – he went for
the violence as the healing method. He wanted to kill the King. And during that
marvelous archery scene he was the closest to give in to temptation – a pivotal
moment for him to test his mettle. He refrained and instead joined hands with
Yulmu, not fully realizing what kind of weathered politician and ruthless man
he actually was. He played him, that’s a fact conspiring with the remaining
Muwoldan ladies and some officers, but Yulmu managed to shift the blame for the
coup onto him. And Nokdu did not explain himself. Because nothing he could say
would change the outcome. Gwanghaegun was blinded by hatred, by the fear of
losing his throne, and the treason he did not expect from a person he so
favored. Oh, in nine years he would understand who the real mastermind behind
the coup was.
Another important point needs to be discussed – Nokdu
pretending to be Widow Kim. He was a resourceful young man so what a
resourceful young man does when he’s faced with NO MAN ALLOWED sign at the verdant
entrance to the Widow’s Village? That’s right, he uses the clothes of a woman
he just rescued from pursuit and disguises himself as a woman to enter and find
the answers he came for. Little our island boy knew that behind every answer is
another question and behind an answer to that lies another one and so on and so
on. And he went deeper and deeper right up to the question he didn’t know he
had – about his own origin. Then the behavior of the dying woman he always
though as his mother became obvious – she blamed him for everything that went
wrong with her life, the fact they had to leave the capital and live on a tiny
island, which also propelled the anger of his brother, who in turn sided with
Yulmu, oblivious to the fact he was just a loose end to him. And yet nothing
could dim his optimism and gentleness. I joked once about Nokdu being the world’s
first anthropologist because his life as Widow Kim and among other women in the
Village has reminded me of the approach widely accepted while collecting the
fieldwork material – of the participant observation. Nokdu fulfilled all of
Boas’[11]
commandments to the letter – he never judged, he was using the language of the
group he was inside of, he observed and tried to understand without any
interference, he didn’t compare to preexisting bias, and wasn’t prejudiced. He
didn’t feel any uneasy guilt towards himself, he didn’t feel that pretending to
be a woman was denigrating to him. The scene in the last episode proves that
after a while, he realized that Widow Kim would always be a part of him, and he
could apply the disguise to do what he did best – to catch the predatory men.
And thankfully, all that was played with just the right amount of charm and fun
so that it never went into over the top or slapstick territory. He learned
about the lives of the women who lived in the Village, about their memories of
war, about their fears and hopes. He didn’t have to be all cheerful and gossip-ready,
he could be playing a brooding widow for all we know. Instead he mingled with
the ladies, not only to gather the information he needed to pursue the
assassins, but also because he simply liked it. Because he wanted the company
of other people after spending 20 years on a godforsaken island. And he became
the company other people sought after as well – Yeon Geun, after overcoming the
initial shock that the woman of his dreams is not, in fact, a woman, did
everything he could for Nokdu and followed him to the island at the end. We
should all be in a bit like him, I think.
Like a Cosmic Dancer he danced swiftly and gracefully
between extremities, between destruction and creation, life and death, male and
female, love and hate, past and future. It’s tempting to classify him as the
liminal person[12],
embracing both sides but belonging to someplace in the middle, but after a moment
of examination it was obvious it’s not the case here. He moves between those
but is not them. Instead, he rather could be classified as the traversing
person (from trānsversere[13]) – a traversing person who moves freely
between the worlds. In a traditional sense of this word a shaman is such a
person, or a hierophant leading from one reality to another. And in a literal
sense, Nokdu has led people from one world to another: Dongju – from an ashen
and emotionally barren world to a sunshine-drowned one full of emotions,
Muwoldan ladies from the world of blood and political servitude to the world of
freedom and simplicity, Widows – from the world of fear and stigma to the world
of acceptance, Yeon Geun – from philandering man to a hero, his brother – from
the world of resentment and treason to peace of mind. With this it becomes
easier to see that he could be in such worlds but could move between them
freely. Which, upon further consideration can be seen as frightening. Because
one question remains – which person is true: the one that behaves naturally in
the middle of a bloody mayhem throwing axes, or the one making a flower ring
for a girl? Thing is, with traversing character, the answer to both is the same
– such a person is true in every such situation.
From a tempestuous beginning of his life to the clear
skies and peaceful waves. From a trauma that nearly robbed her of her life to a
flowery crown. That’s how all tales should end. But we know they don’t.
There were things I could, and I did at the very
beginning, nitpick on so much (like Hwaseong Fortress or damn mirrors, but
that’s the sin of nearly every historical, not only Korean ones) but I will not
because in overall it was a well crafted story with little left that felt out
of place. If I wanted to start that now, I would have to go back to my Queen
Seondeok review and be meowling about the historical inaccuracies, like
that of the real Bidam’s coup. He was, after all, a 60+ old geezer dissatisfied
with a woman ruler, and not 28-yo gorgeous man with the face of Kim Namgil. I
would like to know what happened to the gisaeng ladies taken from the gibang
after the massacre but knowing what I know about how courtesans were treated
and their social status, I can probably guess. This is why, even though I could
enumerate things that I wish were done differently or more in depth, I will
not. Because I enjoyed it enough to disregard them.
And because I apparently cannot stop talking about Nokdu
as the character – more in Part 2.
[1] Sometimes it’s called, at least in
my country’s literature studies – a buckle construction of the narrative.
[2] Lord Acton (John Emerich Edward
Dalberg-Acton), Letter to Bishop Mandell Creighton, April 5, 1887. Transcript
of, published in Historical essays and Studies, edited by J. N. Giggis
and R.V. Laurence (London: Macmillan, 1907).
[3] Who, in all honestly, could
probably never cause any trouble, because King Seonjo had the document written
stating that his heir is in fact Gwanghaegun (who was born from a concubine, not
a wife, hence all the problems). The document was hidden. But in times such as
these, any pretender to the throne, no matter how absurd, has to be eliminated.
[4] Weber M., From Max Weber:
Essays in Sociology, tr. and ed. by Gerth H. H., and Wright Mills C.,
Psychology Press, 1991, p. 126.
[5] And I don’t mean to viewers’
hearts.
[6] I did a little research about this
after that scene aired. Turns out, if the edge alignment is perfect, the cut
will have barely any friction, provided of course it’s adequately sharp and not
too bulky (ideally between 1.3 kg [2.85 pound] and 1.8 kg [4 pounds], and
around 0.9 meter [3 foot] long). Also, one should not swing a sword like a
baseball bat.
[7]
I also had a different thought at that scene. While fish can represent
many things, it is also an indication of someone cold, without passion. Well,
there is an argument to be made that Dongju wasn’t the most passionate person
here, so Nokdu catching that fish can be interpreted as him catching a well… a
slightly less emotional woman. However, if we want to apply here a more serious
symbolism, it is worth mentioning that in ancient Syrian culture a fish was the
symbol of life and happiness (yey, Nokdu has caught it), a symbol of the
goddess Atargatis (source: Atargatis: http://www.matrifocus.com/BEL09/spotlight.htm, also Hooke S.H. Fish Symbolism,
Folklore Vol. 72, No. 3 (Sep., 1961), pp. 535-538; Lambert W.G. Trees,
Snakes and Gods in Ancient Syria and Anatolia, Bulletin of the School of
Oriental and African Studies, University of London Vol. 48, No. 3 (1985), pp.
435-451) but also it was a very physical offering in the cult of the dead,
similar to what was also in Rome in the cult of Dea Tacita. (source: Dumézil,
G. Archaic Roman Religion. Vol 1. Chicago and London: The University of
Chicago Press, 1966 also in Ovid’s Fasti).
[8] Also known as Surit-nal
[9] Source: Author’s own fieldwork
notes, unpublished. Sample group: 9 people. Needs further research. And some
grant money for that. Social relaxants imbibed at social gathering places are
not cheap.
[10] That’s why, they say, Manjeok in
12th century was eventually drowned – so that even his spirit would
be punished (Manjeok Rebellion in 1198).
[11] Franz Boas – one of the first
anthropologists who went out to the world (contrary to all those predecessor
“armchair anthropologists” who studied other cultures from the back of their
offices). Read his credo of an anthropologist: https://web.archive.org/web/20140727115359/http://groups.chass.utoronto.ca/kalmar/426/boas%20nation%20credo.pdf
[12] In the sense that Turner proposed.
Cf.: Turner V.W. The Ritual Process: Structure and Anti-Structure,
Aldine Transaction 1995 (1969).
[13] French dictionary gives the
translation as “passer d'un côté à l'autre” which exactly means what was
happening to and through Nokdu (source: http://www.dicolatin.com/XY/LAK/0/TRANSVERSERE/index.htm)
