Express News Service
After touching upon the idea of adopted families in his widely impactful, critically acclaimed Japanese film Shoplifters, Hirokazu Kore-eda once again ventures into a similar territory individuals from different mothers maintaining the pretence of a family this time in Korean.
“Don’t have a baby if you’re going to abandon it.” is the first line uttered in his latest film Broker, after one woman observes, from afar, another leaving her baby in front of a church’s ‘baby box’. Kore-eda gives us some time to put the pieces together before revealing why this woman is following the other and, later, why this baby is now in the hands of two men (Song Kang-ho and Gang Dong-won) who are tending to it with great care.
There is a whiff of something illegal happening, but these are, we soon learn, men with a conscience. The former is in debt; the other is an orphan himself. Besides, there is loads of money to be made from selling babies to the right people childless couples equipped to look after a stranger’s baby as their own. There is an attempt to reach a mutual agreement while riding the wave of internal conflicts. The two men are a unit, testing their homegrown techniques to weed out fake buyers. One such deal goes kaput when the ‘husband’ answers something meant for his ‘wife’. It’s a comical situation one of few subdued instances of humour in Broker.
The discussions initiated by the film are right up my alley. When one character ponders the irresponsibility of some parents causing misery to children who didn’t ask to be born into a miserable world, I nodded in agreement. It’s a thought brought up by a female cop (Bae Doona). Now, this is one of the impressive qualities of Broker: the investigators exhibit human frailties, like all of us.
There is a tender side to this law woman. Kore-eda drops hints about her not having a child. Again, he takes time to let us know her background. Another cop, a male, has an aversion to blood and braces himself before surveying a crime scene. These are people who might get turned off by a show like CSI. By making these characters behave like they are one of us, Kore-eda shortens the distance between them and us. Yes, these are integral players, but they are not the prime focus of the Broker. They are merely the facilitators and catalysts. In other words, “brokers.”
And just like any of the Japanese masters that Kore-eda gets often compared to Yasujiro Ozu or Mikio Naruse, two filmmakers whose work I occasionally turn to when I need some comfort or answers pertaining to familial relationships he infuses, as always, his work with enough details to make the whole thing feel alive.
We get characters reflecting on life and their parental instincts trying to make sense of their choices and of others, the nature and ethics of adoption, how some people see it as “protection” and not “abandonment”… The concept of the ‘baby box’ itself becomes a topic of thought-provoking debate: Does it have a corrupting influence on mothers? Or does it save lives?
And this reflective quality is also achieved by enveloping us in the ambient sounds or visuals a tree swaying in the breeze, or clothes hung up to dry outside a laundromat or underscoring some of these solemn moments with slow guitar or piano notes. There are also conversations over food, a characteristic quality of many Asian films, Korean films especially. Isn’t it why we watch the work of these immensely perceptive foreign filmmakers? To feel alive and to study various lifestyles? We rarely find this level of detailing in Indian films today.
Kore-eda keeps the proceedings interesting by weaving multiple threads, which include a murder investigation running in parallel and a few gangsters, bringing up the possibility of their links with one or more principal characters. Challenging choices are to be made, both by men and women.
In a much later scene, we see a strange alchemy forming between two people who, a while ago, seemed far apart owing to disagreements in principles. One of the film’s most delicate moments happens inside a Ferris wheel pod, recalling a relatively more heartwarming and sweeter moment inside a similar spot in Richard Linklater’s Before Sunrise. The circumstances differ in both cases, though.
Through Broker, Kore-eda asks us to hold our judgements until we get to know these characters more and, hopefully, get a better sense of why some people do certain things, even when all our questions don’t find their answers.
After touching upon the idea of adopted families in his widely impactful, critically acclaimed Japanese film Shoplifters, Hirokazu Kore-eda once again ventures into a similar territory individuals from different mothers maintaining the pretence of a family this time in Korean.
“Don’t have a baby if you’re going to abandon it.” is the first line uttered in his latest film Broker, after one woman observes, from afar, another leaving her baby in front of a church’s ‘baby box’. Kore-eda gives us some time to put the pieces together before revealing why this woman is following the other and, later, why this baby is now in the hands of two men (Song Kang-ho and Gang Dong-won) who are tending to it with great care.
There is a whiff of something illegal happening, but these are, we soon learn, men with a conscience. The former is in debt; the other is an orphan himself. Besides, there is loads of money to be made from selling babies to the right people childless couples equipped to look after a stranger’s baby as their own. There is an attempt to reach a mutual agreement while riding the wave of internal conflicts. The two men are a unit, testing their homegrown techniques to weed out fake buyers. One such deal goes kaput when the ‘husband’ answers something meant for his ‘wife’. It’s a comical situation one of few subdued instances of humour in Broker.
The discussions initiated by the film are right up my alley. When one character ponders the irresponsibility of some parents causing misery to children who didn’t ask to be born into a miserable world, I nodded in agreement. It’s a thought brought up by a female cop (Bae Doona). Now, this is one of the impressive qualities of Broker: the investigators exhibit human frailties, like all of us.
There is a tender side to this law woman. Kore-eda drops hints about her not having a child. Again, he takes time to let us know her background. Another cop, a male, has an aversion to blood and braces himself before surveying a crime scene. These are people who might get turned off by a show like CSI. By making these characters behave like they are one of us, Kore-eda shortens the distance between them and us. Yes, these are integral players, but they are not the prime focus of the Broker. They are merely the facilitators and catalysts. In other words, “brokers.”
And just like any of the Japanese masters that Kore-eda gets often compared to Yasujiro Ozu or Mikio Naruse, two filmmakers whose work I occasionally turn to when I need some comfort or answers pertaining to familial relationships he infuses, as always, his work with enough details to make the whole thing feel alive.
We get characters reflecting on life and their parental instincts trying to make sense of their choices and of others, the nature and ethics of adoption, how some people see it as “protection” and not “abandonment”… The concept of the ‘baby box’ itself becomes a topic of thought-provoking debate: Does it have a corrupting influence on mothers? Or does it save lives?
And this reflective quality is also achieved by enveloping us in the ambient sounds or visuals a tree swaying in the breeze, or clothes hung up to dry outside a laundromat or underscoring some of these solemn moments with slow guitar or piano notes. There are also conversations over food, a characteristic quality of many Asian films, Korean films especially. Isn’t it why we watch the work of these immensely perceptive foreign filmmakers? To feel alive and to study various lifestyles? We rarely find this level of detailing in Indian films today.
Kore-eda keeps the proceedings interesting by weaving multiple threads, which include a murder investigation running in parallel and a few gangsters, bringing up the possibility of their links with one or more principal characters. Challenging choices are to be made, both by men and women.
In a much later scene, we see a strange alchemy forming between two people who, a while ago, seemed far apart owing to disagreements in principles. One of the film’s most delicate moments happens inside a Ferris wheel pod, recalling a relatively more heartwarming and sweeter moment inside a similar spot in Richard Linklater’s Before Sunrise. The circumstances differ in both cases, though.
Through Broker, Kore-eda asks us to hold our judgements until we get to know these characters more and, hopefully, get a better sense of why some people do certain things, even when all our questions don’t find their answers.