3-Iron

If you're planning to see 3-IRON, I'd like you consider doing me a favor: watch it with the sound turned off. I want to know if the movie packs the same wallop with no sound at all.

I think it will. 3-IRON is basically a silent movie, anyway. Its lead characters say less than four lines of dialogue throughout the film, and its director (Kim Ki-Duk, who also wrote it) is confident enough to let our eyes linger on his actors, trusting them to emote (or us to project, perhaps) without the crutch of explanatory dialogue. It's a wise choice. When you have actors who are capable of showing us how they feel, there's no need to have them tell us, as well.

What happens? Jae Hee is a young man with a strange life: he breaks into empty homes, stays the night while the inhabitants are away, then disappears before their return. To pay his freight, he cleans the places up, does minor repair work, and even does the laundry. (How strange it must be to return from a trip and find your house inexplicaby neater, with all your gadgets working!) One gets the sense that these homes need him if they are to become the homes they're meant to be. One day, he enters a home that practically vibrates with need, for it's the home of Lee Seung-yeon. Lee is broken, you see.

As with all serious films, what happens and what it's about aren't exactly the same thing. 3-IRON is a film about the heart, and about need, and about the worlds we create for ourselves. It's beautiful, and heartfelt, and true, and I loved it. Enjoy.