"Oldboy": violence, revenge and unbearable truths at Film Group

Our Film Group met recently to discuss Vago's choice, Oldboy (2003), the second foreign-language film we have watched in succession. It has been interesting to spend time with two films that sit outside the familiar Hollywood mould, bringing different storytelling traditions, tones and expectations. In the case of Oldboy, that meant something darker, stranger and, like A Separation, far less interested in neat moral resolutions.

Released in 2003 and winner of the Cannes Grand Prix that year, Oldboy is part of Park Chan-wook’s so-called “Vengeance Trilogy”, though the films are linked by theme rather than story. It blends emotional storytelling with shocking violence, dark humour and striking visual style.

The plot begins with an ordinary man, Oh Dae-su (who says his name means "getting through one day at a time"), mysteriously imprisoned for fifteen years without explanation. During his confinement he learns through television that his wife has been murdered and that he has become the prime suspect. He also learns martial arts. Suddenly released, he sets out to discover who imprisoned him and why, seeking revenge while uncovering a truth far more disturbing than he imagined. 

Ultimately, we learn that Oh Dae-su was being punished for starting a rumour after seeing a school/college friend (hence the film's title) making out with his sister, which leads to the sister's suicide. The elaborate revenge involves not only incarcerating Oh Dae-su for 15 years but also engineering through hypnotism that, on his release, he meets and starts a sexual relationship with a young woman who turns out to be his own daughter. The film’s debt to Oedipus is obvious: forbidden knowledge, unbearable truths and punishment linked to speech and guilt.

Much of our discussion centred on revenge and whether the film argues against it. One recurring view was that revenge solves nothing; instead, it spreads suffering. Both principal characters - Oh Dae-su and the man inflicting his 'punishment' - become consumed by grievance, unable to escape the damage they create. By the end, no one emerges intact. As one member observed, both revenges in the story feel disproportionate and ultimately unsuccessful.

Guilt and consequences are a central theme — how small acts, careless words and fleeting moments can alter lives irrevocably. A casual observation spoken years earlier becomes catastrophic. The film suggests that even unintended actions can have devastating consequences.

Several symbols stood out to the group. The protagonist’s release is described as entering “a bigger prison”: although physically free, he remains psychologically trapped. The film repeatedly suggests that our deepest prisons are mental and emotional.

One notorious scene — in which the protagonist eats a live octopus (it's even more distasteful when you realise that the actor, a vegetarian Buddhist, was required to eat live octopi over four takes) — prompted strong reactions. It was intended to represent a desperate reconnection with life after years of isolation, a raw, almost animalistic expression of survival, but the shock value overtakes that sentiment.

The repeated phrase, “Laugh and the world laughs with you; weep and you weep alone”, also drew attention. It reinforces the film’s emotional loneliness: suffering becomes isolating, private and difficult to share.

The visual style is worth discussing. Park uses tight framing and claustrophobic compositions to trap viewers alongside the protagonist. Colour plays a role too: reds often signal violence or emotional intensity, while green casts an unsettling atmosphere over many scenes.

The famous corridor fight sequence became another talking point. Filmed in a long, sideways scrolling shot, it is impressive in its choreography and relentlessness. While some found it unrealistic, others argued that compared with highly stylised action films, it feels grounded: exhausting, defensive and painfully physical rather than heroic.

Humour unexpectedly surfaces throughout the film, often in strange or absurd ways. We laughed at details such as the image of a man eating dinner with a single chopstick, or the protagonist’s awkward, chaotic and drunken behaviour before his imprisonment. These moments provide contrast to the darkness and remind us of the ordinary man who existed before trauma transformed him.

Not everyone reacted to the violence in the same way. Mark initially found it gratuitous, but also reflected on violence in Shakespeare. Is the moment when the protagonist cuts out his own tongue any worse than the removal of Gloucester's eyes in King Lear or the murder of Mcaduff's babes in Macbeth? David argued that Oldboy’s violence feels purposeful rather than empty spectacle, unpleasant but connected to the story’s themes.

The ending deliberately refuses Hollywood certainty, leaving viewers suspended between knowledge, denial and survival.

Oh Dae-su undergoes hypnotism to forget that his daughter is his daughter such that he can live with their relationship. Is the hypnotism successful? Does the protagonist forget the terrible truth, or merely choose to live with it? One interpretation suggested that the “monster” he has become remains present, symbolically walking alongside him.

It is equally unclear why the sister killed herself: was she pregnant, did she imagine a pregnancy, why does she feel the need to die to save her brother - and why does she smile as she falls to her death?

A final question lingered: why does Oldboy endure? Perhaps because it refuses easy comfort. It is violent, unsettling and shocking, but it asks difficult moral questions about guilt, suffering, memory and revenge. For viewers willing to embrace ambiguity and emotional discomfort, Oldboy remains unforgettable.

Next meeting: Wednesday, 3rd June to discuss The Sixth Sense