(Spring 2020)
Directed by Bong Joon-Ho, Parasite was released in 2019 as an international “dark comedy thriller” film. I found myself questioning this labeled genre similar to when Jordan Peele’s 2015 film Get Out was classified as a comedy yet hailed for its critical social commentary through genre-crossing, including science fiction. In fact, one feature that has become pervasive in science fiction films is the presence of the dystopia within the utopia. These futuristic “perfect” societies that contain injustice have been used to analyze structural violence and other social themes. Although not overtly rooted in science fiction, Parasite challenges genre norms by incorporating the traditional science fiction film element of the dystopia within utopia through the depiction of its three living spaces, thus allowing for critical reflection of modern-day classicism and socioeconomic structural violence.
Parasite contains a more subtle representation of dystopia within utopia but nonetheless participates through its portrayal of living spaces. First, the Parks’ utopian house is introduced through Ki-woo; the camera tilts toward the sky as he walks up to reach the two-story house and the green lawn with water sprinklers. The blinding sun backlights the house to create a halo of heavenly perfection while birds chirp sweetly off-camera, contributing to a desirable, spring-like environment. Inside the house, a large, glass case backlit with warm, golden lights displays china plates and wine glasses as if part of a museum exhibition, portraying the house as fragile and exquisite. When the Kim family experiences the house while the Park family goes on a camping trip, a ringing choir with ethereal and high-pitched notes connote a religious, divine tone as the lower class finally basks in the utopia. All these elements contribute to the Park house representing the ideal utopia that the lower class seeks.
However, the architecture of the Park house also allows for surreptitious interaction between the three main families and hints at the inner dystopia breeding. A pitch-black rectangular doorway sits in the center of the glass display, representing an ominous “black box” and hinting at the darker unknown bunker below the marble-floor. Moreover, the open kitchen allows others to stand on the set of black stairs behind the wall and overhear conversation. The shot is extreme-wide and split to show the table illuminated in top-lighting while the “peeping Tom” figure hides in the shadow of the staircase. Whether it is Ki-jung hearing if their scheme is working or Ki-woo walking upstairs while Moon-gwang loiters by the kitchen, a dystopia is implied within the house as the audience considers what is private and who is sneaking off-screen. The pristine image of the utopian house is slowly spoiled with the paranoia of manipulation, unknown activity, and missing perspectives.
The utopia of the Park house is also disrupted through the reveal of the bunker below the basement of the house. The camera view follows behind Chung-sook as she enters and tilts as she descends two sets of stairs, creating a sense of continual descent into the ground. The top lighting of dull emergency lights otherwise shrouded in a cloud of pitch darkness that fills the screen sets a foreboding mood as Chung-sook’s form moves down. The environment feels musty due to the sickly yellow lights and claustrophobic from cluttered objects such as a stack of used soup cans with crinkly pictures taped on and rusted pipes and electric wires on the stone walls. Additionally, there are three buttons that control the “automatic, sensor lights” in the above Park house stairs. The sewer-like living area demonstrates the dystopia present within the utopia of the Park house.
While the bunker is a direct disruption of the Park house, the Kim house, which I will call the “semi-basement,” also represents a deviation from the “home” utopia. Like the bunker, it is cramped with boxes and clothes in every room. However, the walls vary between stone, white tile, and faded blue wallpaper, suggesting the potential to have structure and civilization. Not completely underground, the semi-basement has a few “greater” privileges, such as wi-fi, oven, television, and a view of the street through a small, four-panel window. Despite the access to fresh air and sunlight, the semi-basement also takes the negative impact of outside society, whether insects, fumigation, a man’s urination, or eventually, the flood from the thunderstorm; these foment the dystopia compared to the secure Park house.
The depictions of these utopian and dystopian living situations and how the families interact with them allow audiences to realize the socioeconomic structural violence that is apparent in society. There is a physical parallel of living height with positions of power connected through stairs; the Park house is situated highest with proximity to the heavens, and the exquisite artifacts and structures imply the rich have the power to participate in excess material consumption rather than help the lower class. The underground bunker is closest to hell, three flights of stairs below the Park house ground floor. It was physically a foundation when the Park house was built and represents the oppression of the lower class that takes place for people to reach high power. Moon-gwang explains: “Many rich houses have secret bunkers [to] hide in case… creditors break in,” demonstrating that the rich have the resources to evade measures attempting to maintain equality, and thus perpetuating the idea that the powerful rich can buy their way out of situations. Additionally, Geun-sae pressing the sensor light buttons in the bunker suggest continual “slavery” of the working class just to have society benefit the upper class.
Similarly, the dystopia of the semi-basement compared to the utopic Park house displays the permanent and harmful distinction of socioeconomic classes. During the thunderstorm scenes, Choi Yeon-gyo comments “that rain was such a blessing,” ignorant that other homes had flooded, and families were homeless. When Ki-jung sits on top of the imploding toilet smoking a cigarette with ease, a tone of normalcy is created, implying the poor’s habituation to disaster scenarios. The lower class also becomes cemented in their position through this environment, as Ki-jung notes the odor they exude originates from “not the clothes. It’s the semi-basement smell. We need to leave this home to lose the smell,” linking the semi-basement to their socioeconomic status despite their efforts to change appearance and jobs. In fact, after the Kim family escapes the Park house, the camera follows their path back to the semi-basement using extreme-wide shots of the dark street with rain draining in the same direction they run and deep, long staircases demonstrating a long, arduous path downwards from the utopia to the dystopia. Finally, Ki-woo’s monologue describing his “American-dream” path to work hard, attend university, and earn money to purchase the Park house is suggested to never come to fruition. As the film returns to the semi-basement in the denouement, the camera tilts downwards once again from the now-snowing street at night to Ki-woo, a parallel to how the film began. The full circle return to the dystopia of the semi-basement frames the structural violence of the impossibility for the poor to break out of their current position because of societal factors that will always prevent them from climbing the “social stairs.”
Parasite is labeled a dark comedy and thriller, but I find by also analyzing it through the realistic, futuristic science fiction utopia and dystopia dynamic of the living spaces, it allows for critical reflection of not only existing, global class structural violence, but also how the greater film community presents narratives through genre labels.
Joon-Ho, Bong, director.
Parasite. CJ Entertainment, 2019.
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