Illang: The Wolf Brigade - Tragic, Hero
Thoughts On: Illang: The Wolf Brigade (인랑, 2018)
An anti-terrorist specials ops officer is caught in a political maelstrom with a possibly innocent enemy of the state by his side.
Illang: The Wolf Brigade is a sci-fi film with some potential - potential that is never capitalised on. Set in a somewhat steampunk, somewhat cyberpunk 2029, this follows a super soldier of sorts along a lengthy and meandering plot that very much so seems to have a mind of its own, a plot I certainly didn't follow very well and didn't feel the writer had much control of. Torn between expected themes - politics, romance, ethics - this is derivative of the likes of Terminator 2 and Ghost In The Shell, yet fails as both a character study and a conscious exploration of the humanity of law enforcement. Its central trichotomy is then predictable; a young elite-force officer is tortured by an accidental massacre of innocent girls his team committed, he falls in love, but with an enemy of the corrupt political system he serves. Dissonance is the key motif in this narrative. What is our main character fighting for and who is he fighting with if his team could make such an egregious mistake? How can he fall in love with a terrorist; how can she be innocent; how can she be to blame? How is he to navigate a corrupt, dehumanising system he is loyal to, is he to retain his humanity in doing so?
This, you may imagine, is a key source of melodrama. It is surmised, not necessarily explored, across the narrative, however. We are then fed an allegory; a tragic telling of Little Red Riding Hood. Little Red Riding Hood arrives at her grandmother's, who has already been eaten by the wolf. Upon seeing the figure in her grandmother's bed, she notices how big its hands are - "All the better to grab your hand with" - what big teeth it has, etc. The tragedy lies in the fact that there is no woodsman to save Red Riding Hood once she is eaten. And such, we are told, begs the question: Who is to blame? The mother for sending Red Riding Hood to her grandmother? The grandmother for letting the wolf in? The wolf for being hungry?
The commentary here is rather clear. Red Riding Hood is innocence injected into a chaotic system. This system is composed of a foolish mistake - letting a wolf in to one's home - a naive gesture - a mother sending a daughter to her seemingly foolhardy grandmother - and a natural evil and corruption - the wolf itself. Who can we attribute the chaos to? The wolf is just a wolf, should we not know to keep them at bay? The grandmother is foolish enough to make such a mistake, should a mother send a daughter to her aid?
These questions construct a tragedy for they can only be confronted with addition: hope: a manifestation of the system that is not corrupt. This is what the woodsman represents in the classical fairy tale; a yang to wash over an all-consuming yin whose internal light cannot flourish. The basic premise in Illang is predicated on a question of the rise of yang, of hope, new light, the woodsman - thus this allegory unambiguously parallels the political fray in the background of the narrative. In essence, however, this is the essential function of all hero narratives. The hero is the light that pierces darkness; a town may be in danger, the community may be devolving as a result of this; alone, they cannot change; a hero emerges and not only brings light, but cultivates it, rousing the people and bringing out the hero in all. Seven Samurai is a great example of a film that perfectly encapsulates this. The inverse of the classical hero narrative, however, would be a tragedy. All is well, but into a system comes darkness; this debilitates all light until all within the system are enslaved and consumed. In Requiem For A Dream, a great exemplar of a tragedy of this sort, this darkness is drugs.
Illang essentially aspires to move between the tragedy and the hero narrative. As occurs in many sci-fi films with struggling heroes or anti-heroes - a good example here would be the Universal Soldier series - the central character can either be darkness or light; the system they are injected into is so intense, however, that the transformation toward the ideal is near-impossible. One of the best encapsulations of a character torn between a hero and a villain is Gollum from The Lord of the Rings. He lives in the system of 'the precious' and is torn between being Smeagol, the hero, he who helps Frodo destroy the ring, or Gollum, the villain, he who reclaims the ring. A tremendous example of a character struggling to define himself as either a hero or villain can also be found in Takashi Miike's Ichi The Killer, but it is a bit too complex to go into briefly.
The main character of Illang is referred to as a wolf; illang meaning werewolf. He is then both symbolically human and animal. Ideally, he would be a master of both moral judgement (humanity) and a dreaded hunter. This would signify a hero self with an integrated shadow. At worst, however, the human-animal dichotomy could be reduced to corrupt intelligence of a human character and uncontrollable violence of an animalistic character. The potential for either dichotomy reside within our main character - at least to some degree. It is the failure to represent and conflict these two sides of his being (animal and human) in a complex manner that reduces him to an unsatisfactory archetype. And without an archetypal presence, our main character suffers for he is never treated as an individual; a complex character. Hanging in the balance, he has no personality like a Gollum nor a convoluted yet arresting symbology floating around him like Ichi The Killer's archetypal anti-hero does.
With the character side of this narrative failing, its genre elements also fall apart. There is then no urgency or meaning assigned to action by our character and his conflicts. There is a glimmer of hope during the introduction of romance and a relationship - one of the best-directed sequences in the film. Our hero's anima, his female counter-part, is introduced standing near a selection of mirrors, each of which reflects her slightly differently, clearly projecting a metaphorical split-personality, or a character with many faces. Such, of course, is revealed to be true; is our love interest on our main character's side, is she against him, is she innocent, is she just in a trap herself? This character type approaches the femme fatale. Alas, with romantic overtones, the love interest doesn't necessarily fit the profile of a classical femme fatale - as can be seen in Double Indemnity. More aligned with Ingrid Bergman's Ilsa from Casablanca, our love interest is something of a passive prostitute archetype - which is not to say that she is a sex worker, but is forced into a self-prostituting position by corrupt constructs (men and politics primarily). A classical femme fatale is better described as an active prostitute archetype who chooses to essentially sell her soul for shallow gains. Alas, what emerges from our introduction to this character is about 10 minutes of beautifully subtle cinematic language; dollies in on faces of great expression, subtextually telling us all about control, intrigue and manipulation; perfectly sequenced and paced shot-reverse-shot scenes that eliminate the need for dialogue; and photogenie of a melancholic character. This glimmering showcase of directorial control and prowess subsides, however.
Much of this film is merely competently directed. The action scenes allow the camera work to sometimes shine through the expected spectacle, but the scripting and choreography lets so much down. There is then little subtlety and nuance in the script; it seems that this is forced upon the narrative by the director (as in sequences where we get the Little Red Riding Hood exposition; an animated sequence is injected here). Furthermore, the centralisation of armour and guns in an action sequence is ill-advised. Guns are far too impersonal. The greatest function they serve in an action scene concerns tension - consider only Leone's use of the gun in his stand offs. It is the promise of a quick end with a gun that provides tension to an action scene. In an extended fight sequence, a gun is too powerful--too quick and efficient--to naturally provide drama. Illang clearly recognises this and so attempts to contrive drama in the action sequences with endless bad guys. But, it is wholly unsatisfying and dramatically flat to see 30 villains mowed sequentially down with a huge gatling gun donned by an entirely bullet-proofed and invincible soldier. Great action sequences and films each have some kind of dramatic hinge that is executed perfectly. In Bruce Lee films, drama emerges from form and style; such being executed like no film before its time. In Jackie Chan films drama emerges from the fact that Chan is so very vulnerable and reactive to pain - the drama is sometimes comedic, but it is affecting all the same. In Donnie Yen films the drama is in the technical choreography. I don't know who would go to a Donnie Yen movie in which he only shoots guys. The John Wick films show a precise understanding of just this. They integrate technical, choreographic spectacle into their gun fights, engaging the bodies of combatants in more than a basic gun battle - The Matrix does just this too. Illang lacks all of this in its action sequences: no vulnerability, no style, no physicality, no tension.
In total, it is fair to say that this fails in a rather rudimentary manner in executing what it sets out to do. This is supposed to be a characterological action film with philosophical/ethical overtones and a romantic sense of humanity. The character are flat - to the degree that I felt like this was a sequel, not a stand-alone film - the plot is not worth attention, the action sequences do not deliver and nothing of much substance is said despite some effort. In the end I wouldn't say that this is worth the time. But, have you seen Illang? What are your thoughts?
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An anti-terrorist specials ops officer is caught in a political maelstrom with a possibly innocent enemy of the state by his side.
Illang: The Wolf Brigade is a sci-fi film with some potential - potential that is never capitalised on. Set in a somewhat steampunk, somewhat cyberpunk 2029, this follows a super soldier of sorts along a lengthy and meandering plot that very much so seems to have a mind of its own, a plot I certainly didn't follow very well and didn't feel the writer had much control of. Torn between expected themes - politics, romance, ethics - this is derivative of the likes of Terminator 2 and Ghost In The Shell, yet fails as both a character study and a conscious exploration of the humanity of law enforcement. Its central trichotomy is then predictable; a young elite-force officer is tortured by an accidental massacre of innocent girls his team committed, he falls in love, but with an enemy of the corrupt political system he serves. Dissonance is the key motif in this narrative. What is our main character fighting for and who is he fighting with if his team could make such an egregious mistake? How can he fall in love with a terrorist; how can she be innocent; how can she be to blame? How is he to navigate a corrupt, dehumanising system he is loyal to, is he to retain his humanity in doing so?
This, you may imagine, is a key source of melodrama. It is surmised, not necessarily explored, across the narrative, however. We are then fed an allegory; a tragic telling of Little Red Riding Hood. Little Red Riding Hood arrives at her grandmother's, who has already been eaten by the wolf. Upon seeing the figure in her grandmother's bed, she notices how big its hands are - "All the better to grab your hand with" - what big teeth it has, etc. The tragedy lies in the fact that there is no woodsman to save Red Riding Hood once she is eaten. And such, we are told, begs the question: Who is to blame? The mother for sending Red Riding Hood to her grandmother? The grandmother for letting the wolf in? The wolf for being hungry?
The commentary here is rather clear. Red Riding Hood is innocence injected into a chaotic system. This system is composed of a foolish mistake - letting a wolf in to one's home - a naive gesture - a mother sending a daughter to her seemingly foolhardy grandmother - and a natural evil and corruption - the wolf itself. Who can we attribute the chaos to? The wolf is just a wolf, should we not know to keep them at bay? The grandmother is foolish enough to make such a mistake, should a mother send a daughter to her aid?
These questions construct a tragedy for they can only be confronted with addition: hope: a manifestation of the system that is not corrupt. This is what the woodsman represents in the classical fairy tale; a yang to wash over an all-consuming yin whose internal light cannot flourish. The basic premise in Illang is predicated on a question of the rise of yang, of hope, new light, the woodsman - thus this allegory unambiguously parallels the political fray in the background of the narrative. In essence, however, this is the essential function of all hero narratives. The hero is the light that pierces darkness; a town may be in danger, the community may be devolving as a result of this; alone, they cannot change; a hero emerges and not only brings light, but cultivates it, rousing the people and bringing out the hero in all. Seven Samurai is a great example of a film that perfectly encapsulates this. The inverse of the classical hero narrative, however, would be a tragedy. All is well, but into a system comes darkness; this debilitates all light until all within the system are enslaved and consumed. In Requiem For A Dream, a great exemplar of a tragedy of this sort, this darkness is drugs.
Illang essentially aspires to move between the tragedy and the hero narrative. As occurs in many sci-fi films with struggling heroes or anti-heroes - a good example here would be the Universal Soldier series - the central character can either be darkness or light; the system they are injected into is so intense, however, that the transformation toward the ideal is near-impossible. One of the best encapsulations of a character torn between a hero and a villain is Gollum from The Lord of the Rings. He lives in the system of 'the precious' and is torn between being Smeagol, the hero, he who helps Frodo destroy the ring, or Gollum, the villain, he who reclaims the ring. A tremendous example of a character struggling to define himself as either a hero or villain can also be found in Takashi Miike's Ichi The Killer, but it is a bit too complex to go into briefly.
The main character of Illang is referred to as a wolf; illang meaning werewolf. He is then both symbolically human and animal. Ideally, he would be a master of both moral judgement (humanity) and a dreaded hunter. This would signify a hero self with an integrated shadow. At worst, however, the human-animal dichotomy could be reduced to corrupt intelligence of a human character and uncontrollable violence of an animalistic character. The potential for either dichotomy reside within our main character - at least to some degree. It is the failure to represent and conflict these two sides of his being (animal and human) in a complex manner that reduces him to an unsatisfactory archetype. And without an archetypal presence, our main character suffers for he is never treated as an individual; a complex character. Hanging in the balance, he has no personality like a Gollum nor a convoluted yet arresting symbology floating around him like Ichi The Killer's archetypal anti-hero does.
With the character side of this narrative failing, its genre elements also fall apart. There is then no urgency or meaning assigned to action by our character and his conflicts. There is a glimmer of hope during the introduction of romance and a relationship - one of the best-directed sequences in the film. Our hero's anima, his female counter-part, is introduced standing near a selection of mirrors, each of which reflects her slightly differently, clearly projecting a metaphorical split-personality, or a character with many faces. Such, of course, is revealed to be true; is our love interest on our main character's side, is she against him, is she innocent, is she just in a trap herself? This character type approaches the femme fatale. Alas, with romantic overtones, the love interest doesn't necessarily fit the profile of a classical femme fatale - as can be seen in Double Indemnity. More aligned with Ingrid Bergman's Ilsa from Casablanca, our love interest is something of a passive prostitute archetype - which is not to say that she is a sex worker, but is forced into a self-prostituting position by corrupt constructs (men and politics primarily). A classical femme fatale is better described as an active prostitute archetype who chooses to essentially sell her soul for shallow gains. Alas, what emerges from our introduction to this character is about 10 minutes of beautifully subtle cinematic language; dollies in on faces of great expression, subtextually telling us all about control, intrigue and manipulation; perfectly sequenced and paced shot-reverse-shot scenes that eliminate the need for dialogue; and photogenie of a melancholic character. This glimmering showcase of directorial control and prowess subsides, however.
Much of this film is merely competently directed. The action scenes allow the camera work to sometimes shine through the expected spectacle, but the scripting and choreography lets so much down. There is then little subtlety and nuance in the script; it seems that this is forced upon the narrative by the director (as in sequences where we get the Little Red Riding Hood exposition; an animated sequence is injected here). Furthermore, the centralisation of armour and guns in an action sequence is ill-advised. Guns are far too impersonal. The greatest function they serve in an action scene concerns tension - consider only Leone's use of the gun in his stand offs. It is the promise of a quick end with a gun that provides tension to an action scene. In an extended fight sequence, a gun is too powerful--too quick and efficient--to naturally provide drama. Illang clearly recognises this and so attempts to contrive drama in the action sequences with endless bad guys. But, it is wholly unsatisfying and dramatically flat to see 30 villains mowed sequentially down with a huge gatling gun donned by an entirely bullet-proofed and invincible soldier. Great action sequences and films each have some kind of dramatic hinge that is executed perfectly. In Bruce Lee films, drama emerges from form and style; such being executed like no film before its time. In Jackie Chan films drama emerges from the fact that Chan is so very vulnerable and reactive to pain - the drama is sometimes comedic, but it is affecting all the same. In Donnie Yen films the drama is in the technical choreography. I don't know who would go to a Donnie Yen movie in which he only shoots guys. The John Wick films show a precise understanding of just this. They integrate technical, choreographic spectacle into their gun fights, engaging the bodies of combatants in more than a basic gun battle - The Matrix does just this too. Illang lacks all of this in its action sequences: no vulnerability, no style, no physicality, no tension.
In total, it is fair to say that this fails in a rather rudimentary manner in executing what it sets out to do. This is supposed to be a characterological action film with philosophical/ethical overtones and a romantic sense of humanity. The character are flat - to the degree that I felt like this was a sequel, not a stand-alone film - the plot is not worth attention, the action sequences do not deliver and nothing of much substance is said despite some effort. In the end I wouldn't say that this is worth the time. But, have you seen Illang? What are your thoughts?
Previous post:
Weekend At Mafeteng - Positive
Next post:
She's Gotta Have It - The Failing Of Photogénie
More from me:
amazon.com/author/danielslack
