What happens when cinema loses its freedom
North Korean films demand emotions like sacrifice, loyalty, and hostility. (Image: iStock/ CornishPhotography)
Films have a great influence on our lives, whether we realize it or not.
I can show this through my own life. If it weren’t for films, I wouldn’t be in South Korea now, and I wouldn’t be writing this piece.
The world I saw through films told me that life held out so much. There was so much to enjoy, and it was free. Of course, films also gave me a reason to pursue an adventure.
North Korea is a giant prison. Some may deny this, but when escape means being dragged back in, how else can you describe it?
We can’t take a single step beyond the barbed wire that encircles us along the border. That makes us always curious about what lies beyond. But the moment that curiosity is expressed, it becomes a threat. Nothing threatens the regime more than dissatisfaction with life as it is. That’s why the government removes anything, even by force, that might generate instability.
In North Korea, watching a South Korean film can get you seven years in prison. In some circumstances, it can mean the death penalty. This is plainly cruel. It is an egregious violation of basic rights.
But from the regime’s perspective, film is not a simple matter. What starts as mere curiosity soon grows into love for the actors. That’s how personal emotions begin to enter into cinema. Some try to forget the harsh realities of their life by immersing themselves in the dazzling worlds portrayed on screen.
The problem is that as you continue watching, those emotions inevitably evolve into distrust toward the regime. So, in the eyes of the regime, watching foreign films is not just disloyal. It’s betrayal. Maybe not today, but someday it will be.
A friend once told me, “The Soviet Union fell because of Tom and Jerry.” In other words, America couldn’t take down the USSR with all its advanced weapons and technology, but Tom and Jerry did it. It was, of course, a joke, but it revealed something very real. That was, the power of cultural influence.
I still remember my shock when I saw a South Korean film for the first time. There were no grueling work collectives, no weekly struggle sessions, no ideological training like I had to endure every day. There were just handsome men who wanted to fall in love.
So ask yourself this: If I had to choose between a dreary collective routine and an entertaining film, especially one that made me laugh just by looking at a good-looking actor, isn’t my choice obvious?
North Korea is, truly, a boring place. It’s no exaggeration to say that the reason young people become obsessed with dramas is tied to that very boredom.
One story illustrates just how dull North Korean society is. There was an ethnic Korean grandmother who became wealthy after succeeding in business in Japan. She was over 80 years old and longed to return to her hometown. She hoped to spend the rest of her life in North Korea, and the regime had no reason to reject her. After all, she was incredibly rich.
From the regime’s perspective, her return was a historic moment proving the greatness of the “Democratic People’s Republic of Korea.”
But on the third day after her arrival, she visited a local official and made a plea: “Please send me back to Japan. I can’t live here anymore. There’s nothing to enjoy.”
If a woman in her 80s couldn’t stand the boredom, imagine how I felt in my 20s.
I know there are many people around the world who love K-pop. Do you know what I saw written in one of those K-pop videos? It was that South Korea had once exported labor. It exported wigs. It exported coal. Now, it exports culture.
That hit me like a shock. It was an awakening. They – the South Koreans – were now selling the intangible.
Even though I was North Korean, I felt overwhelming pride for South Korea. We had collapsed, but they had risen.
I believe this emotion comes from the fact that we are one people. Hallyu, the Korean Wave, has undeniably caused a deep crack in the minds of North Koreans.
So, at this point, I have to get back to North Korean cinema. If the North’s films were truly good, why would anyone risk their life to watch South Korean ones?
North Korean films are always, inevitably, unnatural. They demand emotions like sacrifice, loyalty, and hostility. If someone betrays the state, even if it’s your own father, you must shoot him. This is actually the theme of the film “Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow.”
North Korean films never explore human emotions in a natural way. The only film that even remotely tries to is “Nation and Destiny.” This movie was produced under the direct guidance of the then-leader Kim Jong-il, the father of the current leader, Kim Jong-un.
It remains popular among North Koreans because, unlike other films, it includes scenes of kissing and love. We seem to have a desire to vicariously experience love. No filmmaker in North Korea had dared include a kiss in a film before. Only our General Kim Jong-il could come up with such a bold idea.
He was truly a master of cinema. His contributions to film were even compiled into “Greatness Education Materials.”
One curious thing about “Nation and Destiny” is that all the kissing happens with foreigners. In North Korean films, anything considered racy is always portrayed through the actions of foreigners.
One filmmaker once believed cinema needed to change. This person once organized a meeting with fellow filmmakers, and the theme of the discussion was, “Why can’t we make films like South Korea does?”
“Why do we watch movies?” he asked, standing in front of the actors. “Isn’t it to see beautiful women? Then why do our films keep casting women in their 50s to play 20-year-olds?”
He was so passionate about film that he spoke a bit too honestly, too true to human instinct. He even brought up the South Korean epic series “Jumong” to illustrate the changes he thought we needed to make.
Shortly after, he was dismissed. Did he really not know why no one dared include a kiss in a film? He had attempted something new in cinema, but he wasn’t Kim Jong-il, so the outcome was inevitable.
In North Korea, film serves only the purpose of propaganda. In socialist societies, there’s a concept called “human reformation.” That is, an ideal human form is predefined, and people are shaped to match it.
This concept highlights the core problem with North Korea’s arts sector. It ignores human instinct, and even tries to change it. That’s why the appeal of cinema keeps dwindling, while the popularity of foreign films keeps rising.
Can the state really block this wave with harsh punishment alone? In a place as dark and sealed-off as North Korea, how warm and beautiful must that sliver of sunlight feel when it slips in through a crack?
And this thought leads me to wonder whether, in this free place overflowing with sunlight, are we truly feeling the warmth and living with gratitude for it?
Born in Chongjin in 1990, Jang Mi was not a studious child, but under her mother’s influence, she graduated from high school and went on to university to take math and science. She worked as a wedding video editor for seven years until her defection in 2019.
Latest posts by Jang Mi (see all)
- The problem of anxiety inherent in capitalism - June 25, 2025
- What happens when cinema loses its freedom - June 23, 2025
- Who digs through the garbage? - May 29, 2025