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Decision to Leave: A neo-noir dream of want and desire

Memory, fantasy, reconstruction, imagination, want, desire, what could have been, and what could be—these are the foundations Park Chan-wook’s (Oldboy, Stoker, The Handmaiden) newest film, Decision to Leave, are built on. The beloved South Korean director returns with a romantic mystery that toys with your heart, haunts your mind, and dazzles your senses. Earlier this year, the film competed for the Palme d’Or at Cannes. Park Chan-wook took home the Best Director award at that same festival. 

Park’s neo-noir centers on insomniac detective Hae-jun (Park Hae-il). The sleepless detective is stuck on a murder case, and his primary suspect is off grid. Hae-jun spends the week working cases in Busan. On weekends, he heads to Ipo to be with his wife Jung-an (Lee Jung-hyun), who works at the Nuclear Power Plant. It’s immediately apparent Jung-an is concerned for her husband. She worries about his mental state, and the toll murder has had on his focus. Jung-an is orderly and scientifically driven. She weighs the pros and cons of pomegranate in her diet, informs her husband of the numerous health benefits of intercourse, and she rushes to find an alternative to curb his desire for cigarettes. In all of this, she’s desperately seeking connection for fear of divorce. 

For Hae-jun, this is the cycle of life: investigate, stake out, weekend, return. And Hae-il wears wearied well. His exhaustion shows in his actions, his tone, and his despondence. There is no thrill, no excitement. Until a new case comes across his desk, and the victim’s wife catches his eye. Seo-rai (Tang Wei) is a Chinese immigrant who has stayed in South Korea due to her ancestry. Her husband’s death, which could be a tragic accident or something more devious, brings her into Hae-jun’s periphery, and the tired detective finally feels something again. Wei’s approach to Seo-rai is very nuanced. It’s hard for us to know when to trust her or when she’s simply playing the game. 

Park’s procedural is oftentimes a slow burn focused on little moments and interactions. The nights bleed into one another. Time is often lost as we move from moment to moment and day to day. Hae-jun slowly spirals from piqued curiosity into destructive obsession, which jeopardizes his reputation and his family. The question of Seo-rai’s possible involvement is the thorn that constantly pricks through to keep the tension taut and Hae-jun questioning himself and his desires.

But while the narrative is procedural, the filmmaking is anything but. Kim Ji-yong’s camerawork is nothing short of astounding. Unique spaces serve to provide perspective and point-of-view shots. The camera work draws us in deeper. At different points in the film, we see the world through the eyes of a corpse and a smartphone both providing different perspectives of our weary detective looking for answers, and hope. 

Couple Kim’s camera with the editing of Kim Sang-beom, and you have one of the most uniquely fluid experiences in recent years. Ji-yong’s push ins to tight close ups are seamlessly stitched to pull outs that leave us in new settings or sitting with different characters. In developing this style, the film seamlessly flows between present, past, memory, and fantasy. Our characters drop in and out of subconscious moments reliving a version of how they imagine moments and scenarios played out. In the hands of a less skilled crew and with a less focused director, this could become nonsensical. Park and his team manage to move us from setting and scenario to setting and scenario with ease. We remain anchored in the moment through the exploring mind trying to understand what might have happened or what might have been. 

Decision to Leave is a beautifully constructed romantic neo-noir. It’s Chinatown by way of Hitchcock. Park’s narrative circles in on itself in the same way Psycho and Vertigo operate. Our characters, their movements, and the classical tragedy that unfolds keeps us engaged and guessing. It’s a dynamite picture, and if it’s not in the discussion for editing and cinematography, it’ll be a shame. If slower procedurals don’t do it for you, this one might not work for you. It’s never exciting, but it’s often compelling. It’s much more focused on mood—both uncertain and romantic, and that juxtaposition gives Decision to Leave plenty for viewers to chew on.

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