[MMCA] - Transport to Another World

Published December 12th, 2024 - Source

By the National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art, Korea

Gina Kim is a South Korean filmmaker who produces works in Hollywood and Korea. Her award-winning films reimagine cinematic storytelling across different genres and platforms, developing a unique transnational perspective centered on female protagonists. Kim’s five feature films and works of media art have screened at over 200 prestigious international film festivals and venues such as Cannes, Venice, Berlin, and Sundance, as well as the MoMA, the Centre Pompidou, and the MMCA. Kim’s films have been theatrically released to critical acclaim in Europe, Asia, and the US. As an academic, Kim was the first Asian woman in her department at Harvard, and now a professor at UCLA in the Department of Film, TV, and Digital Media.

Your virtual reality (VR) trilogy Bloodless (2017), Tearless (2021), and Comfortless (2023) covers the issue of US military comfort women in depth. What all three works have in common is a story which unfolds around a specific location: Bloodless around the Dongducheon camptown, Tearless around the Dongducheon detainment center, and Comfortless around the camptown near the US Air Force base in Gunsan. How did you become interested in the issue of US military comfort women?

In my first year of university, the murder of Yoon Geum-yi occurred. A poster on campus detailed the case, alongside an image of her naked, mutilated body. That image was reproduced endlessly on the flyers we all carried at protests. The victim’s dignity was mercilessly trampled in the name of a greater cause. It was horrific. It seemed that the least we could do for her was ensure the image would never be seen again, but the opposite was happening. I felt a profound anger, but I had no language for it. The slogans beneath the crude black-and-white photo, with their broken English, branded me to the core of my being as a woman living in a post-colonial society. With no discussion of the ethics of representation, the protest continued, and my anger and sense of helplessness turned into guilt. Later, as a Korean woman artist and academic working in the US, my awareness sharpened: the imperialist, colonial exploitation of third-world economies was directly linked to the tragedies that happen to women’s bodies. These reflections have shaped my identity as an artist. 

Bloodless and Tearless seem to assign viewers the role of a detective visiting the scene in the aftermath of the incident or the perspective of a prudent tail stealthily following the characters. In Comfortless, a character in the film even engages with the viewers, asking, “Who are you?” The moment we are asked the question in the alley in broad daylight, our perspective suddenly shifts from that of an observer to that of a person involved in the incident, which is powerful. Between 2016 and 2023 — the trilogy’s production period — was there a shift in the way you establish a relationship with your viewers?

There used to be 96 US military camptowns in South Korea, but most of them have already disappeared, and even at this moment, they are vanishing. As I concluded my trilogy, I felt strongly that the work should not only offer the audience empathy or emotional catharsis, but also call them to action. “Bloodless” and “Tearless” evoke powerful emotions, crafted to awaken awareness and bring about a shift in consciousness. Although the strategy was effective, a different approach was needed this time. I wanted to show that the issue of U.S. military comfort women is not merely a tragedy of the past, but a matter relevant to us now. In that sense, the mirror became a crucial element in the film.

The first time I visited American Town, it was midday, and the only things moving in the desolate streets were stray cats, and the reflections of myself in the mirrors and dark surfaces. Humans, without eyes at the back of their heads, cannot see behind them. But standing in front of a mirror—an optical tool designed to show one’s own reflection—lets me see what’s behind me. Suddenly, the cliché that "the past is a mirror for the future" became a spatial and concrete reality. In “Comfortless,” the position where the audience is meant to gather their reflections in the mirror is occupied by a woman—a U.S. military comfort woman. She summons events and voices from the past, bringing them to life. However, waiting for her in the empty room vacated by the U.S. soldier, the audience suddenly realizes they are not witnessing a past event—they are witnessing something happening now. Eventually, she notices you and asks who you are. We were never innocent bystanders.

Bloodless is the result of your inquiry into the murder of Yoon Geum-yi and long deliberation over the right expressive medium. Why did you choose the medium of VR?

For a long time, I thought about erasing the victim's photograph from all media that continued to circulate. However, it was an impossible task since the image had already been infinitely replicated and was floating around the world. After becoming a filmmaker, I wanted to revisit this incident through the lens of a visual medium. I wrestled with the paradoxical idea of "telling the story without showing it" for a long time, but in the voyeuristic nature of conventional cinema, it was impossible to prevent the exploitation of the image. Then, I encountered VR as a medium. I noted that the aesthetic foundation of VR was not "voyeurism" like traditional flat films but "experience." The concept of "absence of body" came to me like a light turning on. Rather than voyeuristically consuming the image in front of them, the audience would become part of the space being depicted, experiencing it as if they were there. This made me think that perhaps it was possible to approach the paradox of telling a story about violence without representing the violence itself.

In your acceptance speech at the 74th Venice International Film Festival, you said that the work was produced with a focus on the potential of VR as a new medium that would enable us to empathize with others’ pain. What are some advantages and potential you have discovered in the medium while producing VR films over the years?

Watching a VR film is similar to dreaming. Even though you are aware it’s not real, you become fully immersed in the virtual environment as if it were reality. Your sense of spatial perception remains intact, but the ability to move freely and have an agency (capable body) within that space is removed. This loss of agency can be unsettling to the point of evoking fear, leaving the viewer disarmed or vulnerable. It creates a completely different psychological state compared to watching traditional flat-screen films, where the viewer's body remains intact in the real world. Imagine the difference between experiencing a battlefield, where bombs are exploding every few seconds, in VR versus watching the same scene on a flat screen—this contrast illustrates the heightened intensity VR can create. Ultimately, this psychological disarmament makes it impossible for the audience to remain indifferent to the events unfolding within the VR world.

The “Monkey House” in Tearless was allegedly given that name because people could hear the detained women screaming to be let out like monkeys trapped in a zoo. The production must not have been easy because the locations all harbor such dark and tragic history. What was the process like?

Some places instinctively give off the sense that something terrible happened there, without the need for explanation. When I first visited the Soyosan medical prison (known as the "Monkey House") for a location scout for “Bloodless,” the strange and piercing chill in the air made even the crew hesitant to enter the building. Pushing past our fear, we found ourselves blocked by a mountain of garbage piled so high it was nearly impossible to walk through. Over the decades, the site had been used as shelter for the homeless, a secret party spot for teenagers, and a backdrop for YouTube horror videos, all leaving their traces behind.

The larger issue, however, was the state of the building. Each time we visited, we saw the windowsills collapsing, and the ceiling and stairs falling apart. After record rainfall in 2020, the deterioration worsened. Realizing that we couldn’t wait any longer, we pushed ahead with production. Even without the pandemic to consider, shooting in an abandoned building without electricity or running water was a major challenge. 

This exhibition presents the “Monkey House” in Tearless in the form of XR (Extended Reality) and AR (Augmented Reality), and the American Town in Comfortless in the form of XR as well. Whereas VR requires specialized devices such as an HMD, XR and AR are relatively accessible and expandable in that they can be experienced through commonplace digital devices. What motivated this sort of expansion?

The pandemic hit. While preparing to shoot “Tearless,” the second piece of my trilogy, COVID-19 broke out. Though production was completed, the unexpectedly prolonged pandemic eliminated any opportunity to showcase the work. Film festivals that once celebrated VR scrapped their virtual reality sections entirely, and museums shied away from devices that had to be worn on the face. In this dire situation, a simple yet radical idea came to me: if the audience couldn’t come to the space within the VR film, why not bring the space to them? Fortunately, we had scanned images from the TEARLESS shoot. I thought, why not use those images to build a 3D model and allow viewers to summon the “Monkey House” on their phones? During this process, I realized that AR is highly effective for archiving spaces.  

“Comfortless” was planned with AR from the start. “The Extended Reality of American Town” models the soon-to-be-demolished camp town to its actual size, allowing the audience to walk through 150 meters of its central crossroads in every direction. Viewers can summon American Town from anywhere—whether in front of the Eiffel Tower, Times Square, or Gwanghwamun—juxtaposing the town with their real surroundings and bringing it into the here and now, as our own issue to confront. 

VR has offered experiences that differ greatly from the conventional experience of a film. How will future films approach audiences? What’s your perspective?

I often get asked similar questions, perhaps because my work has evolved across a wide range of media—video art, experimental documentaries, commercial feature films, virtual reality, and XR/AR—spanning over time, and each time adapting to new technologies. I can make some general predictions. When AI becomes more intuitively integrated with moving images, including MR/AR, and combined with mobile and drone technologies, it could lead to an explosive force, much like how the smartphone became a revolutionary development when mobile phones and the internet were combined—comparable to the discovery of fire by humanity.

However, if I’m being completely honest, these technological forecasts don’t carry much significance for me. New technologies inevitably become absorbed by capitalism, where art follows the logic of power and capital to form the mainstream cultural grammar. What matters to me is finding ways for those marginalized by the power to voice their stories. In the 1990s, when video art was still unfamiliar in the Korean film industry, I wanted to use it to tell stories about female bodies. In 2016, I sought to tell the story of women who were victims of 20th-century conflicts using the then-uncolonized medium of VR. The films I want to see are also those created by people who were once objectified in front of the camera, stepping behind it as subjects in their own right. Naturally, these kinds of films are uncomfortable to watch because they remind us of inconvenient truths we’d prefer to forget. But the world’s relentless pursuit of comfort and ease has led us to climate change and growing inequality. We need more uncomfortable films. Spinoza was right: all noble things are difficult and rare.

This is an excerpt of Transport to Another World catalogue by the National Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art, Korea. To learn more about the exhibit, please click here!