Korean Cinema between Global Fame and Social Reality
Santosh Kumar Ranjan is an Assistant Professor at Jawaharlal Nehru University and Aman Tripathi is an Independent researcher and former Korea Foundation research scholar
What pops into your mind when you hear the word Hallyu, or the Korean Wave? Perhaps the beautiful glowing faces, the glittering lights of bustling streets, lofty skyscrapers, a couple walking hand in hand, or critically acclaimed films and dramas like Parasite and When Life Gives You Tangerines. The world of Hallyu is undeniably beautiful, exporting its music, films, and dramas to every nook and corner of the globe. Yet behind this bright faรงade exists a society that also shares a portion of inequality, youth unemployment, an ageing population, and the pressures of a hyper-competitive culture. Following the idea that cinema is a symptom of societyโs evils and mirrors its realities, why do its reflections of real social struggles appear only in transitory glimpses, while the world sees mostly glamour and fantasy?
Ever-Blooming Image of Growing Success and Cinematic Performativity
Korean cinema and theatrical film culture, which began with The Righteous Revenge (์ฐ๋ฆฌ์ ๊ตฌ๋) in 1919, has a history covering nearly a century and has undergone multiple phases of growth and decline. During the period of Japanese colonial rule, Korean cinema was marked by strict censorship across the cine-verse; however, the dynamic role of the pyonsa (๋ณ์ฌ), a narrator or commentator of Korea’s silent film era who introduced films, acted out dialogue, and provided interpretation, played an important role in the cultural translation and localisation of both domestically produced and imported films. Following this colonial period, the experience of war significantly shaped cinematic expression, as films increasingly centered on themes of freedom, war, and national struggle.
The period from 1953 to 1960 is widely recognised as the Golden Age of Korean cinema. During this time, post-war trauma became a dominant thematic concern, and melodramas reached their peak. Films such as Madame Freedom (์์ ๋ถ์ธ) gained widespread popularity for their exploration of tradition and modernity and for capturing the essence of Koreaโs social and cultural transition in the aftermath of war. This phase was followed by the Second Republic, during which Korean cinema achieved international recognition through films such as The Coachman (๋ง๋ถ) and Obaltan (์ค๋ฐํ). Although this period of artistic visibility was soon followed by a dark age for the Korean film industry, marked by intensified censorship and declining foreign film imports under the 1962 Motion Picture Law. In 1981, The International Film Guide observed that โno country has stricter codes on films than South Korea, with the exception of North Korea,โ as only ideologically approved filmmakers were permitted to produce films, many of which resembled state-sponsored propaganda or โCinecittร -styleโ productions.
The period from 1980 to 1997 marked a gradual recovery for Korean cinema, particularly following amendments to the Motion Picture Law. With films such as Mandala, Korean cinema once again began to receive global attention. After 1997, this resurgence culminated in what is now widely recognised as the emergence of New Korean Cinema.
The main purpose of tracing the history of Korean cinema is to emphasise the idea that for much of its development, film functioned as a direct response to the socio-economic and political realities of its time. From colonial censorship and postwar trauma to authoritarian control and gradual liberalisation, Korean cinema remained affiliated with lived experience, social anxiety, and collective memory. Films were not merely entertainment but cultural texts shaped by, and responding to, the conditions under which they were produced.
This relationship between cinema and society, however, appears increasingly disconnected in contemporary times. With the rise of the Hallyu wave following the emergence of New Korean Cinema, Korean films and dramas first gained popularity in neighboring Asian countries and later expanded across the globe, โfrom Brazil to Bahrainโ and โfrom America to Australia.โ Through successive waves of Hallyu, Korean culture has traveled far beyond cinema and television, shaping tastes in food, fashion, and lifestyle. Kimchi (๊น์น), once a regional diet, now circulates around the world as a global symbol, and Korea itself is often presented as a polished, aspirational space. In this process, the global circulation of Korean popular culture has frequently relied on imageries that have glorified, aestheticised, and romanticised the idea of Korea as a nation.
This raises a critical question: does the global success of Hallyu risk overwriting the social realities that earlier Korean cinema sought to challenge? Contemporary films and dramas often present characters that resemble model-like figures, inviting audiences to imagine Korean society as coherent, stable, and harmonious. Yet Korea, like any other modern nation, is marked by deep social fractures such as an ageing population, fierce competition, rising mental health crises, and ever-growing socio-economic inequality. The issue is not whether these realities exist, but to what extent they are visible in globally circulated cinema, and whether audiences are encouraged to engage with them critically.
When viewers across the world watched Parasite, did it incite sustained reflection on the structural divide between rich and poor (๋น๋ถ๊ฒฉ์ฐจ) in Korean society, or was its social critique consumed as spectacle? In times of global visibility, the challenge for Korean cinema lies not only in representation but in whether its social engagement can still be perceived and felt across cultural and geographical distance, reminding us that, as Arjun Appadurai observes, โimages travel, but their meanings do not remain intact.โ
The Blind Spot in Contemporary Cinema
Gukbeong-Maengban (๊ตญ๋ฒ๋งน๋ฐ) is a portmanteau coined to describe a tendency in contemporary Korean cinema where globalised aesthetics and narratives are emphasised over national pride and fantasy, while creating blind spots around critical domestic social issues. Combining Gukbeong (๊ตญ๋ฒ) [fantasy-driven national intoxication] and Maengban (๋งน๋ฐ) [blind spot], the concept highlights how themes such as ageing, inequality, gender, and marginality are often hidden or underrepresented in globally acclaimed Korean films.
This phenomenon of Gukbeong-Maengban (๊ตญ๋ฒ๋งน๋ฐ) reflects the increasing pressure on filmmakers and producers to follow global trends, festival circuits, and international tastes – favoring style, genre experimentation, and universal narratives over local truths. In doing so, the modern cinema industry jeopardises its social and cultural responsibilities, leaving critical issues like ageing and social disintegration underexplored and often marginalised.
If we look at the major social issues within Korea, a few that stand out immediately are; an ageing population causing negative population growth, youth unemployment driven by a hyper-competitive culture, and the pressures of modern society. But how often do these issues make it to the big cinema screen? Out of the 500+ films produced by the South Korean film industry each year, only about 10โ25% address these social realities. Examples include The Bacchus Lady, My Love, Donโt Cross That River, and others.
And if we ask how many of these films reach global audiences, the answer becomes even murkier. Thatโs not to say Korean films highlighting social issues never gain popularity. In recent years, films like Love in the Big City (๋๋์์ ์ฌ๋๋ฒ) have found audiences while directly critiquing the position of queer people in Korean society. Yet even here, one canโt help but wonder: was its global visibility shaped more by Western influence than by the domestic spotlight on social realities?
On What Remains Unseen
There remains a lingering question about what goes unseen. Famous director Ingmar Bergman once described films as a dream, as music, as an art that slips past our conscience and reaches the darkest rooms of our souls. If film has the power to shape not only what we feel but how we learn to desire, then what it chooses to hold back becomes just as important as what it exposes. Cinema does not simply give us what we want; it quietly teaches us what to desire, what to notice, and what to ignore, as ลฝiลพek defines it, the ultimate pervert art.
Hence, cinema can only function as a true mirror of society when both the industry and its audiences are willing to confront their blind spots. And when I speak of cinema here, I mean global cinema as a whole, not just Korean or Asian film. Across the globe, cinema is undergoing a similar fissure, increasingly driven by profit and easy consumption, excluding exceptions. This raises a question: was cinema meant merely to reinforce what we already believe, or to awaken society by challenging it? Stories of social evils are pushed aside not because they lack relevance in modern times, but because they demand patience and reflection. To participate with these films requires more than spectacle. It requires institutions that support socially rooted stories and viewers who are willing to slow their pace and see beyond the screen. This moment calls for a renaissance in the cine-verse. Filmmakers must step beyond pocket-filling spectacle to reclaim their social responsibility, while audiences must evolve from passive consumers of entertainment into active and thoughtful viewers.
The opinions expressed are those of the contributors, not necessarily of the RSAA.
