‘Harbin’ Review
Suspicions run amok in Woo Min-ho’s gorgeous yet underwhelming historical espionage thriller about the Korean independence movement during Japan’s occupation of Korea. With its understandably nationalist approach to the subject matter, Harbin goes through the motions done better by its contemporaries and without much nuance in its characters. What shines through is an illustration of a country and its citizens brought to desperate measures to break free of an oppressive regime, as well as the occasionally well-crafted action sequence to breathe life into a frequently circular conversation about the consequences of inaction. A well-acted period piece that never entirely stands out from the many other depictions of Japanese-occupied Korea, Harbin is just exciting enough to be engaging but rarely digs deep enough below the surface to feel like more than just an abbreviated recap of a moment in Korea’s past.
Woo’s screenplay, co-written by Kim Min-seong, fails most notably in its decision to paint with predominantly broad strokes. Wisely focused on Ahn Jung-geun (portrayed by Hyun Bin) in the weeks preceding the assassination of Japan’s Prime Minister, Itō Hirobumi (Lily Franky), Harbin is always depicting scheming and plans being put together but becomes tirelessly centered around the mechanics of an assassination attempt and the difficulty in leading a rebellion entirely in the shadows. Opening with the return of Jung-geun after a long walk across the frozen Tumen River - one of the most breathtaking shots in the film that is returned to multiple times - his comrades begin suspecting that his return can only have happened if he switched sides and agreed to assist the Japanese soldiers. As the crew of rebels begins plotting the assassination of Hirobumi, they also find their allegiances being tested by each other.
The reason Woo and Kim’s screenplay refuses to nuance its main character is made all the more frustrating because there is so much interiority hinted at in those opening scenes. The isolation brought upon by the trek across the Tumen River illustrates an individual who feels alone in his pursuit for freedom, as others accept defeat and the cold wind burns against a wearied face. The trek isn’t just a means of getting from one point to another, nor does it exist in the script just for something striking to witness, but its potential potency is lost as the film dawdles along. The decision to showcase a recent skirmish as a flashback and not tell the events chronologically is baffling because the nuance it does approach for Jung-geun would make those allegiance questions far more important in the moment. Instead, the conversation before the flashback is made redundant, and the action scene during the flashback is superfluous.
There are many moments of exciting tension throughout Harbin, but they’re all mired by a refusal to get too into the nitty-gritty of the humans forced to take actions into their own hands. This is somewhat shocking coming from Woo, whose The Man Standing Next was a much more successful attempt at a political thriller centered on a moment of political upheaval and expanded upon its protagonist. It also had the benefit of starring Lee Byung-hun, who fares far better at demonstrating internal strife than Hyun Bin. Though not disappointing, Hyun isn’t given room to leave much of an impression; the film becomes far too bogged down in the mechanics of its schemes and how each character fits into place, so he just stands there, caught up in the silence. Harbin is far more of an ensemble than it lets on, but because no character feels significantly unique, it’s easy to get lost in the minutiae of the plan far more than the motivations behind it.
Most of the credit for Woo’s film has to go to Hong Kyung-pyo, whose previous photography in recent Korean films like Parasite, Burning, and The Wailing is evident here. The occasional action sequence that occurs is impeccably shot, but it’s the quiet moments when Hong’s cinematography feels the most charged. The Tumen River, vast expanses of desolate landscape, the suspense of a night-time train ride through enemy territory, and shadowy rooms penetrated by fragments of light—it’s all aesthetically captivating. It tends to accentuate the feelings intended for the audience more than the screenplay manages to do. When a film ends up as good-looking as Harbin does, it is all the more frustrating that it’s not in service of a better film—especially when comparisons can be drawn to better films wrestling with similar subject matter, such as Kim Jee-woon’s The Age of Shadows that are also just as visually stunning.
The pageantry of a period piece can often be elevated by modern-day sensibilities and a more critical approach to the past, but Woo doesn’t seem all that concerned with offering more than a surface-deep interpretation of a martyr who performed an action that would have a staggering impact on Korea’s chances of independence. The film concludes with a scrawl of text indicating more violence would later ensue, which indicates a movie that doesn’t dare to interrogate its subject matter with much scrutiny or nuance. There’s an irony that Woo’s film fails to act on its potential while preaching the importance of action. The singular focus and lack of detail create a very clear intent with Harbin that is, unfortunately, an uninteresting depiction of its subject matter.
