'Thirst' Movie Review

Korea's Park Chan-wook has made a name for himself as one of the 21st century's true film auteurs, primarily through his so-called Vengeance Trilogy (Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance, Oldboy, Lady Vengeance). His movies function as unique blends of hard-boiled crime thrills with oddball humor, shocking violence, frank sexuality and surreal dreamscapes. His short film Cut from the 2004 anthology Three...Extremes was his first foray into horror, but with Thirst, he delves headlong into the genre -- with results that could come only from his peculiar mind.

Thirst is an adaptation of Emile Zola's 19th century French novel Therese Raquin, about a woman in a dead-end marriage to her cousin who begins a torrid affair with his friend that ends in a plot to kill the husband. Park adds several twists, including shifting the focus from the woman in the affair to the man, making said man a priest and, most notably, injecting a vampire perspective.

Sang-hyun (Song Kang-ho) is a devout priest who works closely with hospital patients, administering last rites and even chipping in with CPR when needed. Having seen several patients die from the mysterious Emmanuel virus, how vows to help find a cure by volunteering as a guinea pig in a vaccine test. When the vaccine fails, Sang-hyun contracts the fatal disease, but of the 500 people in the study, only he manages to survive. Because of this, he gains a reputation for being something of a healer, and sickly people from all across Korea come to him for his blessing.

One of those seeking his services turns out to be a childhood friend of his, Kang-woo (Shin Ha-kyu). When Kang-woo recovers from his cancer, his grateful mother (Kim Hae-sook) invites Sang-hyun to their home regularly for her weekly mahjong game.

During those weekly visits, the priest is drawn to Kang-woo's wife, Tae-ju (Kim Ok-vin), a sullen young woman who was taken in by her future mother-in-law as a child and was raised alongside Kang-woo before being forced into marrying him. She now lives a life of servitude and constant henpecking by her mother-in-law, who thinks that her son can do no wrong and that Tae-ju should be grateful for her miserable existence.

Meanwhile, Sang-hyun has problems of his own. It seems that the blood transfusion that saved his life when he became sick was tainted with a strain of vampirism, thus explaining his miraculous recovery. His senses have been amplified, his strength has become superhuman and he can leap tall buildings in a single bound. However, he has to sleep in a closet during the day, and if he doesn't feed on human blood, the grisly effects of the disease -- boils, vomiting blood, peeling fingernails -- return, and he'll die...for real this time. He satiates his need by scavenging blood from hospital patients' IVs.

The most troubling side effect to the priest, though, is his sinful desire. Despite his best efforts to beat it out of himself, Sang-hyun's lust gets the best of him, and he and Tae-ju become embroiled in a passionate affair.

When he reveals his vampirism to her, she understandably freaks out, but given the alternative of her grim life, she gets over it. As their relationship intensifies, however, their emotions spiral them downward into murder, cover-ups and sinful behavior that gives Sang-hyun pause as he witnesses their own increasing darkness. But what can he do to stop the descent?

Perhaps due to the co-producing involvement of America's Focus Features, Thirst is a more accessible film than many of Park's previous efforts -- not as hectic as I'm a Cyborg but That's OK, better paced than Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance, not as convoluted as Oldboy -- although that doesn't necessarily make it better or "conventional" by mainstream standards. Still, those who've been left scratching their heads from the director's other movies should be able make it through Thirst without a road map.

Park forgoes many of the typical Hollywood vampire trappings -- fangs, bats, crosses, garlic, holy water -- in favor of a more realistic portrayal of how "real-life" vampires might look and act (given superhuman strength and agility). Vampirism isn't the focus; it's merely a means to the end of presenting priest Sang-hyun with an affliction that directly challenges his faith, one that dooms his one shot at love and causes him to be racked with endless grief and internal turmoil. Thirst thus plays more like a drama than a horror movie -- granted, a drama that's generously padded with gore and moments of dark humor that at one point play like a twisted, blood-spattered sitcom.