Decision to Leave.

Decision to Leave is the latest film from South Korean director and screenwriter (co-writer, in this case) Park Chan-wook, his first since 2016’s The Handmaiden and only his third as director in the last ten years. It’s a Hitchcockian thriller with a slow burn, reminiscent in many ways of Vertigo, right down to the romance between the male lead and the femme fatale he’s chasing, that also taps into bigger themes of alienation and self-worth, anchored by two incredible lead performances that should be earning broader acclaim.

Detective Jang Hae-jun (Park Hae-il) is called in to investigate the death of an immigration worker who fell while climbing a mountain near Busan, a mountain the man liked to climb and livestream. Jang suspects the man’s young Chinese wife, Seo-Rae (Tang Wei), who works as a caregiver to senior citizens, and who has suspicious marks and bruises on her when they police speak to her. Jang only sees his wife on weekends, because she works at a nuclear power plant, and he quickly becomes obsessed with Seo-Rae, following her and imagining he’s with her at work or in her apartment, which she realizes and turns back around by following him. The two end up in a chaste relationship – not without sexual tension – that Jang must keep secret while she’s still a potential suspect. Of course, nothing is as it first appears, and he finds evidence that might point to Seo-Rae’s guilt, leading to a second act where their power dynamic shifts repeatedly as Jang tries to figure out what’s real and what matters.

Some of the plot points in Decision to Leave are a little easy to spot, but the story isn’t the real strength here – it’s the two main characters, and the actors who do such incredible work to flesh them out. Jang has shadings of the noir detective, a tough guy with a grim exterior, capable of solving tough crimes, earning plaudits from his colleagues while he’s also putting them down for their coarse methods, but he’s also dealing with an existential grief that he tries to assuage with Seo-Rae. He’s not maudlin, or quiet, but actually depressed – he doesn’t seem to love his wife, although he will go through the motions to keep them together, and he doesn’t seem to gain satisfaction from his job, even when he’s doing it well. Park Hae-il has won a slew of awards for his portrayal here, deservedly so, as there’s a nuance to the performance that keeps him away from the stock hard-boiled character that’s fine in genre films but would take away from the bigger ideas here. Seo-Rae, meanwhile, is an immigrant from China who frequently apologizes for her poor Korean and appears in many ways to be an isolated figure – perhaps a damsel in distress for Jang to save – but, of course, she might also be a very cunning killer. Tang, who first rose to prominence in Ang Lee’s 2007 film Lust, Caution, is Park’s equal here, playing the did-she-or-didn’t-she part without the cheap seduction common to the archetype; in fact, there’s very little sex at all in this movie, as the script almost dispenses with the idea that these two are physically attracted to each other, or at least removes it from the equation so the focus is instead on who they are and what might be driving them. (Apropos of nothing, I couldn’t believe Tang is 43 years old; her character, at least, seems at least a decade younger than that.)

Park Chan-woo utilizes a number of symbols in the film, two of which recur enough to merit mention. One is the eyes of various characters, including the victim at the start of the film, whose eyes we see several times in close-up. Jang uses eye drops to moisten his eyes frequently throughout the film, which the director has said is his way of showing that the detective has a hard time seeing what’s right in front of him, whether it’s with Seo-Rae or his wife or other cases. Blurred or diminished vision also comes into play with the frequent fog and mist we see in the film, which apparently is a feature of Ipo, where Jang’s wife works. You could also have a field day just with Jang’s bespoke suit and its seemingly infinite number of pockets, and how Seo-Rae seems to know where he keeps various things – as he is always prepared with little supplies, like he has every mother’s purse’s contents scattered throughout his clothes – while his own wife doesn’t.

My only quibble with Decision to Leave is the ending, as it just doesn’t quite stick the landing, but that’s a tiny complaint in a movie of this ambition. Like Hitchcock’s best films, however, much of the film’s inherent mystery lingers after the conclusion – and Decision to Leave does just that, giving you plenty to ponder long after the movie ends. I seldom watch movies twice, but this one likely rewards a second viewing.

Park won Best Director at Cannes for the film, which was also nominated for the Palme d’Or, and at the Grand Bell Awards, the South Korean equivalent to the Oscars, it took home the honors for Best Film, Best Screenplay, and Best Actor for Park Hae-il. Decision to Leave was South Korea’s submission for the Academy Award for Best International Feature Film, making the December shortlist and I have to assume eventually getting one of the five nominations. But it also seems like it’s going to get shut out of everything else, which seems like a shame – I can’t imagine there are ten better movies in the 2022 crop than this one.