Hae-Mi is a brilliant representation of the oft-forgotten femme fatale. In Burning, she finds herself in the middle of a love triangle in her search for stability, looking to her past in Jong-Su and aspirational needs with Ben, but neither could fulfill her true, inner desire, a sense of self.
There is a single scene that encapsulates the thematic element of Burning (2018), and it seems like a throwaway, artsy-fartsy moment where Hae-Mi dances topless with graceful intentionality in the dusk’s fading light, to smooth, coffee bar style jazz. We are connecting with this character from whom we have only seen a miniscule fraction of, as a foil no less, as a love interest for the two male characters. Alone in this moment, she is not the object of sexual desire, as she was earlier in the film when she was entangled with the main character. The same amount of nudity, but from her perspective her body is not used to seduce anyone else, in isolation she uses her form as an intimate expression of self, the fundamental core of any artistic endeavor. She thrives in her own space, but once she snaps too and finds herself under the visage of the two male characters, who have silently watched her from across the lawn, she breaks down in tears as the music fades out. But the tears are not from sadness, rather they are the result of a cathartic epiphany, a realization that she has found her true standing in life that is wholly separate from the attention of a sexual partner, neither Ben nor Jong-Su.
Jong-Su, sees Hae-Mi as his and his only, confessing to Ben moments before Hae-Mi’s performance that he was in love with her, exclaiming it in defiance as if Ben would suddenly relinquish all interest because Jong-Su wanted it more. But up until this point he has only seen her through a lustful gaze, nothing more, despite what he might claim. They had a single awkward hookup before Hae-Mi went on her trip to Africa, and for the days he was tasked to come in and cat sit for her while she was away, he would masturbate or imagine her masturbating him after falling asleep masturbating on her bed. With how socially inept he proved to be leading up to the awkward hookup where Hae-Mi invited him to hang out during her break, grab a drink after work, kissed him, helped him strip off his clothes, and put the condom on. He was a mess, and this all indicates that she was his first, hence the repeated masturbation and obsessive fascination and attraction. He believed it to be a magical story meant to be from the moment they reconnected after being childhood neighbors.
But consider this interaction from Hae-Mi’s perspective, which becomes all but clear in the first scene when Jong-Su runs into her on the job. Hae-Mi’s first words are asking if she got prettier from the plastic surgery she got, as she playfully remarks that Jong-Su used to call her ugly all the time when they were kids. Her playing initiator to her former bully is a statement piece for herself, to hopefully close the loop on her incessant, haunting childhood insecurity that followed her into adulthood. She’s a practiced flirt, throwing out all the signs in the world that she wants to hook up with Jong-Su, but none of them lands until she finally goes in for the kiss to really send it home. And strangely enough, she asked a relative stranger into her home and take care of her cat, without any worries that he would rob her or harm her cat. She has no one else she could trust, susceptible to someone who understands her plight and shares some modicum of empathy.
In comes Ben, charismatic, well-spoken, rich, very well put together in the most casual sense, plus he knows where all the coolest, well-lit coffee shops there are in Seoul, the opposite of Jong-Su in every sense. He and Hae-Mi met during her trip in Africa and she seems to be completely smitten, and it’s not hard to see why when we get a view of Ben talking on the phone in the backseat of Jong-Su’s car, he’s attentive and playful, at least from his side of the conversation, and we wait with bated breath to hear who he’s talking to; a girlfriend? Wife? Side piece? No, he’s talking to his mom. He just has that natural charisma. It’s no surprise that he attracts beautiful women and a bevy of friends, he’s a delight to be around. But the crux is, he knows exactly what he’s doing, confessing to Jong-Su that he made a hobby of burning abandoned greenhouses every month or so. He cycles through women at a constant rate, dating the same type of women and giving them a sense of purpose, a flash in the pan, reigniting a burning passion within them, but he always moves on to the next flame, as evidenced later on in the film when Ben starts dating another attractive woman, similar to Hae-Mi in disposition, following her disappearance. He was never after love, but Hae-Mi was, seeking that concrete foundation to settle her insecure mind.
Hae-Mi searched for security in others, but when she found two sides of the same coin in Jong-Su and Ben who only lusted after her for her physical appearance, something that she had been self-conscious of throughout her life. Despite accomplishing what she thought would ease her insecurities, attracting men with relative ease, she felt the same emptiness within her subconscious. By freeing herself from the clutches of the male gaze, performing in the only scene where she is not sharing the frame with another character, an epiphany strikes her over the head. She’s her own person and doesn’t need to subjugate herself to the clutches of others’ perspectives, wants, and needs. She’s free.
Sloppy Critic 