Jaws (1975) withholds the shark. Late into the runtime, we finally get a full view of the shark, and by not showing it much, we create our own beliefs about the shark and its potential for danger. Not revealing too much is what makes Jaws such a clean, tension-loaded adventure. That’s how Hope starts. Much of the first hour withholds the alien aspect of the film. We see glimpses and suggestions but not the nature of the aliens outright. Some bad stuff is going down in the sleepy coastal town of Hope Harbor, set just outside the Korean DMZ. The setting makes for good set pieces, with plentiful places for monsters to hide, while the film is still interested in hiding them. The fun façade of a seemingly peaceful demilitarized place where its quiet denizens have amassed an obscene stockpile of weapons. You know, just in case.
“Just in case” comes to bear, as aliens descend on Hope Harbor. What happens is an alien ship crash-lands in a nearby forest and a family of aliens run riot in the harbor town. Their rampage, though, is more empathetically driven than it first appears… asking the question: Who is the real monster here? Always the humans, if you have to ask.
Na Hong-jin approaches the material in the mode of James Cameron, and I mean that warmly. Pieces of Aliens (1986), with its commentary on militarism through creatures acting on instinct, Terminator 2: Judgment Day (1991), with its action setups and payoffs, and Avatar (2009), with its questions about alien species and their relationship to humanity, are embedded deep in the text and in the social commentary running through its many action set pieces. It isn’t derisive to say Hope aspires to Cameron’s best work. Those films are the foundation of so much modern action, and we haven’t had anything on this scale in a while (since the last Avatar), let alone wrapped in such a distinctly South Korean flavor.
That flavor comes through in the finer details, and the film’s anxieties are distinctly South Korean. Awareness of the North hangs over everything. A running joke holds that in a country that outlaws private gun ownership, everyone in Hope Harbor has quietly amassed an obscene arsenal. The film is also about immigration, answering the festering fears of “migrant crises” through its drawn-out alien metaphor, which reminds us that often migrations begin out of desperation or individual need.
Like Na’s The Wailing (2016), Hope is an extended metaphor overburdened by its mass of concepts. The metaphor isn’t bad, but it’s stretched so far and given so many specifics (how many alien species did we really need?) that the film overwhelms more than it entertains. The same goes for the action: some sequences are exceptional and deeply memorable, while others drag. Hope suggests several ending points before finally relenting, then insists there’s more to say, and by the time it closes on a setup, the feeling is pure exhaustion.
Then the aliens come along with a structural collapse in the design of the film’s narrative structure. Once the various creatures are revealed, and then more creatures, and more still, the narrative gets tangled in the abundance of thematic threads Na wants to weave together. There is enough text in Hope to suggest it’s designed as a larger text, but as a franchise-starter, it does not spark any want for more, as it contains a trilogy of material in a single film. The plot complications, rather than deepening our relationship to the storytelling, find the film grinding to a halt, with abrupt starts and stops, several middle acts, and a cliffhanger ending refusing to pay them off.
Just as Jaws is not a film about a shark, Hope is not merely a film about alien conflict. Na uses aliens as a mirror to show us human truths. A recurring theme in South Korean film is the low capacity for the police to stand up against odds greater than their resources. This echoes true with Hwang Jung-min’s police chief, Ko Bum-seok (exceptionally funny, modeled from the clay of silent film physical comedy). Ko Bum-seok centers our point of view, officious and dutiful, more concerned with policy and procedures, than with the imminent threat encroaching upon Hope Harbor. As a foil, Hoyeon’s Sung-ae embodies the Private Vasquez archetype in foul-mouthed fashion, full of piss and vinegar. What each character believes to be true about themselves and the society around them is drawn into question by the disruption of the aliens. The aliens are played by Michael Fassbender and Alicia Vikander, who are married in real-life and even as over-designed aliens, have some good chemistry and voice acting. Great in its own way that the most bankable stars in Hope are also the least recognizable, and have not factored heavily into the marketing, as their presence is a good surprise and also the anchor of the movie’s second half — that it’s so differentiated from the opening, though, makes it feel like an ending to a would-be second movie. Perhaps Na just wanted to ensure he said what he wanted in this one. He’s certainly said it.
The opening epigraph of Na’s The Wailing as taken from Luke in The Bible frames bodily doubt as phantasmagoria: “Touch me and see; a ghost does not have flesh and bones, as you see I have.” Hope draws its closing envoi from Hebrews, “Faith is evidence of what we cannot see,” which suggests the two films are of a piece, each preoccupied with what counts as proof. What counts as proof in Hope is an inversion of the prior film’s “proof” and plays directly into its first act structure, while serving as a probable setup for a follow-up film. The Wailing says, see and believe, and Hope says, your belief is the only evidence you need. The unquoted preceding portion from Hebrews goes: “Faith is the substance of things hoped for,” which gives away the game, and tells us exactly what Hope is about.
When we do not see the aliens or the shark but believe in them, that’s an act of faith. Our disbelief is suspended and the gaps are filled in by our beliefs. We have experienced an alien story before, so we can imagine it goes like that. We have seen Jaws, so we know what it means we cannot see the shark. We need a bigger boat and a smaller movie. We can extend our faith beyond the rational in sci-fi, which is a genre about Faith and Wanting to Believe, and Hope invites us to engage: What do we hope it shows us?