Educational Media Reviews Online

"We call it Chosŏn Punk. It isn't what other people call punk. We're going to do it the way we want." These opening lines reflect one of the main themes running through the documentary Our Nation: a Korean Punk Rock Community; namely what elements constitute a specific music style and what don't, and who is it that makes these decisions. While this film examines these questions in terms of punk rock, musicians and fans of other genres should be able to empathize with the problem of being musically pigeonholed or excluded by outside sources.

Our Nation focuses on the underground music club "Drug" which opened in downtown Seoul, Korea in 1995, and the bands and fans that called "Drug" home. The 90s became a time of major changes in the Asian republic. The nation's first civilian president had been elected, greater economic purchasing power had led to a major growth in consumerism, and the country's youth found themselves being increasingly exposed to outside musical influences such as the alternative, grunge and punk bands from Great Britain and the United States. To many kids this harder-edged music was a refreshing change for the usual pop and dance styles they were used to. They found that punk music gave them a release from the everyday pressures of school and college entrance exam preparation. "Drug" was an oasis to which they could turn when the stress of the outside world became too much.

The first Korean punk bands copied the looks and covered the tunes of such artists as Nirvana and the Sex Pistols, but gradually they began to discover their own style. They felt no need to stick the traditional "three chord" song structure, and would often incorporate elements from other musical genres into the mix. This also applied to their music's message. In an open letter from the cover of the compilation CD " Chosŏn Punk," the artists note that they aren't advocating anarchy or violence but they're "simply letting the energy of [their] youth blaze." The drummer of the all-girl punk group Supermarket who says she likes to sing about clean, pure things reiterates this view. "The music has to deliver a message too," she insists, "and can't just be loud." The group Crying Nut relate how they first thought that "Drug" was a sort of commune where all the artists would work together for the benefit of all members. It all sounded like something from the "Peace and Love" movement of 60s America rather than the nihilism and despondency usually associated with punk rock.

In terms of the film itself, there are several scenes that stand out as prime examples of this surreal feeling created by the members of the Chosŏn Punk community. The first is the simple incredulity of a "No Smoking" sign plastered over the graffiti of the stage's back wall that appears amid the frenetic activity of the musicians and their fans. The second shows the aforementioned drummer from Supermarket talking about how she likes to cook and clean laundry, and then proceeds to show her washing a pair of socks by hand in a sink; smiling and laughing all the time. Finally there is a member of Crying Nut who ends the "Is this really punk" debate by proudly admitting that he plays "fake punk...authentic fake punk." Though he delivers this line as deadpan as possible, you can almost see him give a conspiratorial wink to the camera.

It's obvious that Epstein and Tangherlini, academics by profession, are punk fans as well. Otherwise they couldn't have gotten the bands and fans to open up they way they did on camera. Nor could they have captured that sense of community that made anyone who watched Our Nation feel as if they too could join in. In fact this sense leads to one small complaint about the film; the lack of any real opposing viewpoint. We get two short interviews with a local sociology professor concerning her thoughts on "Drug" and Chosŏn Punk, and that's about it. The musicians or fans might talk about their parent's reactions to their involvement, but none of these parents actually appear on screen to give their side of the story. There aren't even any interviews with business owners or residents who work and live near the club. It would've been interesting to get an idea of what kind of impact Chosŏn Punk was really having on Korean popular culture, but that would require a wider perspective than the one presented.

The only other complaint deals with the length of the film itself. At only 39 minutes, the story seems to end too soon. There's so much more we'd like to know about these people that is left unanswered. In many ways, this complaint can be seen as a back handed compliment to Epstein and Tangherlini for making such an enjoyable documentary that we hate to see it end.

The film's technical quality is another highlight. The entire audio track, including the concert scenes recorded in the club's basement hall, is crystal clear. The video is straightforward and is well lit for all occasions. The editing and effects are kept simple and compliment the story. Overall, this is a good film that audiences from high school on up should enjoy.