Thirst (2009)

Innovation. It’s a word that gets thrown around by film analysts and often overused to the point of absurdity. It’s actually a rare occurrence in the world of cinema to see anything that’s truly innovative, largely because narrative formats are so formulaic. Let’s take vampires, for example: they follow essentially the same archetype superhero movies do. In almost every vampire story, the protagonist is initially a human who is then “turned” into a vampire. From that point on, the hero struggles to balance his newfound penchant for blood with normality. In Park Chan-wook’s latest film, Thirst, it starts out following those same narrative rules, but along the way it also gets turned. It becomes a bigger story about morality and the realities of infidelity.

In the film, Kang-ho Song gives an awesome performance as Father Sang-hyeon. He volunteers his services to help find a cure for a rare disease, but ends up nearly dying from exposure to it. After a blood transfusion, he makes a full recovery, but soon discovers he’s been transformed into a vampire. He gets his plasma fixes by stealing blood from the local hospital. After being reacquainted with a childhood friend, Kang-woo, and his loud-mouthed family, Sang-hyeon finds himself pining for Kang-woo’s soft-spoken wife, the beautiful Tae-ju. The attraction is mutual. They begin a torrid affair, and he soon reveals his true identity to her. As they fall in love, Tae-ju must choose between her stable, but tortured, life with Kang-woo or an immortal existence with Sang-hyeon.

Thirst works on many levels. I have a tremendous appreciation for the honest depiction of what a nasty business being a vampire can be. Park disposes of the glamorized vampires of Twilight and keeps it raw. When the vampires go too long without feeding, they look terrible, seem to be rotting before our eyes, and become sickly. It’s also interesting to note that how a vampire feeds ties into whether or not the blood satisfaction in their diet is met. While one bloodsucker simply takes it from comatose patients to avoid killing, for another it’s about slaughtering people like meat. What seems moralistic and humane to one vampire and allows their needs to be met are totally insignificant in contrast to another. That’s definitely compelling and certainly innovative. The sex scenes have a startling realism to them without being trashy or gratuitous, and they might just be some of the most accurately depicted scenes of lovemaking I’ve ever witnessed on the big screen.

What doesn’t work well for me is how slow the film starts. It takes a while for things to get going, and more restless moviegoers might lose patience before it does so. Thirst earns most of its merit in the final act, particularly in the climax when the rising sun is the greatest threat. The story is also highly metaphoric for just how sour romances usually turn when they are birthed out of infidelity. The love and passion between Sang-hyeon and Tae-ju is very uninhibited and reckless. Yet, when the complications of vampirism and the consequences of their plot to get rid of Kang-woo become insurmountable, their love gradually erodes.

Park Chan-wook’s Thirst is an excellent film. It’s takes an all-too-familiar narrative, yet presents it in a way that is unlike anything we’ve come to expect from the genre. Movies like The Lost Boys, The Twilight Saga, and even the Coppola film, Bram Stoker’s Dracula, make vampirism sexy and captivating, but, in reality, it would hit closer to the kind of nasty territory Park creates here. It is, after all, a disease, and drinking blood is the only cure. That couldn’t possibly be glamorous.

Park’s signature direction and storytelling devices allow Thirst to put a refreshing new spin on a genre normally filled with brooding teens and red-eyed psychotics. While re-inventing the wheel isn’t always necessary, this inventive and blood-soaked tale transcends the usual tropes and delivers a viewing experience that will leave horror fans hungering for more.

Give in to this Thirst!