Film Review: Under the Sun
Spoiler alert: The North Korean government suffers from a severe transparency deficit.
How do you reveal the reality of a society where government representatives script each scene you're allowed to shoot?
Simple: leave cameras rolling at all times, and show your audience the scripting and retakes of "real life" in all their glory.
You end up not with a documentary about a family going about their lives, but a behind-the-scenes reveal of a family whose dinner-table conversations, workplace interactions, and even expressed emotions are curated by government propagandists for external consumption.
No North Koreans question this process out loud--except to check their lines.In this system everyone knows the role expected of them, especially with government officials overseeing everything. So before our very eyes, we observe the theatrical production of an ideal 'Kimilsungist socialist society', played out by real citizen-actors. And when citizens know the risks of not playing the part they’re asked to play, they become good actors.
This is of course a very real aspect of life in North Korea, even when no cameras are rolling. The everyday ritualised theatrical production of 'obedient citizens willingly striving as one for the socialist cause' is one of the key means by which the state perpetuates itself. Everyone knows what to say, how to say it, and that you have to say it. Whatever your innermost thoughts may be, it's hard to break role publicly when everyone else is sticking so closely to a ‘script’.
Revealing the nature of this production, warts-and-all, is one of the key contributions of Under the Sun.But as with any behind-the-scenes look, cracks in the facade, tired actors and cock-ups are apparent.'Off stage', strategically placed cameras record poor Pyongyang kids scavenging from a trash can. We see commuters disembarking to push a tram. A government 'set manager' shoos away two women approaching the back door of a milk processing plant with a big jug; we can only guess they were looking for an off-the-books top up, unaware there were foreign filmmakers present that day.
We see a forgetful factory worker reporting they have exceeded production targets by 150%, and in the next take 200%. It doesn't matter to any of her coworkers which fiction is used, and no one bats an eyelid.
And of course, children being less practiced in their roles within the system than adults, the best scenes feature North Korean kids. A small girl struggles to keep her eyes open while an aging war veteran wearing far too many medals bumbles through an anti-American propaganda lecture, punctuating tales of shooting down planes with praise for Kim Il-sung.
Jinmi, the star of the film, breaks down in tears when the pressure of performance becomes too much. Elsewhere, on-screen text tells us that she unwittingly revealed her parents' true occupations of journalist and restaurant worker before the government co-producers scripted them as the more socialist-appropriate textile factory technician and soy milk plant worker.
It's hard to not recall The Truman Show, and it boggles the mind to think there are 25 million people living out their lives in this theater state.
But unlike a Hollywood Movie, the enemy here is not represented by a snarling on-screen character. The propagandists are unnamed and we rarely even see their faces properly. The enemy is in fact the system itself, whose quiet tyranny forces every citizen - including the propagandists - to become complicit in its perpetuation by allowing the expression of only a singular narrative of what it is to be a North Korean.
Lost Stories from North Korea — A Life With No Exit
By Jane
Jane is a participant of LiNK’s Intensive English Program (LIEP), designed to build the capacity of North Korean English speakers at the intermediate level. In partnership with the British Council, LIEP aims to cultivate participants’ communication and critical thinking skills in English. LIEP is complementary to our broader LiNK English Language Program (LELP), which supports speakers of all proficiency levels.
When I was young, we lived in the countryside. Like the other kids, I had to help my mom with farming. It was hard work. From spring to fall, everything was difficult. Carrying a heavy load on my back, climbing up the mountain, my hands covered in blisters from using farming tools—I would often return home late, completely exhausted.
Our field was located at the top of a high mountain. From there, I could look down and see the Amnok River flowing, with a railway track stretching beside it. One spring day when I was around 13, I was resting at the top of the mountain, looking down at the train passing by below.
Watching it move slowly like a caterpillar, I thought to myself, "I want to get on that train and go somewhere far away." That was the first time I dreamed of escaping. We were living in a prison with no exit, no hope.
Eventually, I managed to escape from that life in that prison. But my mother must have continued climbing that mountain and working in that field for many more years. Perhaps, during her moments of rest, she would look down at the river and the railroad. Perhaps, she thought about me, who had left for a place far away.
Now, I am living well in South Korea, as a mother of one myself. I carry dreams and hope in my heart. But not everyone has been as fortunate as I have in finding a way out.
I have a friend, a North Korean defector now living in the United States, who once shared a story that moved me to tears. A few years ago, she fled North Korea with her two young daughters and eventually made her way to America. She attempted to reach South Korea twice. The first time, she set out with her daughters, ages seven and eleven. They wandered for days through the vast Baekdudaegan mountains. When their water ran out, she dug into the earth with her bare hands, squeezing out a few drops to moisten their mouths.
Along the way, they came across the bodies of two people, sitting with their backs leaning against each other in the middle of a field. From their clothes, she could tell they were North Koreans, their bodies already beginning to decompose. Fearing that she and her daughters might meet the same fate, she decided to turn back and return to North Korea.
As I listened to her story, I couldn’t hold back my tears. Who were those two souls lost in the mountains? Where had they been trying to go? How long had they wandered? They might have been so exhausted that after sitting back to back, they couldn’t get up again. What thoughts filled their minds in their final moments?
That’s why I want to be a writer—to share these stories with the world.
For the people in North Korea who still dream of breaking free from a life with no exit, and for the nameless souls who never made it to freedom.
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Opportunities like LiNK’s Intensive English Program (LIEP) are helping North Koreans find their voice, reach their goals, and lead change on this issue. Your support can help us continue to make an impact in the lives of North Korean refugees, like Jane.
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