he scene is a medieval Korean village where the most respected
citizen is an elderly blacksmith. The blacksmith, known as Uncle, discovers
a cache of
weapons, proof that his nephew Inde has joined a gang of bandits marauding
in the
mountains. Inde explains that there's not enough food to be had and that
banditry is the
only way to make a living.
His chosen profession brings tragedy upon the village when the governor's
soldiers come to confiscate all the village's iron farming implements, which
will be
melted down to make weapons for the king's soldiers. The farmers, who cannot
survive
without their tools, riot. The soldiers win the battle and arrest everybody.
The evil governor tortures Uncle to discern Inde's whereabouts, finally
tossing him in a cell where he is to starve to death. Smuggled a rice ball
by his family,
Uncle refuses to eat it, instead mixing it with mud to create a tiny statue
of an avenging
protector he calls the Pulgasari. When he dies, the statuette falls into the
hands of his
daughter Ami.
Ami cuts herself sewing and drips blood on the Pulgasari, which comes
to
life. Tiny at first, it nibbles on an iron sewing needle and starts to grow.
By the next
morning, chowing down on the blacksmith's forge, it is several feet tall.
Impervious to
weapons, it soon rescues the imprisoned bandit Inde from a beheading at the
hands of the
governor's soldiers. It continues to eat metal at every opportunity, soon
growing to giant
proportions.
The peasants form an army, kill the evil governor and enlist the
growing
monster in their revolution. The king appoints an ambitious general to lead
the
counterattack. Learning that the Pulgasari obeys Ami's commands, the general
kidnaps
Ami and threatens to kill her, forcing the monster into a huge wooden cage.
They burn
the cage to the ground, assuming that this will kill the monster. Instead,
the now red-hot
Pulgasari leaps into the river filled with the king's retreating soldiers,
boiling them alive.
The General sets another trap that buries the Pulgasari, but Ami cuts
herself
and drips blood on the ground, freeing it to lead the peasant army again.
Desperate now, the King tries to repel the Pulgasari with cannon, but
fails.
The Pulgasari smashes down the walls of the imperial palace and crushes him.
The peasants celebrate their victory, but they have forgotten
something. The
Pulgasari is still hungry, and there isn't enough iron in the world to
satisfy it. Realizing
that the Pulgasari will keep eating until it destroys all civilization, Ami
sacrifices her life
so her faithful monster will follow her into extinction.
Braveheart meets Godzilla
Pulgasari is not a good film by any means, but it is a genuine
curiosity.
The only giant-monster film ever filmed in North Korea, it was banned in
that country for
10 years. Why is a good question. After all, it tells the story of a
triumphant workers'
revolution against evil imperialist warlords. Perhaps, if the story had
ended there, the
North Korean authorities would have had no problems with it. But the closing
scenes of
this little fable, where the workers find that they're now threatened by the
same
monstrous creature they considered their ally, might have struck a little
too close to
home. As it is, it's those closing scenes that provide the film its little
11th-hour
addition of soul.
The scenes leading up to that are a strange mix of cheap-looking rubber-monster
action and elaborate battle scenes with hundreds of extras. The
battle scenes
would be pretty impressive if they were staged with any imagination. They'd
resemble a
cheaper version of Braveheart. Alas, they don't provide an epic scope so
much as
demonstrate how cheap hordes of extras must come in North Korea.
As for Pulgasari himself, he's the biggest problem with the whole
thing. Say
what you will about Godzilla and Mothra and Gamera. They're rubber-suited
actors
stomping on miniaturized human cities, but they nevertheless function as
characters. It is
possible to think of them as participants in their own stories. But
Pulgasari is never
anything more than an awkward guy in a monster suit, waving his arms feebly
as he
wobbles forward in search of more enemy armies to stomp. This is a problem
even in the
early scenes, when he's small and allegedly cute. But it's absolutely fatal
in the closing
scenes, when his story suddenly becomes a fable on the price of modern
warfare, and the
tragic heroine Ami realizes her giant benefactor has to die for the good of
humanity. Give
Pulgasari the personality of a King Kong or a Mighty Joe Young or even a
Frankenstein's
monster, and this would have real emotional heft. Alas, he's nowhere in
their league, and
the addition of tragic resonance works despite him to the
extent that it
works at all. It's much too little and much too late.
In the end Pulgasari owes its relatively high grade to its curiosity
value,
and to its ambitions to tell a story deeper than the usual fables about
giant Asian monsters
stomping on cardboard buildings.
