Tomb

South Korea is making some amazing movies. Need proof? Look no further than The Host (2006), Oldboy (2003), Mother (2009) and the raucous spaghetti western pastiche of The Good, The Bad, The Weird (2008). Each of these films go in completely unexpected directions while maintaining their believability — it makes mainstream fare seem utterly predictable and convention-bound by comparison.

Even if you’re a veteran Korean cinephile, there's a good chance that you haven't seen The Chaser (2008) yet. Fix that. Right now. There hasn't been a serial killer movie this electrifying since The Silence of the Lambs (1991).

The (deploy fingerquotes) “hero” of The Chaser is a horrible man; he’s despised immediately. He's a pimp who makes his girls go to work even if they're suffering from the flu, even if they’re terrified of the customer. His prostitutes go missing for months, but this guy isn't worried about the safety of his girls; he's just upset over his shrinking income, which he attributes to the fleeing of his girls. We can't stand this scumbag, yet find ourselves rooting for him as he quickly becomes the only one who can save a woman in terrifying jeopardy.

When a serial killer traps a woman in his home, the film becomes a race against time. The pimp starts noticing evidence that something's amiss, and fearlessly tracks down the killer. In doing so, we learn that the pimp was once a corrupt police detective, and his investigative skills get put to use for the first time in years. And so begins the evolution of his character: At first he's simply motivated to safeguard his property, but as the film progresses, something changes. He places far, far more urgency into his search than if his intentions were merely mercenary. The police force proves its uselessness — it arrests the killer before letting him go for lack of evidence — placing the killer's newest victim in renewed danger, as the pimp continues his desperate attempt to find her.

The Chaser is a dizzying, terrifying masterpiece, a film in which viewers find themselves paralyzed at couch's edge, scarcely breathing. A Hollywood remake is in the works, and the chance of it equalling the original, quite frankly, is impossible.

A killer of a different sort is the focus of Barking Dogs Never Bite (2000), a dark comedy from the director of The Host. Here, the murderous main character hunts yappy little dogs — ever the rage in Seoul — instead of people. He's a regular shmoe trying to get a job as an educator, and he’s emasculated by his bossy, pregnant wife. When incessant barking in his apartment complex keeps him up at night, he snaps and decides to take the dog problem into his own hands. The plot twists and turns from there, as we alternate between giddy laughter and wincing at implied doggy-cide.

The puppy killer encounters some formidable obstacles, including his own sense of guilt, a dog-eating janitor (how about that for cultural stereotyping?), a creepy homeless guy and a spirited young-woman-turned-vigilante who chases him through the apartment complex. Plus, quite fittingly, the guy's wife surprises him by buying a poodle.

All of the dogs in this movie are adorable, and the movie gets mileage out of the fact that people (and audiences) are infuriated by violence against dogs. The protagonist must use utmost stealth to wreak his doggy vengeance, and is later saddled with crushing guilt and a secret he must never reveal to the world. While not in the same league as some of the other Korean films of late, Barking Dogs Never Bite is funny, fascinating and one-of-a-kind.

And that’s something we’ve come to expect not just of black dog comedies, but of Korean cinema as a whole.