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Mi-heun (Kim Yoon-jin - Shiri and the American TV show Lost) believes she has the perfect life but quickly discovers what was hidden underneath. On a day that underscores family exclusivity, Christmas, a young woman enters her home and disrupts the lies that maintained the stasis, exposing her husband's infidelity. (And resonating with the confusion that opens Park Chan-ok's Jealousy Is My Middle Name, this young woman exposes how the Tae-geuk-gi, the South Korean national flag, is mis-displayed, representing how Mi-heun's idyllic life is about to be thrown upside-down.) In an effort to recover from this travesty -- physically along with spiritually since Mi-heun suffered a nasty hit to the head from the young woman -- and an offering by her husband (Son Byong-ho - Spider Forest, R-Point) to pay penance for his transgression, the family leaves Seoul for a distant town. There, Mi-heun finds herself intrigued by the local doctor, In-gyu (Lee Jong-won - Nabi), an intrigue he reciprocates. In-gyu asks if she wishes to play a game. They are to start a sexual relationship for a few months, ending earlier when one of them says "Uncle", in this case, when one says to the other, "Sa-rang-hae!" ("I love you!"). The tension is thus cast to carry us through the rest of the film.

As a director known for her compelling triptych expose on Korean women forced into sexual slavery for soldiers serving under the Japanese Empire, some might consider Byun Young-joo's debut film Ardor, a film about the positive and negative lessons learned from sexual liaisons, quite ironic, or even contradictory. But any irony or contradiction is removed when we clarify how her acclaimed documentaries The Murmuring, Habitual Sadness, and My Own Breathing were not about sexual relations at all, but about power relations and acts of violence. Such is why I'm always hesitant to use the standard nomenclature for the women featured in Byun's documentaries, "Comfort Women." Such terminology is troubling since such softens what actually was taking place. The two main characters in Ardor have lots of hot, sweaty, invigorating, consensual (key word!) sex; the real-life women in Byun's trio of documentaries have acts of violence committed upon them. This is a huge difference that cannot be overstated.

Now, infidelity in its technical definition can often hurt others. Yet, this film presents the nuances of real life within a fantasy rather than the simple round-hole dictums into which our so-called moral leaders often wish to pound some of our square-pegged selves. In-gyu, as presented in the story, is not actually engaging in infidelity per se, since his wife knows he is someone that cannot stay sexually tied to only one person, asking only that he never expose her to his trysts. On Mi-heun's side we have an act of revenge hidden as infidelity, a passive-aggressive act emanating from the hurt her husband's infidelity caused her. This stems from Mi-heun's initial dishonesty with herself, thinking she could forgive her husband for what he did, but her actions confess otherwise. And it is also a moment of awakening for her. Many of us have been opened to our sexual selves when we discover those people whose bodies simply seem to fit better than others. The scenario in Ardor is complicated by multiple desires, desire for revenge, desire for a return to the idyllic, desire for full sexual expression, desire for our imperfect selves to be the perfect mother/father for our child, all desires that make life the interesting morality play that keeps things entertaining, when not anxiously foreboding.

Still, Byun can not keep from bringing reality into this fantasy. She establishes a friendship between Mi-heun and a store owner (Kim Min-chae), the latter who is abused by her husband. Such is a beginning of what will be a Byun tactic in her fiction, having privileged characters learn from marginalized peoples.

Ardor provides enough of an engaging story for me to recommend it, at least for those who don't have problems watching people get freaky. The first sex scene between our gamers is worth it alone. Later, Mi-heun's schoolgirl anticipation of a later tryst, sneaking out of her home in only her bland nightgown, is equally sexy in that exuberant way anxious consummation provides. Byun brings an interesting direction to many scenes that had me wondering if male directors would ever make similar choices. When Mi-heun's solitary, naked body approaches a window in a later scene, it is done from what seems to be a purposely respectful distance, prohibiting the viewer from being a simple voyeur, while still allowing for the intimacy the scene intends. And the dialogue poses a different perspective as well. Rather than presenting the 'penetration' descriptors so often used to describe certain sex acts, Byun works off the ecstasy-inducing enveloping of the Keegle muscles. (And let's just note the ridiculousness, if not injustice, of female muscles being named after the male doctor who "discovered" them.) The subtitles describe sex as pulling in, sucking in, and squeezing. Such ways of descibing sex as envelopment explain well how wonderful it is to have your body received by another body or to be the one drawing that body in. This joy is why many of us are so willing to engage in it, (just like the extreme sport athletes Mi-heun wonders about), even when circumstances pose great danger to our emotional, physical, and social well-being.

Kim Yoon-jin's transitioning of Mi-heun from lifeless, wifely despondency to playful, young adult exuberance as she discovers herself within the danger she chooses contributes to the success of this film. It is testament to Kim's acting, Byun's direction, Kwon Hyeok-jun's cinematography, and Yang Yeon-yeong's make-up that Mi-heun comes across equally tempered in her initial unattractiveness and her eventual attractiveness, rather than overdoing either end.

However, the film has its faults. Particularly in the set up of the husband's affair and the beginning of Mi-heun and In-gyu's game. Both are brought into the narrative quite abruptly, to the point of appearing forced so that we might rush to the weightier parts of the picture. Yet, regardless of the missteps when introducing these necessary aspects of the plot, Byun further demonstrates she can tackle difficult, complex, controversial topics with considerable aplomb.      (Adam Hartzell)

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